[illustration: "dainty noses to the wind, their beautiful eyes wide and alert."] police!!! by robert w. chambers illustrated by henry hutt new york and london d. appleton and company to louise jocelyn all the pretty things you say, all the pretty things you do in your own delightful way make me fall in love with you, turning autumn into may. every day is twice as gay just because of you, louise! which is going some, you say? in my dull, pedantic way i am fashioning my lay just because i want to please. just because the things you say, just because the things you do in your clever, charming way make me fall in love with you. that is all, my dear, to-day. r.w.c. _christmas, ._ foreword give me no gold nor palaces nor quarts of gems in chalices nor mention me in who is who i'd rather roam abroad with you investigating sky and land, volcanoes, lakes, and glacial sand i'd rather climb with all my legs to find a nest of speckled eggs, or watch the spotted spider spin or see a serpent shed its skin! give me no star-and-garter blue! i'd rather roam around with you. flatten me not with flattery! walk with me to the battery, and see in glassy tanks the seals, the sturgeons, flounders, smelt and eels disport themselves in ichthyic curves-- and when it gets upon our nerves then, while our wabbling taxi honks i'll tell you all about the bronx, where captive wild things mope and stare through grills of steel that bar each lair doomed to imprisonment for life-- and you may go and take your wife. come to the park[ ] with me; i'll show you crass stupidity which sentences the hawk and fox to inactivity, and locks the door of freedom on the lynx where puma pines and eagle stinks. never a slaver's fetid hold has held the misery untold that crowds the great cats' kennels where their vacant eyes glare blank despair half crazed by sloth, half dazed by fear all day, all night, year after year. to the swift, clean things that cleave the air to the swift, clean things that cleave the sea to the swift, clean things that brave and dare forest and peak and prairie free, a cage to craze and stifle and stun and a fat man feeding a penny bun and a she-one giggling, "ain't it grand!" as she drags a dirty-nosed brat by the hand. [footnote : central park, filthiest, cruellest and most outrageous of zoological exhibitions.] preface on a beautiful day in spring as i was running as hard as i could run pursued by the new york police and a number of excited citizens, my mind, which becomes brilliantly active under physical exhilaration, began to work busily. i thought about all sorts of things: i thought about hard times and financial depression and about our great president who is in a class all alone with himself and soon to become extinct; i thought about art and why there isn't any when it's talked about; i thought of macro-lepidoptera, of metagrammatism, monoliths, manicures, and monsoons. and all the time i was running as fast as i could run; and the faster i ran the more things i thought about until my terrific pace set my brain whizzing like a wheel. i felt no remorse at having published these memoirs of my life--which was why the police and populace were pursuing me, maddened to frenzy by the fearless revelation of mighty scientific truths in this little volume you are about to attempt to read. _ubicumque ars ostentatur, veritas abesse videtur!_ i thought about it clearly, calmly, concisely as i fled. the maddened shouts of the prejudiced populace did not disturb me. around and around the metropolitan museum of art i ran; the inmates of that institution came out to watch me and they knew at a glance that i was one of them for they set up a clamor like a bunch of decoy ducks when one of their wild comrades comes whirling by. "police! police!" they shouted; but i went careering on uptown, afraid only that the park squirrels might club together to corner me. there are corners in grain. why not in--but let that pass. i took the park wall in front of the great mr. carnegie's cottage at a single bound. he stood on his terrace and shouted, "police!" he was quite logical. the equal franchise society was having a may party in the park near the harlem mere. they had chosen the honorable william jennings bryan as queen of the may. he wore low congress-gaiters and white socks; he was walking under a canopy, crowned with paper flowers, his hair curled over his coat collar, the tips of his fingers were suavely joined over his abdomen. the moment he caught sight of me he shouted, "police!" he was right. the cabinet lacked only me. and i might have consented to tarry--might have allowed myself to be apprehended for political purposes, had not a nobler, holier, more imperative duty urged me northward still. though all bloomingdale shouted, "stop him!" and all matteawan yelled, "police!" i should not have consented to pause. even the quackitudinous recognition spontaneously offered by the metropolitan museum had not been sufficient to decoy me to my fellows. i knew, of course, that i could find a sanctuary and a welcome in many places--in almost any sectarian edifice, any club, any newspaper office, any of the great publishers', any school, any museum; i knew that i would be welcomed at columbia university, at the annex to the hall of fame, in the bishop's palace on morningside heights--there were many places all ready to receive, understand and honour me. for a sufficiently crippled intellect, for a still-born brain, for the intellectually aborted, there is always a place on some editorial, sectarian, or educational staff. try it! but i had other ideas as i galloped northward. the voiceless summons of the most jealous of mistresses was making siren music in my ears. that coquettish jade, science, was calling me by wireless, and i was responding with both legs. and so, at last, i arrived at the bronx park and dashed into the administration building where everybody rose and cheered me to the echo. i was at home at last, unterrified, undismayed, and ready again as always to dedicate my life to the service of truth and to every caprice and whim of my immortal mistress, science. but i don't want to marry her. _magna est veritas! sed major et longinquo reverentia._ contents the third eye the immortal the ladies of the lake one over un peu d'amour the eggs of the silver moon list of illustrations "dainty noses to the wind, their beautiful eyes wide and alert" "climbing about among the mangroves above the water" "to see him feed made me sick" "'kemper!' i shouted.... 'he's one of them! knock him flat with your riflestock!'" "say, listen, bo--i mean prof., i've got the goods'" "he played on his concertina ... on the chance that the music might lure a cave-girl down the hill" "moving warily and gracefully amid the great coquina slabs" "i collapsed into the arms of the nicest looking one" "the heavy artillery was evidently frightened" "somebody had swooned in his arms, too" "'if you keep me up this tree and starve me to death it will be murder'" "then a horrible thing occurred" "i felt so sorry for her that i kissed her" "out of the mud rose _five or six dozen mammoths_" "dr. delmour used up every film in the camera to record the scientific triumph of the ages" "'everybody has put one over on me!' i shrieked" "miss blythe had carried to her father a large bucket of lettuce leaves" "'don't let it bite!' cried the girl. 'be careful, mr. smith!'" "kicked over the bucket of salad, and began to dance with rage" "'it's a worm!' shrieked blythe" "'which way do you usually go home?' i asked" "this little caterpillar ... is certain to find those leaves'" police!!! being a few deathless truths concerning several mysteries recently and scientifically unravelled by a modest servant of science. _quo quisque stultior, eo magis insolescit._ the third eye although the man's back was turned toward me, i was uncomfortably conscious that he was watching me. how he could possibly be watching me while i stood directly behind him, i did not ask myself; yet, nevertheless, instinct warned me that i was being inspected; that somehow or other the man was staring at me as steadily as though he and i had been face to face and his faded, sea-green eyes were focussed upon me. it was an odd sensation which persisted in spite of logic, and of which i could not rid myself. yet the little waitress did not seem to share it. perhaps she was not under his glassy inspection. but then, of course, i could not be either. no doubt the nervous tension incident to the expedition was making me supersensitive and even morbid. our sail-boat rode the shallow torquoise-tinted waters at anchor, rocking gently just off the snowy coral reef on which we were now camping. the youthful waitress who, for economy's sake, wore her cap, apron, collar and cuffs over her dainty print dress, was seated by the signal fire writing in her diary. sometimes she thoughtfully touched her pencil point with the tip of her tongue; sometimes she replenished the fire from a pile of dead mangrove branches heaped up on the coral reef beside her. whatever she did she accomplished gracefully. as for the man, grue, his back remained turned toward us both and he continued, apparently, to scan the horizon for the sail which we all expected. and all the time i could not rid myself of the unpleasant idea that somehow or other he was looking at me, watching attentively the expression of my features and noting my every movement. the smoke of our fire blew wide across leagues of shallow, sparkling water, or, when the wind veered, whirled back into our faces across the reef, curling and eddying among the standing mangroves like fog drifting. seated there near the fire, from time to time i swept the horizon with my marine glasses; but there was no sign of kemper; no sail broke the far sweep of sky and water; nothing moved out there save when a wild duck took wing amid the dark raft of its companions to circle low above the ocean and settle at random, invisible again except when, at intervals, its white breast flashed in the sunshine. meanwhile the waitress had ceased to write in her diary and now sat with the closed book on her knees and her pencil resting against her lips, gazing thoughtfuly at the back of grue's head. it was a ratty head of straight black hair, and looked greasy. the rest of him struck me as equally unkempt and dingy--a youngish man, lean, deeply bitten by the sun of the semi-tropics to a mahogany hue, and unusually hairy. i don't mind a brawny, hairy man, but the hair on grue's arms and chest was a rusty red, and like a chimpanzee's in texture, and sometimes a wildly absurd idea possessed me that the man needed it when he went about in the palm forests without his clothes. but he was only a "poor white"--a "cracker" recruited from one of the reefs near pelican light, where he lived alone by fishing and selling his fish to the hotels at heliatrope city. the sail-boat was his; he figured as our official guide on this expedition--an expedition which already had begun to worry me a great deal. for it was, perhaps, the wildest goose chase and the most absurdly hopeless enterprise ever undertaken in the interest of science by the bronx park authorities. nothing is more dreaded by scientists than ridicule; and it was in spite of this terror of ridicule that i summoned sufficient courage to organize an exploring party and start out in search of something so extraordinary, so hitherto unheard of, that i had not dared reveal to kemper by letter the object of my quest. no, i did not care to commit myself to writing just yet; i had merely sent kemper a letter to join me on sting-ray key. he telegraphed me from tampa that he would join me at the rendezvous; and i started directly from bronx park for heliatrope city; arrived there in three days; found the waitress all ready to start with me; inquired about a guide and discovered the man grue in his hut off pelican light; made my bargain with him; and set sail for sting-ray key, the most excited and the most nervous young man who ever had dared disaster in the sacred cause of science. everything was now at stake, my honour, reputation, career, fortune. for, as chief of the anthropological field survey department of the great bronx park zoölogical society, i was perfectly aware that no scientific reputation can survive ridicule. nevertheless, the die had been cast, the rubicon crossed in a sail-boat containing one beachcombing cracker, one hotel waitress, a pile of camping kit and special utensils, and myself! how was i going to tell kemper? how was i going to confess to him that i was staking my reputation as an anthropologist upon a letter or two and a personal interview with a young girl--a waitress at the hotel gardenia in heliatrope city? * * * * * i lowered my sea-glasses and glanced sideways at the waitress. she was still chewing the end of her pencil, reflectively. she was a pretty girl, one evelyn grey, and had been a country school-teacher in massachusetts until her health broke. florida was what she required; but that healing climate was possible to her only if she could find there a self-supporting position. also she had nourished an ambition for a postgraduate education, with further aspirations to a government appointment in the smithsonian institute. all very worthy, no doubt--in fact, particularly commendable because the wages she saved as waitress in a florida hotel during the winter were her only means of support while studying for college examinations during the summer in boston, where she lived. yet, although she was an inmate of massachusetts, her face and figure would have ornamented any light-opera stage. i never looked at her but i thought so; and her cuffs and apron merely accentuated the delusion. such ankles are seldom seen when the curtain rises after the overture. odd that frivolous thoughts could flit through an intellect dedicated only to science! the man, grue, had not stirred from his survey of the atlantic ocean. he had a somewhat disturbing capacity for remaining motionless--like a stealthy and predatory bird which depends on immobility for aggressive and defensive existence. the sea-wind fluttered his cotton shirt and trousers and the tattered brim of his straw hat. and always i felt as though he were watching me out of the back of his ratty head, through the ravelled straw brim that sagged over his neck. the pretty waitress had now chewed the end of her pencil to a satisfactory pulp, and she was writing again in her diary, very intently, so that my cautious touch on her arm seemed to startle her. meeting her inquiring eyes i said in a low voice: "i am not sure why, but i don't seem to care very much for that man, grue. do you?" she glanced at the water's edge, where grue stood, immovable, his back still turned to us. "i never liked him," she said under her breath. "why?" i asked cautiously. she merely shrugged her shoulders. she did it gracefully. i said: "have you any particular reason for disliking him?" "he's dirty." "he _looks_ dirty, yet every day he goes into the sea and swims about. he ought to be clean enough." she thought for a moment, then: "he seems, somehow, to be fundamentally unclean--i don't mean that he doesn't wash himself. but there are certain sorts of animals and birds and other creatures from which one instinctively shrinks--not, perhaps, because they are materially unclean--" "i understand," i said. after a silence i added: "well, there's no chance now of sending him back, even if i were inclined to do so. he appears to be familiar with these latitudes. i don't suppose we could find a better man for our purpose. do you?" "no. he was a sponge fisher once, i believe." "did he tell you so?" "no. but yesterday, when you took the boat and cruised to the south, i sat writing here and keeping up the fire. and i saw grue climbing about among the mangroves over the water in a most uncanny way; and two snake-birds sat watching him, and they never moved. "he didn't seem to see them; his back was toward them. and then, all at once, he leaped backward at them where they sat on a mangrove, and he got one of them by the neck--" [illustration: "climbing about among the mangroves above the water."] "what!" the girl nodded. "by the neck," she repeated, "and down they went into the water. and what do you suppose happened?" "i can't imagine," said i with a grimace. "well, grue went under, still clutching the squirming, flapping bird; and he _stayed_ under." "stayed under the _water_?" "yes, longer than any sponge diver i ever heard of. and i was becoming frightened when the bloody bubbles and feathers began to come up--" "_what_ was he doing under water?" "he must have been tearing the bird to pieces. oh, it was quite unpleasant, i assure you, mr. smith. and when he came up and looked at me out of those very vitreous eyes he resembled something horridly amphibious.... and i felt rather sick and dizzy." "he's got to stop that sort of thing!" i said angrily. "snake-birds are harmless and i won't have him killing them in that barbarous fashion. i've warned him already to let birds alone. i don't know how he catches them or why he kills them. but he seems to have a mania for doing it--" i was interrupted by grue's soft and rather pleasant voice from the water's edge, announcing a sail on the horizon. he did not turn when speaking. the next moment i made out the sail and focussed my glasses on it. "it's professor kemper," i announced presently. "i'm so glad," remarked evelyn grey. i don't know why it should have suddenly occurred to me, apropos of nothing, that billy kemper was unusually handsome. or why i should have turned and looked at the pretty waitress--except that she was, perhaps, worth gazing upon from a purely non-scientific point of view. in fact, to a man not entirely absorbed in scientific research and not passionately and irrevocably wedded to his profession, her violet-blue eyes and rather sweet mouth might have proved disturbing. as i was thinking about this she looked up at me and smiled. "it's a good thing," i thought to myself, "that i am irrevocably wedded to my profession." and i gazed fixedly across the atlantic ocean. * * * * * there was scarcely sufficient breeze of a steady character to bring kemper to sting-ray key; but he got out his sweeps when i hailed him and came in at a lively clip, anchoring alongside of our boat and leaping ashore with that unnecessary dash and abandon which women find pleasing. glancing sideways at my waitress through my spectacles, i found her looking into a small hand mirror and patting her hair with one slim and suntanned hand. when professor kemper landed on the coral he shot a curious look at grue, and then came striding across the reef to me. "hello, smithy!" he said, holding out his hand. "here i am, you see! now what's up--" just then evelyn grey got up from her seat beside the fire; and kemper turned and gazed at her with every symptom of unfeigned approbation. i introduced him. evelyn grey seemed a trifle indifferent. a good-looking man doesn't last long with a clever woman. i smiled to myself, polishing my spectacles gleefully. yet, i had no idea why i was smiling. we three people turned and walked toward the comb of the reef. a solitary palm represented the island's vegetation, except, of course, for the water-growing mangroves. i asked miss grey to precede us and wait for us under the palm; and she went forward in that light-footed way of hers which, to any non-scientific man, might have been a trifle disturbing. it had no effect upon me. besides, i was looking at grue, who had gone to the fire and was evidently preparing to fry our evening meal of fish and rice. i didn't like to have him cook, but i wasn't going to do it myself; and my pretty waitress didn't know how to cook anything more complicated than beans. we had no beans. kemper said to me: "why on earth did you bring a waitress?" "not to wait on table," i replied, amused. "i'll explain her later. meanwhile, i merely want to say that you need not remain with this expedition if you don't want to. it's optional with you." "that's a funny thing to say!" "no, not funny; sad. the truth is that if i fail i'll be driven into obscurity by the ridicule of my brother scientists the world over. i had to tell them at the bronx what i was going after. every man connected with the society attempted to dissuade me, saying that the whole thing was absurd and that my reputation would suffer if i engaged in such a ridiculous quest. so when you hear what that girl and i are after out here in the semi-tropics, and when you are in possession of the only evidence i have to justify my credulity, if you want to go home, go. because i don't wish to risk your reputation as a scientist unless you choose to risk it yourself." he regarded me curiously, then his eyes strayed toward the palm-tree which evelyn grey was now approaching. "all right," he said briefly, "let's hear what's up." so we moved forward to rejoin the girl, who had already seated herself under the tree. she looked very attractive in her neat cuffs, tiny cap, and pink print gown, as we approached her. "why does she dress that way?" asked kemper, uneasily. "economy. she desires to use up the habiliments of a service which there will be no necessity for her to reënter if this expedition proves successful." "oh. but smithy--" "what?" "was it--moral--to bring a waitress?" "perfectly," i replied sharply. "science knows no sex!" "i don't understand how a waitress can be scientific," he muttered, "and there seems to be no question about her possessing plenty of sex--" "if that girl's conclusions are warranted," i interrupted coldly, "she is a most intelligent and clever person. _i_ think they are warranted. if you don't, you may go home as soon as you like." i glanced at him; he was smiling at her with that strained politeness which alters the natural expression of men in the imminence of a conversation with a new and pretty woman. i often wonder what particular combination of facial muscles are brought into play when that politely receptive expression transforms the normal and masculine features into a fixed simper. when kemper and i had seated ourselves, i calmly cut short the small talk in which he was already indulging, and to which, i am sorry to say, my pretty waitress was beginning to respond. i had scarcely thought it of her--but that's neither here nor there--and i invited her to recapitulate the circumstances which had resulted in our present foregathering here on this strip of coral in the atlantic ocean. she did so very modestly and without embarrassment, stating the case and reviewing the evidence so clearly and so simply that i could see how every word she uttered was not only amazing but also convincing kemper. when she had ended he asked a few questions very seriously: "granted," he said, "that the pituitary gland represents what we assume it represents, how much faith is to be placed in the testimony of a seminole indian?" "a seminole indian," she replied, "has seldom or never been known to lie. and where a whole tribe testify alike the truth of what they assert can not be questioned." "how did you make them talk? they are a sullen, suspicious people, haughty, uncommunicative, seldom even replying to an ordinary question from a white man." "they consider me one of them." "why?" he asked in surprise. "i'll tell you why. it came about through a mere accident. i was waitress at the hotel; it happened to be my afternoon off; so i went down to the coquina dock to study. i study in my leisure moments, because i wish to fit myself for a college examination." her charming face became serious; she picked up the hem of her apron and continued to pleat it slowly and with precision as she talked: "there was a seminole named tiger-tail sitting there, his feet dangling above his moored canoe, evidently waiting for the tide to turn before he went out to spear crayfish. i merely noticed he was sitting there in the sunshine, that's all. and then i opened my mythology book and turned to the story of argus, on which i was reading up. "and this is what happened: there was a picture of the death of argus, facing the printed page which i was reading--the well-known picture where juno is holding the head of the decapitated monster--and i had read scarcely a dozen words in the book before the seminole beside me leaned over and placed his forefinger squarely upon the head of argus. "'who?' he demanded. "i looked around good-humoredly and was surprised at the evident excitement of the indian. they're not excitable, you know. "'that,' said i, 'is a greek gentleman named argus.' i suppose he thought i meant a minorcan, for he nodded. then, without further comment, he placed his finger on juno. "'_who?_' he inquired emphatically. "i said flippantly: 'oh, that's only my aunt, juno.' "'aunty of you?' "'yes.' "'she kill 'um three-eye?' "argus had been depicted with three eyes. "'yes,' i said, 'my aunt juno had argus killed.' "'why kill 'um?' "'well, aunty needed his eyes to set in the tails of the peacocks which drew her automobile. so when they cut off the head of argus my aunt had the eyes taken out; and that's a picture of how she set them into the peacock.' "'aunty of _you_?' he repeated. "'certainly,' i said gravely; 'i am a direct descendant of the goddess of wisdom. that's why i'm always studying when you see me down on the dock here.' "_'you seminole!_' he said emphatically. "'seminole,' i repeated, puzzled. "'you seminole! aunty seminole--_you_ seminole!' "'why, tiger-tail?' "'seminole hunt three-eye long time--hundred, hundred year--hunt 'um three-eye, kill 'um three-eye.' "'you say that for hundreds of years the seminoles have hunted a creature with three eyes?' "'sure! hunt 'um now!' "'_now?_' "'sure!' "'but, tiger-tail, if the legends of your people tell you that the seminoles hunted a creature with three eyes hundreds of years ago, certainly no such three-eyed creatures remain today?' "'some.' "'what! where?' "'black bayou.' "'do you mean to tell me that a living creature with three eyes still inhabits the forests of black bayou?' "'sure. me see 'um. me kill 'um three-eye man.' "'you have killed a man who had _three eyes_?' "'sure!' "'a man? _with three eyes?_' "'sure.'" * * * * * the pretty waitress, excitedly engrossed in her story, was unconsciously acting out the thrilling scene of her dialogue with the indian, even imitating his voice and gestures. and kemper and i listened and watched her breathlessly, fascinated by her lithe and supple grace as well as by the astounding story she was so frankly unfolding with the consummate artlessness of a natural actress. she turned her flushed face to us: "i made up my mind," she said, "that tiger-tail's story was worth investigating. it was perfectly easy for me to secure corroboration, because that seminole went back to his everglade camp and told every one of his people that i was a white seminole because my ancestors also hunted the three-eyed man and nobody except a seminole could know that such a thing as a three-eyed man existed. "so, the next afternoon off, i embarked in tiger-tail's canoe and he took me to his camp. and there i talked to his people, men and women, questioning, listening, putting this and that together, trying to discover some foundation for their persistent statements concerning men, still living in the jungles of black bayou, who had three eyes instead of two. "all told the same story; all asserted that since the time their records ran the seminoles had hunted and slain every three-eyed man they could catch; and that as long as the seminoles had lived in the everglades the three-eyed men had lived in the forests beyond black bayou." she paused, dramatically, cooling her cheeks in her palms and looking from kemper to me with eyes made starry by excitement. "and _what_ do you think!" she continued, under her breath. "to prove what they said they brought for my inspection a skull. and then two more skulls like the first one. "every skull had been painted with spanish red; the coarse black hair still stuck to the scalps. and, behind, just over where the pituitary gland is situated, was a hollow, bony orbit--unmistakably the socket of a _third eye_!" "w-where are those skulls?" demanded kemper, in a voice not entirely under control. "they wouldn't part with one of them. i tried every possible persuasion. on my own responsibility, and even before i communicated with mr. smith--" turning toward me, "--i offered them twenty thousand dollars for a single skull, staking my word of honour that the bronx museum would pay that sum. "it was useless. not only do the seminoles refuse to part with one of those skulls, but i have also learned that i am the first person with a white skin who has ever even heard of their existence--so profoundly have these red men of the everglades guarded their secret through centuries." after a silence kemper, rather pale, remarked: "this is a most astonishing business, miss grey." "what do you think about it?" i demanded. "is it not worth while for us to explore black bayou?" he nodded in a dazed sort of way, but his gaze remained riveted on the girl. presently he said: "why does miss grey go?" she turned in surprise: "why am i going? but it is _my_ discovery--_my_ contribution to science, isn't it?" "certainly!" we exclaimed warmly and in unison. and kemper added: "i was only thinking of the dangers and hardships. smith and i could do the actual work--" "oh!" she cried in quick protest, "i wouldn't miss one moment of the excitement, one pain, one pang! i _love_ it! it would simply break my heart not to share every chance, hazard, danger of this expedition--every atom of hope, excitement, despair, uncertainty--and the ultimate success--the unsurpassable thrill of exultation in the final instant of triumph!" she sprang to her feet in a flash of uncontrollable enthusiasm, and stood there, aglow with courage and resolution, making a highly agreeable picture in her apron and cuffs, the sea wind fluttering the bright tendrils of her hair under her dainty cap. we got to our feet much impressed; and now absolutely convinced that there did exist, somewhere, descendants of prehistoric men in whom the third eye--placed in the back of the head for purposes of defensive observation--had not become obsolete and reduced to the traces which we know only as the pituitary body or pituitary gland. kemper and i were, of course, aware that in the insect world the ocelli served the same purpose that the degenerate pituitary body once served in the occiput of man. as we three walked slowly back to the campfire, where our evening meal was now ready, evelyn grey, who walked between us, told us what she knew about the hunting of these three-eyed men by the seminoles--how intense was the hatred of the indians for these people, how murderously they behaved toward any one of them whom they could track down and catch. "tiger-tail told me," she went on, "that in all probability the strange race was nearing extinction, but that all had not yet been exterminated because now and then, when hunting along black bayou, traces of living three-eyed men were still found by him and his people. "no later than last week tiger-tail himself had startled one of these strange denizens of black bayou from a meal of fish; and had heard him leap through the bushes and plunge into the water. it appears that centuries of persecution have made these three-eyed men partly amphibious--that is, capable of filling their lungs with air and remaining under water almost as long as a turtle." "that's impossible!" said kemper bluntly. "i thought so myself," she said with a smile, "until tiger-tail told me a little more about them. he says that they can breathe through the pores of their skins; that their bodies are covered with a thick, silky hair, and that when they dive they carry down with them enough air to form a sort of skin over them, so that under water their bodies appear to be silver-plated." "good lord!" faltered kemper. "that is a little too much!" "yet," said i, "that is exactly what air-breathing water beetles do. the globules of air, clinging to the body-hairs, appear to silver-plate them; and they can remain below indefinitely, breathing through spiracles. doubtless the skin pores of these men have taken on the character of spiracles." "you know," he said in a curious, flat voice, which sounded like the tones of a partly stupified man, "this whole business is so grotesque--apparently so wildly absurd--that it's having a sort of nightmare effect on me." and, dropping his voice to a whisper close to my ear: "good heavens!" he said. "can you reconcile such a creature as we are starting out to hunt, with anything living known to science?" "no," i replied in guarded tones. "and there are moments, kemper, since i have come into possession of miss grey's story, when i find myself seriously doubting my own sanity." "i'm doubting mine, now," he whispered, "only that girl is so fresh and wholesome and human and sane--" "she is a very clever girl," i said. "and really beautiful!" "she is intelligent," i remarked. there was a chill in my tone which doubtless discouraged kemper, for he ventured nothing further concerning her superficially personal attractions. after all, if any questions of priority were to arise, the pretty waitress was _my_ discovery. and in the scientific world it is an inflexible rule that he who first discovers any particular specimen of any species whatever is first entitled to describe and comment upon that specimen without interference or unsolicited advice from anybody. maybe there was in my eye something that expressed as much. for when kemper caught my cold gaze fixed upon him he winced and looked away like a reproved setter dog who knew better. which also, for the moment, put an end to the rather gay and frivolous line of small talk which he had again begun with the pretty waitress. i was exceedingly surprised at professor william henry kemper, d.f. as we approached the campfire the loathsome odour of frying mullet saluted my nostrils. kemper, glancing at grue, said aside to me: "that's an odd-looking fellow. what is he? minorcan?" "oh, just a beachcomber. i don't know what he is. he strikes me as dirty--though he can't be so, physically. i don't like him and i don't know why. and i wish we'd engaged somebody else to guide us." toward dawn something awoke me and i sat up in my blanket under the moon. but my leg had not been pulled. kemper snored at my side. in her little dog-tent the pretty waitress probably was fast asleep. i knew it because the string she had tied to one of her ornamental ankles still lay across the ground convenient to my hand. in any emergency i had only to pull it to awake her. a similar string, tied to my ankle, ran parallel to hers and disappeared under the flap of her tent. this was for her to pull if she liked. she had never yet pulled it. nor i the other. nevertheless i truly felt that these humble strings were, in a subtler sense, ties that bound us together. no wonder kemper's behaviour had slightly irritated me. i looked up at the silver moon; i glanced at kemper's unlovely bulk, swathed in a blanket; i contemplated the dog-tent with, perhaps, that slight trace of sentiment which a semi-tropical moon is likely to inspire even in a jellyfish. and suddenly i remembered grue and looked for him. he was accustomed to sleep in his boat, but i did not see him in either of the boats. here and there were a few lumpy shadows in the moonlight, but none of them was grue lying prone on the ground. where the devil had he gone? cautiously i untied my ankle string, rose in my pajamas, stepped into my slippers, and walked out through the moonlight. there was nothing to hide grue, no rocks or vegetation except the solitary palm on the back-bone of the reef. i walked as far as the tree and looked up into the arching fronds. nobody was up there. i could see the moonlit sky through the fronds. nor was grue lying asleep anywhere on the other side of the coral ridge. and suddenly i became aware of all my latent distrust and dislike for the man. and the vigour of my sentiments surprised me because i really had not understood how deep and thorough my dislike had been. also, his utter disappearance struck me as uncanny. both boats were there; and there were many leagues of sea to the nearest coast. troubled and puzzled i turned and walked back to the dead embers of the fire. kemper had merely changed the timbre of his snore to a whistling aria, which at any other time would have enraged me. now, somehow, it almost comforted me. seated on the shore i looked out to sea, racking my brains for an explanation of grue's disappearance. and while i sat there racking them, far out on the water a little flock of ducks suddenly scattered and rose with frightened quackings and furiously beating wings. for a moment i thought i saw a round, dark object on the waves where the flock had been. and while i sat there watching, up out of the sea along the reef to my right crawled a naked, dripping figure holding a dead duck in his mouth. fascinated, i watched it, recognising grue with his ratty black hair all plastered over his face. whether he caught sight of me or not, i don't know; but he suddenly dropped the dead duck from his mouth, turned, and dived under water. it was a grim and horrid species of sport or pastime, this amphibious business of his, catching wild birds and dragging them about as though he were an animal. evidently he was ashamed of himself, for he had dropped the duck. i watched it floating by on the waves, its head under water. suddenly something jerked it under, a fish perhaps, for it did not come up and float again, as far as i could see. when i went back to camp grue lay apparently asleep on the north side of the fire. i glanced at him in disgust and crawled into my tent. the next day evelyn grey awoke with a headache and kept her tent. i had all i could do to prevent kemper from prescribing for her. i did that myself, sitting beside her and testing her pulse for hours at a time, while kemper took one of grue's grains and went off into the mangroves and speared grunt and eels for a chowder which he said he knew how to concoct. toward afternoon the pretty waitress felt much better, and i warned kemper and grue that we should sail for black bayou after dinner. * * * * * dinner was a mess, as usual, consisting of fried mullet and rice, and a sort of chowder in which the only ingredients i recognised were sections of crayfish. after we had finished and had withdrawn from the fire, grue scraped every remaining shred of food into a kettle and went for it. to see him feed made me sick, so i rejoined miss grey and kemper, who had found a green cocoanut and were alternately deriving nourishment from the milk inside it. [illustration: "to see him feed made me sick."] somehow or other there seemed to me a certain levity about that performance, and it made me uncomfortable; but i managed to smile a rather sickly smile when they offered me a draught, and i took a pull at the milk--i don't exactly know why, because i don't like it. but the moon was up over the sea, now, and the dusk was languorously balmy, and i didn't care to leave those two drinking milk out of the same cocoanut under a tropic moon. not that my interest in evelyn grey was other than scientific. but after all it was i who had discovered her. we sailed as soon as grue, gobbling and snuffling, had cleaned up the last crumb of food. kemper blandly offered to take miss grey into his boat, saying that he feared my boat was overcrowded, what with the paraphernalia, the folding cages, grue, miss grey, and myself. i sat on that suggestion, but offered to take my own tiller and lend him grue. he couldn't wriggle out of it, seeing that his alleged motive had been the overcrowding of my boat, but he looked rather sick when grue went aboard his boat. as for me, i hoisted sail with something so near a chuckle that it surprised me; and i looked at evelyn grey to see whether she had noticed the unseemly symptom. apparently she had not. she sat forward, her eyes fixed soulfully upon the moon. had i been dedicated to any profession except a scientific one--but let that pass. grue in kemper's sail-boat led, and my boat followed out into the silvery and purple dusk, now all sparkling under the high lustre of the moon. dimly i saw vast rafts of wild duck part and swim leisurely away to port and starboard, leaving a glittering lane of water for us to sail through; into the scintillant night from the sea sprang mullet, silvery, quivering, falling back into the wash with a splash. here and there in the moonlight steered ominous black triangles, circling us, leading us, sheering across bow and flashing wake, all phosphorescent with lambent sea-fire--the fins of great sharks. "you need have no fear," said i to the pretty waitress. she said nothing. "of course if you _are_ afraid," i added, "perhaps you might care to change your seat." there was room in the stern where i sat. "do you think there is any danger?" she asked. "from sharks?" "yes." "reaching up and biting you?" "yes." "oh, i don't really suppose there is," i said, managing to convey the idea, i am ashamed to say, that the catastrophe was a possibility. she came over and seated herself beside me. i was very much ashamed of myself, but i could not repress a triumphant glance ahead at the other boat, where kemper sat huddled forward, evidently bored to extinction. every now and then i could see him turn and crane his neck as though in an effort to distinguish what was going on in our boat. there was nothing going on, absolutely nothing. the moon was magnificent; and i think the pretty waitress must have been a little tired, for her head drooped and nodded at moments, even while i was talking to her about a specimen of _euplectilla speciosa_ on which i had written a monograph. so she must have been really tired, for the subject was interesting. "you won't incommode my operations with sheet and tiller," i said to her kindly, "if you care to rest your head against my shoulder." evidently she was very tired, for she did so, and closed her eyes. after a while, fearing that she might fall over backward into the sea--but let that pass.... i don't know whether or not kemper could distinguish anything aboard our boat. he craned his head enough to twist it off his neck. to be so utterly, so blindly devoted to science is a great safeguard for a man. single-mindedness, however, need not induce atrophy of every humane impulse. i drew the pretty waitress closer--not that the night was cold, but it might become so. changes in the tropics come swiftly. it is well to be prepared. her cheek felt very soft against my shoulder. there seemed to be a faint perfume about her hair. it really was odd how subtly fragrant she seemed to be--almost, perhaps, a matter of scientific interest. her hands did not seem to be chilled; they did seem unusually smooth and soft. i said to her: "when at home, i suppose your mother tucks you in; doesn't she?" "yes," she nodded sleepily. "and what does she do then?" said i, with something of that ponderous playfulness with which i make scientific jokes at a meeting of the bronx anthropological association, when i preside. "she kisses me and turns out the light," said evelyn grey, innocently. i don't know how much kemper could distinguish. he kept dodging about and twisting his head until i really thought it would come off, unless it had been screwed on like the top of a piano stool. a few minutes later he fired his pistol twice; and evelyn sat up. i never knew why he fired; he never offered any explanation. toward midnight i could hear the roar of breakers on our starboard bow. evelyn heard them, too, and sat up inquiringly. "grue has found the inlet to black bayou, i suppose," said i. and it proved to be the case, for, with the surf thundering on either hand, we sailed into a smoothly flowing inlet through which the flood tide was running between high dunes all sparkling in the moonlight and crowned with shadowy palms. occasionally i heard noises ahead of us from the other boat, as though kemper was trying to converse with us, but as his apropos was as unintelligible as it was inopportune, i pretended not to hear him. besides, i had all i could do to manoeuvre the tiller and prevent evelyn grey from falling off backward into the bayou. besides, it is not customary to converse with the man at the helm. after a while--during which i seemed to distinguish in kemper's voice a quality that rhymes with his name--his tones varied through phases all the way from irony to exasperation. after a while he gave it up and took to singing. there was a moon, and i suppose he thought he had a voice. it didn't strike me so. after several somewhat melancholy songs, he let off his pistol two or three times and then subsided into silence. i didn't care; neither his songs nor his shots interrupted--but let that pass, also. we were now sailing into the forest through pool after pool of interminable lagoons, startling into unseen and clattering flight hundreds of waterfowl. i could feel the wind from their whistling wings in the darkness, as they drove by us out to sea. it seemed to startle the pretty waitress. it is a solemn thing to be responsible for a pretty girl's peace of mind. i reassured her continually, perhaps a trifle nervously. but there were no more pistol shots. perhaps kemper had used up his cartridges. we were still drifting along under drooping sails, borne inland almost entirely by the tide, when the first pale, watery, gray light streaked the east. when it grew a little lighter, evelyn sat up; all danger of sharks being over. also, i could begin to see what was going on in the other boat. which was nothing remarkable; kemper slumped against the mast, his head turned in our direction; grue sat at the helm, motionless, his tattered straw hat sagging on his neck. when the sun rose, i called out cheerily to kemper, asking him how he had passed the night. evelyn also raised her head, pausing while bringing her disordered hair under discipline, to listen to his reply. but he merely mumbled something. perhaps he was still sleepy. as for me, i felt exceedingly well; and when grue turned his craft in shore, i did so, too; and when, under the overhanging foliage of the forest, the nose of my boat grated on the sand, i rose and crossed the deck with a step distinctly frolicsome. kemper seemed distant and glum; evelyn grey spoke to him shyly now and then, and i noticed she looked at him only when he was gazing elsewhere than at her. she had a funny, conciliatory air with him, half ashamed, partly humorous and amused, as though something about kemper's sulky ill-humour was continually making tiny inroads on her gravity. some mullet had jumped into the two boats--half a dozen during our moonlight voyage--and these were now being fried with rice for us by grue. lord! how i hated to eat them! after we had finished breakfast, grue, as usual, did everything to the remainder except to get into the fry-pan with both feet; and as usual he sickened me. when he'd cleaned up everything, i sent him off into the forest to find a dry shell-mound for camping purposes; then i made fast both boats, and kemper and i carried ashore our paraphernalia, spare _batterie-de-cuisine_, firearms, fishing tackle, spears, harpoons, grains, oars, sails, spars, folding cage--everything with which a strictly scientific expedition is usually burdened. evelyn was washing her face in the crystal waters of a branch that flowed into the lagoon from under the live-oaks. she looked very pretty doing it, like a naiad or dryad scrubbing away at her forest toilet. it was, in fact, such a pretty spectacle that i was going over to sit beside her while she did it, but kemper started just when i was going to, and i turned away. some men invariably do the wrong thing. but a handsome man doesn't last long with a pretty girl. i was thinking of this as i stood contemplating an alligator slide, when grue came back saying that the shore on which we had landed was the termination of a shell-mound, and that it was the only dry place he had found. so i bade him pitch our tents a few feet back from the shore; and stood watching him while he did so, one eye reverting occasionally to evelyn grey and kemper. they both were seated cross-legged beside the branch, and they seemed to be talking a great deal and rather earnestly. i couldn't quite understand what they found to talk about so earnestly and volubly all of a sudden, inasmuch as they had heretofore exchanged very few observations during a most brief and formal acquaintance, dating only from sundown the day before. grue set up our three tents, carried the luggage inland, and then hung about for a while until the vast shadow of a vulture swept across the trees. i never saw such an indescribable expression on a human face as i saw on grue's as he looked up at the huge, unclean bird. his vitreous eyes fairly glittered; the corners of his mouth quivered and grew wet; and to my astonishment he seemed to emit a low, mewing noise. "what the devil are you doing?" i said impulsively, in my amazement and disgust. he looked at me, his eyes still glittering, the corners of his mouth still wet; but the curious sounds had ceased. "what?" he asked. "nothing. i thought you spoke." i didn't know what else to say. he made no reply. once, when i had partly turned my head, i was aware that he was warily turning his to look at the vulture, which had alighted heavily on the ground near the entrails and heads of the mullet, where he had cast them on the dead leaves. i walked over to where evelyn grey and kemper sat so busily conversing; and their volubility ceased as they glanced up and saw me approaching. which phenomenon both perplexed and displeased me. i said: "this is the black bayou forest, and we have the most serious business of our lives before us. suppose you and i start out, kemper, and see if there are any traces of what we are after in the neighborhood of our camp." "do you think it safe to leave miss grey alone in camp?" he asked gravely. i hadn't thought of that: "no, of course not," i said. "grue can stay." "i don't need anybody," she said quickly. "anyway, i'm rather afraid of grue." "afraid of grue?" i repeated. "not exactly afraid. but he's--unpleasant." "i'll remain with miss grey," said kemper politely. "oh," she exclaimed, "i couldn't ask that. it is true that i feel a little tired and nervous, but i can go with you and mr. smith and grue--" i surveyed kemper in cold perplexity. as chief of the expedition, i couldn't very well offer to remain with evelyn grey, but i didn't propose that kemper should, either. "take grue," he suggested, "and look about the woods for a while. perhaps after dinner miss grey may feel sufficiently rested to join us." "i am sure," she said, "that a few hours' rest in camp will set me on my feet. all i need is rest. i didn't sleep very soundly last night." i felt myself growing red, and i looked away from them both. "oh," said kemper, in apparent surprise, "i thought you had slept soundly all night long." "nobody," said i, "could have slept very pleasantly during that musical performance of yours." "were you singing?" she asked innocently of kemper. "he was singing when he wasn't firing off his pistol," i remarked. "no wonder you couldn't sleep with any satisfaction to yourself." grue had disappeared into the forest; i stood watching for him to come out again. after a few minutes i heard a furious but distant noise of flapping; the others also heard it; and we listened in silence, wondering what it was. "it's grue killing something," faltered evelyn grey, turning a trifle pale. "confound it!" i exclaimed. "i'm going to stop that right now." kemper rose and followed me as i started for the woods; but as we passed the beached boats grue appeared from among the trees. "where have you been?" i demanded. "in the woods." "doing what?" "nothing." there was a bit of down here and there clinging to his cotton shirt and trousers, and one had caught and stuck at the corner of his mouth. "see here, grue," i said, "i don't want you to kill any birds except for camp purposes. why do you try to catch and kill birds?" "i don't." i stared at the man and he stared back at me out of his glassy eyes. "you mean to say that you don't, somehow or other, manage to catch and kill birds?" "no, i don't." there was nothing further for me to say unless i gave him the lie. i didn't care to do that, needing his services. evelyn grey had come up to join us; there was a brief silence; we all stood looking at grue; and he looked back at us out of his pale, washed-out, and unblinking eyes. "grue," i said, "i haven't yet explained to you the object of this expedition to black bayou. now, i'll tell you what i want. but first let me ask you a question or two. you know the black bayou forests, don't you?" "yes." "did you ever see anything unusual in these forests?" "no." "are you sure?" the man stared at us, one after another. then he said: "what are you looking for in black bayou?" "something very curious, very strange, very unusual. so strange and unusual, in fact, that the great zoölogical society of the bronx in new york has sent me down here at the head of this expedition to search the forests of black bayou." "for what?" he demanded, in a dull, accentless voice. "for a totally new species of human being, grue. i wish to catch one and take it back to new york in that folding cage." his green eyes had grown narrow as though sun-dazzled. kemper had stepped behind us into the woods and was now busy setting up the folding cage. grue remained motionless. "i am going to offer you," i said, "the sum of one thousand dollars in gold if you can guide us to a spot where we may see this hitherto unknown species--a creature which is apparently a man but which has, in the back of his head, a _third eye_--" i paused in amazement: grue's cheeks had suddenly puffed out and were quivering; and from the corners of his slitted mouth he was emitting a whimpering sound like the noise made by a low-circling pigeon. "grue!" i cried. "what's the matter with you?" "what is _he_ doing?" screamed grue, quivering from head to foot, but not turning around. "who?" i cried. "the man behind me!" "professor kemper? he's setting up the folding cage--" with a screech that raised my hair, grue whipped out his murderous knife and _hurled himself backward_ at kemper, but the latter shrank aside behind the partly erected cage, and grue whirled around, snarling, hacking, and even biting at the wood frame and steel bars. and then occurred a thing so horrid that it sickened me to the pit of my stomach; for the man's sagging straw hat had fallen off, and there, in the back of his head, through the coarse, black, ratty hair, i saw a glassy eye glaring at me. "kemper!" i shouted. "he's got a third eye! he's one of them! knock him flat with your riflestock!" and i seized a shot-gun from the top of the baggage bundle on the ground beside me, and leaped at grue, aiming a terrific blow at him. [illustration: "'kemper!' i shouted.... 'he is one of them! knock him flat with your riflestock!'"] but the glassy eye in the back of his head was watching me between the clotted strands of hair, and he dodged both kemper and me, swinging his heavy knife in circles and glaring at us both out of the front and back of his head. kemper seized him by his arm, but grue's shirt came off, and i saw his entire body was as furry as an ape's. and all the while he was snapping at us and leaping hither and thither to avoid our blows; and from the corners of his puffed cheeks he whined and whimpered and mewed through the saliva foam. "keep him from the water!" i panted, following him with clubbed shot-gun; and as i advanced i almost stepped on a soiled heap of foulness--the dead buzzard which he had caught and worried to death with his teeth. suddenly he threw his knife at my head, hurling it backward; dodged, screeched, and bounded by me toward the shore of the lagoon, where the pretty waitress was standing, petrified. for one moment i thought he had her, but she picked up her skirts, ran for the nearest boat, and seized a harpoon; and in his fierce eagerness to catch her he leaped clear over the boat and fell with a splash into the lagoon. as kemper and i sprang aboard and looked over into the water, we could see him going down out of reach of a harpoon; and his body seemed to be silver-plated, flashing and glittering like a burnished eel, so completely did the skin of air envelope him, held there by the fur that covered him. and, as he rested for a moment on the bottom, deep down through the clear waters of the lagoon where he lay prone, i could see, as the current stirred his long, black hair, the third eye looking up at us, glassy, unwinking, horrible. * * * * * a bubble or two, like globules of quicksilver, were detached from the burnished skin of air that clothed him, and came glittering upward. suddenly there was a flash; a flurrying cloud of blue mud; and grue was gone. * * * * * after a long while i turned around in the muteness of my despair. and slowly froze. for the pretty waitress, becomingly pale, was gathered in kemper's arms, her cheek against his shoulder. neither seemed to be aware of me. "darling," he said, in the imbecile voice of a man in love, "why do you tremble so when i am here to protect you? don't you love and trust me?" "oo--h--yes," she sighed, pressing her cheek closer to his shoulder. i shoved my hands into my pockets, passed them without noticing them, and stepped ashore. and there i sat down under a tree, with my back toward them, all alone and face to face with the greatest grief of my life. but which it was--the loss of her or the loss of grue, i had not yet made up my mind. the immortal i as everybody knows, the great majority of americans, upon reaching the age of natural selection, are elected to the american institute of arts and ethics, which is, so to speak, the ellis island of the academy. occasionally a general mobilization of the academy is ordered and, from the teeming population of the institute, a new immortal is selected for the american academy of moral endeavor by the simple process of blindfolded selection from _who's which_. the motto of this most stately of earthly institutions is a peculiarly modest, truthful, and unintentional epigram by tupper: "unknown, i became famous; famous, i remain unknown." and so i found it to be the case; for, when at last i was privileged to write my name, "smith, academician," i discovered to my surprise that i knew none of my brother immortals, and, more amazing still, none of them had ever heard of me. this latter fact became the more astonishing to me as i learned the identity of the other immortals. even the president of our great republic was numbered among these olympians. i had every right to suppose that he had heard of me. i had happened to hear of him, because his secretary of state once mentioned him at chautauqua. it was a wonderfully meaningless sensation to know nobody and to discover myself equally unknown amid that matchless companionship. we were like a mixed bunch of gods, greek, norse, hindu, hottentot--all gathered on olympus, having never heard of each other but taking it for granted that we were all gods together and all members of this club. my initiation into the academy had been fixed for april first, and i was much worried concerning the address which i was of course expected to deliver on that occasion before my fellow members. it had to be an exciting address because slumber was not an infrequent phenomenon among the immortals on such solemn occasions. like dozens of dozing joves a dull discourse always set them nodding. but always under such circumstances the pretty ushers from barnard college passed around refreshments; a suffragette orchestra struck up; the ushers uprooted the seated immortals and fox-trotted them into comparative consciousness. but i didn't wish to have my inaugural address interrupted, therefore i was at my wits' ends to discover a subject of such exciting scientific interest that my august audience could not choose but listen as attentively as they would listen from the front row to some deathless stunt in vaudeville. that morning i had left the bronx rather early, hoping that a long walk might compose my thoughts and enable me to think of some sufficiently entertaining and unusual subject for my inaugural address. i walked as far as columbia university, gazed with rapture upon its magnificent architecture until i was as satiated as though i had arisen from a banquet at childs'. to aid mental digestion i strolled over to the noble home of the academy and institute adjoining mr. huntington's hispano-moresque museum. it was a fine, sunny morning, and the immortals were being exercised by a number of pretty ushers from barnard. i gazed upon the impressive procession with pride unutterable; very soon i also should walk two and two in the sunshine, my dome crowned with figurative laurels, cracking scientific witticisms with my fellow inmates, or, perhaps, squeezing the pretty fingers of some--but let that pass. i was, as i say, gazing upon this inspiring scene on a beautiful morning in february, when i became aware of a short and visibly vulgar person beside me, plucking persistently at my elbow. "are you the great academician, perfessor smith?" he asked, tipping his pearl-coloured and somewhat soiled bowler. "yes," i said condescendingly. "your description of me precludes further doubt. what can i do for you, my good man?" "are you this here perfessor smith of the department of anthropology in the bronx park zoölogical society?" he persisted. "what do you desire of me?" i repeated, taking another look at him. he was exceedingly ordinary. "prof, old sport," he said cordially, "i took a slant at the papers yesterday, an' i seen all about the big time these guys had when you rode the goat--" "rode--_what_?" "when you was elected. get me?" i stared at him. he grinned in a friendly way. "the privacy of those solemn proceedings should remain sacred. it were unfit to discuss such matters with the world at large," i said coldly. "i get you," he rejoined cheerfully. "what do you desire of me?" i repeated. "why this unseemly apropos?" "i was comin' to it. perfessor, i'll be frank. i need money--" "you need brains!" "no," he said good-humouredly, "i've got 'em; plenty of 'em; i'm overstocked with idees. what i want to do is to sell _you_ a few--" "do you know you are impudent!" "listen, friend. i seen a piece in the papers as how you was to make the speech of your life when you ride the goat for these here guys on april first--" "i decline to listen--" "_one_ minute, friend! i want to ask you one thing! _what_ are you going to talk about?" i was already moving away but i stopped and stared at him. "that's the question," he nodded with unimpaired cheerfulness, "_what_ are you going to talk about on april _the_ first? remember it's the hot-air party of your life. _ree_-member that each an' every paper in the united states will print what you say. now, how about it, friend? are you up in your lines?" swallowing my repulsion for him i said: "why are you concerned as to what may be the subject of my approaching address?" "there you are, prof!" he exclaimed delightedly; "i want to do business with you. that's me! i'm frank about it. say, there ought to be a wad of the joyful in it for us both--" "what?" "sure. we can work it any old way. take tyng, tyng and company, the typewriter people. i'd be ashamed to tell you what i can get out o' them if you'll mention the tyng-tyng typewriter in your speech--" "what you suggest is infamous!" i said haughtily. "believe _me_ there's enough in it to make it a financial coup, and i ask you, prof, isn't a financial coup respectable?" "you seem to be morally unfitted to comprehend--" "pardon _me_! i'm fitted up regardless with all kinds of fixtures. i'm fixed to undertake anything. now if you'd prefer the bunsen baby biscuit bunch--why old man bunsen would come across--" "i won't do such things!" i said angrily. "very well, very well. don't get riled, sir. that's only one way to build on fifth avenoo. i've got one hundred thousand other ways--" "i don't want to talk to you--" "they're honest--some of them. say, if you want a stric'ly honest deal i've got the goods. only it ain't as easy and the money ain't as big--" "i don't want to talk to you--" "yes you do. you don't reelize it but you do. why you're fixin' to make the holler of your life, ain't you? what are you goin' to say? hey? what you aimin' to say to make those guys set up? what's the use of up-stagin'? ain't you willin' to pay me a few plunks if i _dy_-vulge to you the most startlin' phenomena that has ever electrified civilization sense the era of p.t. barnum!" i was already hurrying away when the mention of that great scientist's name halted me once more. the little flashy man had been tagging along at my heels, talking cheerfully and volubly all the while; and now, as i halted again, he struck an attitude, legs apart, thumbs hooked in his arm-pits, and his head cocked knowingly on one side. "prof," he said, "if you'd work in the tyng-tyng company, or fix it up with bunsen to mention his baby biscuits as the most nootritious of condeements, there'd be more in it for you an' me. but it's up to you." "well i won't!" i retorted. "very well, ve-ry well," he said soothingly. "then look over another line o' samples. no trouble to show 'em--none at all, sir! now if p.t. barnum was alive--" i said very seriously: "the name of that great discoverer falling from your illiterate lips has halted me a second time. his name alone invests your somewhat suspicious conversation with a dignity and authority heretofore conspicuously absent. if, as you hint, you have any scientific information for sale which p.t. barnum might have considered worth purchasing, you may possibly find in me a client. proceed, young sir." "say, listen, bo--i mean, prof. i've got the goods. don't worry. i've got information in my think-box that would make your kick-in speech the event of the century. the question remains, do i get mine?" [illustration: "'say, listen, bo--i mean, prof. i've got the goods.'"] "what is this scientific information?" we had now walked as far as riverside drive. there were plenty of unoccupied benches. i sat down and he seated himself beside me. for a few moments i gazed upon the magnificent view. even he seemed awed by the proportions of the superb iron gas tank dominating the prospect. i gazed at the colossal advertisements across the hudson, at the freight trains below; i gazed upon the lordly hudson itself, that majestic sewer which drains the empire state, bearing within its resistless flood millions of tons of insoluble matter from that magic fairyland which we call "up-state," to the sea. and, thinking of disposal plants, i thought of that sublime paraphrase--"from the mohawk to the hudson, and from the hudson to the sea." "bo," he said, "i gotta hand it to you. them guys might have got wise if you had worked in the tyng-tyng company or the bunsen stuff. there was big money into it, but it might not have went." i waited curiously. "but this here dope i'm startin' in to cook for you is a straight, reelible, an' hones' pill. p.t. barnum he would have went a million miles to see what i seen last janooary down in the coquina country--" "where is that?" "say; that's what costs money to know. when i put you wise i'm due to retire from actyve business. get me?" "go on." "sure. i was down to the coquina country, a-doin'--well, i was doin' rubes. i gotta be hones' with _you_, prof. that's what i was a-doin' of--sellin' farms under water to suckers. bee-u-tiful florida! own your own orange grove. seven crops o' strawberries every winter in gawd's own country--get me?" he bestowed upon me a loathsome wink. "well, it went big till i made a break and got in dutch with the navy department what was surveyin' the everglades for a safe and sane harbor of refuge for the navy in time o' war. "sir, they was a-dredgin' up the farms i was sellin', an' the suckers heard of it an' squealed somethin' fierce, an' i had to hustle! yes, sir, i had to git up an' mosey cross-lots. and what with the federal gov'ment chasin' me one way an' them rubes an' the sheriff of pickalocka county racin' me t'other, i got lost for fair--yes, sir." he smiled reminiscently, produced from his pockets the cold and offensive remains of a partly consumed cigar, and examined it critically. then he requested a match. "i shall now pass over lightly or in subdood silence the painful events of my flight," he remarked, waving his cigar and expelling a long squirt of smoke from his unshaven lips. "surfice it to say that i got everythin' that was comin' to me, an' then some, what with snakes and murskeeters, an' briers an' mud, an' hunger an' thirst an' heat. wasn't there a wop named pizarro or somethin' what got lost down in florida? well, he's got nothin' on me. i never want to see the dam' state again. but i'll go back if _you_ say so!" his small rat eyes rested musingly upon the river; he sucked thoughtfully at his cigar, hooked one soiled thumb into the armhole of his fancy vest and crossed his legs. "to resoom," he said cheerily; "i come out one day, half nood, onto the banks of the miami river. the rest was a pipe after what i had went through. "i trimmed a guy at miami, got clothes and railroad fare, an' ducked. "now the valyble portion of my discourse is this here partial information concernin' what i seen--or rather what i run onto durin' my crool flight from my ree-lentless persecutors. "an' these here is the facts: there is, contrary to maps, coast survey guys, an' general opinion, a range of hills in florida, made entirely of coquina. "it's a good big range, too, fifty miles long an' anywhere from one to five miles acrost. "an' what i've got to say is this: into them there coquina hills there still lives the expirin' remains of the cave-men--" "what!" i exclaimed incredulously. "or," he continued calmly, "to speak more stric'ly, the few individools of that there expirin' race is now totally reduced to a few women." "your statement is wild--" "no; but they're wild. i seen 'em. bein' extremely bee-utiful i approached nearer, but they hove rocks at me, they did, an' they run into the rocks like squir'ls, they did, an' i was too much on the blink to stick around whistlin' for dearie. "but i seen 'em; they was all dolled up in the skins of wild annermals. when i see the first one she was eatin' onto a ear of corn, an' i nearly ketched her, but she run like hellnall--yes, sir. just like that. "so next i looked for some cave guy to waltz up an' paste me, but no. an' after i had went through them dam' coquina mountains i realized that there was nary a guy left in this here expirin' race, only women, an' only about a dozen o' them." he ceased, meditatively expelled a cloud of pungent smoke, and folded his arms. "of course," said i with a sneer, "you have proofs to back your pleasant tale?" "sure. i made a map." "i see," said i sarcastically. "you propose to have me pay you for that map?" "sure." "how much, my confiding friend?" "ten thousand plunks." i began to laugh. he laughed, too: "you'll pay 'em if you take my map an' go to the coquina hills," he said. i stopped laughing: "do you mean that i am to go there and investigate before i pay you for this information?" "sure. if the goods ain't up to sample the deal is off." "sample? what sample?" i demanded derisively. he made a gesture with one soiled hand as though quieting a balky horse. "i took a snapshot, friend. you wanta take a slant at it?" "you took a photograph of one of these alleged cave-dwellers?" "i took ten but when these here cave-ladies hove rocks at me the fillums was put on the blink--all excep' this one which i dee-veloped an' printed." he drew from his inner coat pocket a photograph and handed it to me--the most amazing photograph i ever gazed upon. astounded, almost convinced i sat looking at this irrefutable evidence in silence. the smoke of his cigar drifting into my face aroused me from a sort of dazed inertia. "listen," i said, half strangled, "are you willing to wait for payment until i personally have verified the existence of these--er--creatures?" "you betcher! when you have went there an' have saw the goods, just let me have mine if they're up to sample. is that right?" "it seems perfectly fair." "it is fair. i wouldn't try to do a scientific guy--no, sir. me without no eddycation, only brains? fat chance i'd have to put one over on a academy sport what's chuck-a-block with latin an' greek an' scientific stuff an' all like that!" i admitted to myself that he'd stand no chance. "is it a go?" he asked. "where is the map?" i inquired, trembling internally with excitement. "ha--ha!" he said. "listen to my mirth! the map is inside here, old sport!" and he tapped his retreating forehead with one nicotine-stained finger. "i see," said i, trying to speak carelessly; "you desire to pilot me." "i don't desire to but i gotta go with you." "an accurate map--" "can it, old sport! a accurate map is all right when it's pasted over the front of your head for a face. but i wear the other kind of map _inside_ me conk. get me?" "i confess that i do not." "well, get _this_, then. it's a cash deal. if the goods is up to sample you hand me mine then an' there. i don't deliver no goods f.o.b. i shows 'em to you. after you have saw them it's up to you to round 'em up. that's all, as they say when our great president pulls a gun. there ain't goin' to be no shootin'; walk out quietly, ladies!" after i had sat there for fully ten minutes staring at him i came to the only logical conclusion possible to a scientific mind. i said: "you are, admittedly, unlettered; you are confessedly a chevalier of industry; personally you are exceedingly distasteful to me. but it is useless to deny that you are the most extraordinary man i ever saw.... how soon can you take me to these coquina hills?" "gimme twenty-four hours to--fix things," he said gaily. "is that all?" "it's plenty, i guess. an'--say!" "what?" "it's a stric'ly cash deal. get me?" "i shall have with me a certified check for ten thousand dollars. also a pair of automatics." he laughed: "huh!" he said, "i could loco your cabbage-palm soup if i was _that_ kind! i'm on the level, perfessor. if i wasn't i could get you in about a hundred styles while you was blinkin' at what you was a-thinkin' about. but i ain't no gun-man. you hadn't oughta pull that stuff on me. i've give you your chanst; take it or leave it." i pondered profoundly for another ten minutes. and at last my decision was irrevocably reached. "it's a bargain," i said firmly. "what is your name?" "sam mink. write it samuel onto that there certyfied check--if you can spare the extra seconds from your valooble time." ii on monday, the first day of march, , about : a.m., we came in sight of something which, until i had met mink, i never had dreamed existed in southern florida--a high range of hills. it had been an eventless journey from new york to miami, from miami to fort coquina; but from there through an absolutely pathless wilderness as far as i could make out, the journey had been exasperating. where we went i do not know even now: saw-grass and water, hammock and shell mound, palm forests, swamps, wildernesses of water-oak and live-oak, vast stretches of pine, lagoons, sloughs, branches, muddy creeks, reedy reaches from which wild fowl rose in clouds where alligators lurked or lumbered about after stranded fish, horrible mangrove thickets full of moccasins and water-turkeys, heronry more horrible still, out of which the heat from a vertical sun distilled the last atom of nauseating effluvia--all these choice spots we visited under the guidance of the wretched mink. i seemed to be missing nothing that might discourage or disgust me. he appeared to know the way, somehow, although my compass became mysteriously lost the first day out from fort coquina. again and again i felt instinctively that we were travelling in a vast circle, but mink always denied it, and i had no scientific instruments to verify my deepening suspicions. another thing bothered me: mink did not seem to suffer from insects or heat; in fact, to my intense annoyance, he appeared to be having a comfortable time of it, eating and drinking with gusto, sleeping snugly under a mosquito bar, permitting me to do all camp work, the paddling as long as we used a canoe, and all the cooking, too, claiming, on his part, a complete ignorance of culinary art. sometimes he condescended to catch a few fish for the common pan; sometimes he bestirred himself to shoot a duck or two. but usually he played on his concertina during his leisure moments which were plentiful. i began to detest samuel mink. at first i was murderously suspicious of him, and i walked about with my automatic arsenal ostentatiously displayed. but he looked like such a miserable little shrimp that i became ashamed of my precautions. besides, as he cheerfully pointed out, a little koonti soaked in my drinking water, would have done my business for me if he had meant me any physical harm. also he had a horrid habit of noosing moccasins for sport; and it would have been easy for him to introduce one to me while i slept. really what most worried me was the feeling which i could not throw off that somehow or other we were making very little progress in any particular direction. he even admitted that there was reason for my doubts, but he confided to me that to find these coquina hills, was like traversing a maze. doubling to and fro among forests and swamps, he insisted, was the only possible path of access to the undiscovered coquina hills of florida. otherwise, he argued, these coquina hills would long ago have been discovered. and it seemed to me that he had been right when at last we came out on the edge of a palm forest and beheld that astounding blue outline of hills in a country which has always been supposed to lie as flat as a flabby flap-jack. a desert of saw-palmetto stretched away before us to the base of the hills; game trails ran through it in every direction like sheep paths; a few moth-eaten florida deer trotted away as we appeared. into one of these trails stepped samuel mink, burdened only with his concertina and a box of cigars. i, loaded with seventy pounds of impedimenta including a moving-picture apparatus, reeled after him. he walked on jauntily toward the hills, his pearl-coloured bowler hat at an angle. occasionally he played upon his concertina as he advanced; now and then he cut a pigeon wing. i hated him. at every toilsome step i hated him more deeply. he played "tipperary" on his concertina. "see 'em, old top?" he inquired, nodding toward the hills. "i'm a man of my word, i am. look at 'em! take 'em in, old sport! an' reemember, each an' every hill is guaranteed to contain one bony fidy cave-lady what is the last vanishin' traces of a extinc' an' dissappeerin' race!" we toiled on--that is, i did, bowed under my sweating load of paraphernalia. he skipped in advance like some degenerate twentieth century faun, playing on his pipes the unmitigated melodies of george cohan. "watch your step!" he cried, nimbly avoiding the attentions of a ground-rattler which tried to caress his ankle from under a saw-palmetto. with a shudder i gave the deadly little reptile room and floundered forward a prey to exhaustion, melancholy, and red-bugs. a few buzzards kept pace with me, their broad, black shadows gliding ominously over the sun-drenched earth; blue-tail lizards went rustling and leaping away on every side; floppy soft-winged butterflies escorted me; a strange bird which seemed to be dressed in a union suit of checked gingham, flew from tree to tree as i plodded on, and squealed at me persistently. at last i felt the hard coquina under foot; the cool blue shadow of the hills enveloped me; i slipped off my pack, dumped it beside a little rill of crystal water which ran sparkling from the hills, and sat down on a soft and fragrant carpet of hound's-tongue. after a while i drank my fill at the rill, bathed head, neck, face and arms, and, feeling delightfully refreshed, leaned back against the fern-covered slab of coquina. "what are you doing?" i demanded of mink who was unpacking the kit and disengaging the moving-picture machine. "gettin' ready," he replied, fussing busily with the camera. "you don't expect to see any cave people here, do you?" i asked with a thrill of reviving excitement. "why not?" "_here_?" "cert'nly. why the first one i seen was a-drinkin' into this brook." "here! where i'm sitting?" i asked incredulously. "yes, sir, right there. it was this way; i was lyin' down, tryin' to figure the shortes' way to fort coquina, an' wishin' i was nearer broadway than i was to the equator, when i heard a voice say, 'blub-blub, muck-a-muck!' an' then i seen two cave-ladies come sof'ly stealin' along." "w-where?" "right there where you are a-sittin'. say, they was lookers! an' they come along quiet like two big-eyed deer, kinder nosin' the air and listenin'. "'gee whiz,' thinks i, 'longacre ain't got so much on them dames!' an' at that one o' them wore a wild-cat's skin an' that's all--an' a wild-cat ain't big. and t'other she sported pa'm-leaf pyjamas. "so when they don't see nothin' around to hinder, they just lays down flat and takes a drink into that pool, lookin' up every swallow like little birds listenin' and kinder thankin' god for a good square drink. "i knowed they was wild girls soon as i seen 'em. also they sez to one another, 'blub-blub!' kinder sof'ly. all the same i've seen wilder ladies on broadway so i took a chanst where i was squattin' behind a rock. "so sez i, 'ah there, sweetie blub-blub! have a taxi on me!' an' with that they is on their feet, quiverin' all over an' nosin' the wind. so first i took some snapshots at 'em with my bijoo camera. "i guess they scented me all right for i seen their eyes grow bigger, an' then they give a bound an' was off over the rocks; an' me after 'em. say, that was some steeple-chase until a few more cave-ladies come out on them rocks above us an' hove chunks of coquina at me. "an' with all that dodgin' an' duckin' of them there rocks the cave-girls got away; an' i seen 'em an' the other cave-ladies scurryin' into little caves--one whisked into this hole, another scuttled into that--bing! all over! "all i could think of was to light a cigar an' blow the smoke in after the best-lookin' cave-girl. but i couldn't smoke her out, an' i hadn't time to starve her out. so that's all i know about this here pree-historic an' extinc' race o' vanishin' cave-ladies." as his simple and illiterate narrative advanced i became proportionally excited; and, when he ended, i sprang to my feet in an uncontrollable access of scientific enthusiasm: "was she really pretty?" i asked. "listen, she was that peachy--" "enough!" i cried. "science expects every man to do his duty! are your films ready to record a scene without precedent in the scientific annals of creation?" "they sure is!" "then place your camera and your person in a strategic position. this is a magnificent spot for an ambush! come over beside me!" he came across to where i had taken cover among the ferns behind the parapet of coquina, and with a thrill of pardonable joy i watched him unlimber his photographic artillery and place it in battery where my every posture and action would be recorded for posterity if a cave-lady came down to the water-hole to drink. "it were futile," i explained to him in a guarded voice, "for me to attempt to cajole her as you attempted it. neither playful nor moral suasion could avail, for it is certain that no cave-lady understands english." "i thought o' that, too," he remarked. "i said, 'blub-blub! muck-a-muck!' to 'em when they started to run, but it didn't do no good." i smiled: "doubtless," said i, "the spoken language of the cave-dweller is made up of similarly primitive exclamations, and you were quite right in attempting to communicate with the cave-ladies and establish a cordial entente. professor garner has done so among the simian population of gaboon. your attempt is most creditable and i shall make it part of my record. "but the main idea is to capture a living specimen of cave-lady, and corroborate every detail of that pursuit and capture upon the films. "and believe me, mr. mink," i added, my voice trembling with emotion, "no academician is likely to go to sleep when i illustrate my address with such pictures as you are now about to take!" "the police might pull the show," he suggested. "no," said i, "science is already immune; art is becoming so. only nature need fear the violence of prejudice; and doubtless she will continue to wear pantalettes and common-sense nighties as long as our great republic endures." i unslung my field-glasses, adjusted them and took a penetrating squint at the hillside above. nothing stirred up there except a buzzard or two wheeling on tip-curled pinions above the palms. presently mink inquired whether i had "lamped" anything, and i replied that i had not. "they may be snoozin' in their caves," he suggested. "but don't you fret, old top; you'll get what's comin' to you and i'll get mine." "about that check--" i began and hesitated. "sure. what about it?" "i suppose i'm to give it to you when the first cave-woman appears." "that's what!" i pondered the matter for a while in silence. i could see no risk in paying him this draft on sight. "all right," i said. "bring on your cave-dwellers." hour succeeded hour, but no cave-dwellers came down to the pool to drink. we ate luncheon--a bit of cold duck, some koonti-bread, and a dish of palm-cabbage. i smoked an inexpensive cigar; mink lit a more pretentious one. afterward he played on his concertina at my suggestion on the chance that the music might lure a cave-girl down the hill. nymphs were sometimes caught that way, and modern science seems to be reverting more and more closely to the simpler truths of the classics which, in our ignorance and arrogance, we once dismissed as fables unworthy of scientific notice. [illustration: "he played on his concertina ... on the chance that the music might lure a cave-girl down the hill."] however this broadway faun piped in vain: no white-footed dryad came stealing through the ferns to gaze, perhaps to dance to the concertina's plaintive melodies. so after a while he put his concertina into his pocket, cocked his derby hat on one side, gathered his little bandy legs under his person, and squatted there in silence, chewing the wet and bitter end of his extinct cigar. toward mid-afternoon i unslung my field-glasses again and surveyed the hill. at first i noticed nothing, not even a buzzard; then, of a sudden, my attention was attracted to something moving among the fern-covered slabs of coquina just above where we lay concealed--a slim, graceful shape half shadowed under a veil of lustrous hair which glittered like gold in the sun. "mink!" i whispered hoarsely. "one of them is coming! this--this indeed is the stupendous and crowning climax of my scientific career!" his comment was incredibly coarse: "gimme the dough," he said without a tremor of surprise. indeed there was a metallic ring of menace in his low and entirely cold tones as he laid one hand on my arm. "no welchin'," he said, "or i put the whole show on the bum!" the overwhelming excitement of the approaching crisis neutralized my disgust; i fished out the certified check from my pocket and flung the miserable scrap of paper at him. "get your machine ready!" i hissed. "do you understand what these moments mean to the civilized world!" "i sure do," he said. nearer and nearer came the lithe white figure under its glorious crown of hair, moving warily and gracefully amid the great coquina slabs--nearer, nearer, until i no longer required my glasses. [illustration: "moving warily and gracefully amid the great coquina slabs."] she was a slender red-lipped thing, blue-eyed, dainty of hand and foot. the spotted pelt of a wild-cat covered her, or attempted to. i unfolded a large canvas sack as she approached the pool. for a moment or two she stood gazing around her and her close-set ears seemed to be listening. then, apparently satisfied, she threw back her beautiful young head and sent a sweet wild call floating back to the sunny hillside. "blub-blub!" rang her silvery voice; "blub-blub! muck-a-muck!" and from the fern-covered hollows above other voices replied joyously to her reassuring call, "blub-blub-blub!" the whole bunch was coming down to drink--the entire remnant of a prehistoric and almost extinct race of human creatures was coming to quench its thirst at this water-hole. how i wished for james barnes at the camera's crank! he alone could do justice to this golden girl before me. one by one, clad in their simple yet modest gowns of pelts and garlands, five exquisitively superb specimens of cave-girl came gracefully down to the water-hole to drink. almost swooning with scientific excitement i whispered to the unspeakable mink: "begin to crank as soon as i move!" and, gathering up my big canvas sack i rose, and, still crouching, stole through the ferns on tip-toe. they had already begun to drink when they heard me; i must have made some slight sound in the ferns, for their keen ears detected it and they sprang to their feet. it was a magnificent sight to see them there by the pool, tense, motionless, at gaze, their dainty noses to the wind, their beautiful eyes wide and alert. for a moment, enchanted, i remained spellbound in the presence of this prehistoric spectacle, then, waving my sack, i sprang out from behind the rock and cantered toward them. instead of scattering and flying up the hillside they seemed paralyzed, huddling together as though to get into the picture. delighted i turned and glanced at mink; he was cranking furiously. with an uncontrollable shout of triumph and delight i pranced toward the huddling cave-girls, arms outspread as though heading a horse or concentrating chickens. and, totally forgetting the uselessness of urbanity and civilized speech as i danced around that lovely but terrified group, "ladies!" i cried, "do not be alarmed, because i mean only kindness and proper respect. civilization calls you from the wilds! sentiment, pity, piety propel my legs, not the ruthless desire to injure or enslave you! ladies! you are under the wing of science. an anthropologist is speaking to you! fear nothing! rather rejoice! your wonderful race shall be rescued from extinction--even if i have to do it myself! ladies, don't run!" they had suddenly scattered and were now beginning to dodge me. "i come among you bearing the precious promises of education, of religion, of equal franchise, of fashion!" "blub-blub!" they whimpered continuing to dodge me. "yes!" i cried in an excess of transcendental enthusiasm. "blub-blub! and though i do not comprehend the exquisite simplicity of your primeval speech, i answer with all my heart, 'blub-blub!'" meanwhile, they were dodging and eluding me as i chased first one, then another, one hand outstretched, the other invitingly clutching the sack. a hasty glance at mink now and then revealed him industriously cranking away. once i fell into the pool. that section of the film should never be released, i determined, as i blew the water out of my mouth, gasped, and started after a lovely, ruddy-haired cave-girl whose curiosity had led her to linger beside the pool in which i was floundering. but run as fast as i could and skip hither and thither with all the agility i could muster i did not seem to be able to seize a single cave-girl. every few minutes, baffled and breathless, i rested; and they always clustered together uttering their plaintively musical "blub-blub," not apparently very much afraid of me, and even exhibiting curiosity. now and then they cast glances toward mink who was grinding away steadily, and i could scarcely retain a shout of joy as i realized what wonderful pictures he was taking. indeed luck seemed to be with me, so far, for never once did these beautiful prehistoric creatures retire out of photographic range. but otherwise the problem was becoming serious. i could not catch one of them; they eluded me with maddening swiftness and grace; my pauses to recover my breath became more frequent. at last, dead beat, i sat down on a slab of coquina. and when i was able to articulate i turned around toward mink. "you'll have to drop your camera and come over and help me," i panted. "i'm all in!" "not quite," he said. for a moment i did not understand him; then under my outraged eyes, and within the hearing of my horrified ears a terrible thing occurred. "now, ladies!" yelled mink, "all on for the fine-ally! up-stage there, you red-headed little spot-crabber! mabel! take the call! now smile the whole bloomin' bunch of you!" what was he saying? i did not comprehend. i stared dully at the six cave-girls as they grouped themselves in a semi-circle behind me. then, as one of them came up and unfolded a white strip of cloth behind my head, the others drew from concealed pockets in their kilts of cat-fur, little silk flags of all nations and began to wave them. paralyzed i turned my head. on the strip of white cloth, which the tallest cave-girl was holding directly behind my head, was printed in large black letters: sunset soap for one cataclysmic instant i gazed upon this hideous spectacle, then with an unearthly cry i collapsed into the arms of the nicest looking one. [illustration: "i collapsed into the arms of the nicest looking one."] there is little more to say. contrary to my fears the release of this outrageous film did not injure my scientific standing. modern science, accustomed to proprietary testimonials, has become reconciled to such things. my appearance upon the films in the movies in behalf of sunset soap, oddly enough, seemed to enhance my scientific reputation. even such austere purists as guilford, the cubist poet, congratulated me upon my fearless independence of ethical tradition. and i had lived to learn a gentler truth than that, for, the pretty girl who had been cast for cave-girl no. --but let that pass. _adhibenda est in jocando moderatio_. sweet are the uses of advertisement. the ladies of the lake i at the suggestion of several hundred thousand ladies desiring to revel and possibly riot in the saturnalia of equal franchise, the unnamed lakes in that vast and little known region in alaska bounded by the ylanqui river and the thunder mountains were now being inexorably named after women. it was a beautiful thought. already several exquisite, lonely bits of water, gem-set among the eternal peaks, mirrors for cloud and soaring eagle, a glass for the moon as keystone to the towering arch of stars, had been irrevocably labelled. already there was lake amelia jones, lake sadie dingleheimer, lake maggie mcfadden, and lake mrs. gladys doolittle batt. i longed to see these lakes under the glamour of their newly added beauty. imagine, therefore, my surprise and happiness when i received the following communication from my revered and beloved chief, professor farrago, dated from the smithsonian institute, washington, whither he had been summoned in haste to examine and pronounce upon the identity of a very small bird supposed to be a specimen of that rare and almost extinct creature, the two-toed titmouse, _mustitta duototus_, to be scientifically exact, as i invariably strive to be. the important letter in question was as follows: to percy smith, b.s., d.f., etc., etc., curator, department of anthropology, administration building, bronx park, n.y. _my dear mr. smith_: several very important and determined ladies, recently honoured by the government in having a number of lakes in alaska named after them, have decided to make a pilgrimage to that region, inspired by a characteristic desire to gaze upon the lakes named after them individually. they request information upon the following points: st. are the waters of the lakes in that locality sufficiently clear for a lady to do her hair by? in that event, the expedition will not burden itself with looking-glasses. nd. are there any hotels? (you need merely say, no. i have tried to explain to them that it is, for the most part, an unexplored wilderness, but they insist upon further information from you.) rd. if there are hotels, is there also running water to be had? (you may tell them that there is plenty of running water.) th. what are the summer outdoor amusements? (you may inform them that there is plenty of bathing, boating, fishing, and an abundance of shade trees. also, excellent mountain-climbing to be had in the vicinity. you need not mention the pastimes of "hunt the flea" or "dodge the skeeter.") i am not by nature cruel, mr. smith, but when these ladies informed me that they had decided to penetrate that howling and unexplored wilderness without being burdened or interfered with by any member of my sex, for one horrid and criminal moment i hoped they would. because in that event none of them would ever come back. however, in my heart milder and more humane sentiments prevailed. i pointed out to them the peril of their undertaking, the dangers of an unexplored region, the necessity of masculine guidance and support. my earnestness and solicitude were, i admit, prompted partly by a desire to utilize this expensively projected expedition as a vehicle for the accumulation of scientific data. as soon as i heard of it i conceived the plan of attaching two members of our bronx park scientific staff to the expedition--you, and mr. brown. but no sooner did these determined ladies hear of it than they repelled the suggestion with indignation. now, the matter stands as follows: these ladies don't want any man in the expedition; but they have at last realized that they've got to take a guide or two. and there are no feminine guides in alaska. therefore, considering the immense and vital importance of such an opportunity to explore and report upon this unknown region at somebody else's expense, i suggest that you and brown meet these ladies at lake mrs. susan w. pillsbury, which lies on the edge of the region to be explored; that you, without actually perjuring yourselves too horribly, convey to them the misleading impression that you are the promised guides provided for them by a cowed and avuncular government; and that you take these fearsome ladies about and let them gaze at their reflections in the various lakes named after them; and that, while the expedition lasts, you secretly make such observations, notes, reports, and collections of the flora and fauna of the region as your opportunities may permit. no time is to be lost. if, at lake susan w. pillsbury, you find regular guides awaiting these ladies, you will bribe these guides to go away and you yourselves will then impersonate the guides. i know of no other way for you to explore this region, as all our available resources at bronx park have already been spent in painting appropriate scenery to line the cages of the mammalia, and also in the present exceedingly expensive expedition in search of the polka-dotted boom-bock, which is supposed to inhabit the jungle beyond lake niggerplug. my most solemn and sincere wishes accompany you. bless you! farrago. ii this, then, is how it came about that "kitten" brown and i were seated, one midgeful morning in july, by the pellucid waters of lake susan w. pillsbury, gnawing sections from a greasily fried trout, upon which i had attempted culinary operations. brown's baptismal name was william; but the unfortunate young man was once discovered indiscreetly embracing a pretty assistant in the administration building at bronx, and, furthermore, was overheard to address her as "kitten." so kitten brown it was for him in future. after he had fought all the younger members of the scientific staff in turn, he gradually became resigned to this annoying _nom d'amour_. lightly but thoroughly equipped for scientific field research, we had arrived at the rendezvous in time to bribe the two guides engaged by the government to go back to their own firesides. a week later the formidable expedition of representative ladies arrived; and now they were sitting on the shore of lake susan w. pillsbury, at a little distance from us, trying to keep the midges from their features and attempting to eat the fare provided for them by me. i myself couldn't eat it. no wonder they murmured. but hunger goaded them to attack the greasy mess of trout and fried cornmeal. kitten was saying to me: "our medicine chest isn't very extensive. i hope they brought their own. if they didn't, some among us will never again see new york." i stole a furtive glance at the unfortunate women. there was one among them--but let me first enumerate their heavy artillery: there was the reverend dr. amelia jones, blond, adipose, and close to the four-score mark. she stepped high in the equal franchise ranks. nobody had ever had the temerity to answer her back. there was miss sadie dingleheimer, fifty, emaciated, anemic, and gauntly glittering with thick-lensed eye-glasses. she was the president of the national prophylactic club, whatever that may be. there was miss margaret mcfadden, a titian, profusely toothed, muscular, and president of the hair dressers' union of the united states. there was mrs. gladys doolittle batt, a grass one--batt being represented as a vanishing point--president of the national eugenic and purity league; tall, gnarled, sinuously powerful, and prone to emotional attacks. the attacks were directed toward others. these, then, composed the heavy artillery. the artillery of the light brigade consisted only of a single piece. her name was angelica white, a delegate from the trained nurses' association of america. the nurses had been too busy with their business to attend such picnics, so one had been selected by lot to represent the busy association on this expedition. angelica white was a tall, fair, yellow-haired girl of twenty-two or three, with violet-blue eyes and red lips, and a way of smiling a little when spoken to--but let that pass. i mean only to be scientifically minute. a passion for fact has ever obsessed me. i have little literary ability and less desire to sully my pen with that degraded form of letters known as fiction. once in my life my mania for accuracy involved me lyrically. it was a short poem, but an earnest one: truth is mighty and must prevail, otherwise it were inadvisable to tell the tale. i bestowed it upon the new york _evening post_, but declined remuneration. my message belonged to the world. i don't mean the newspaper. her eyes, then, were tinted with that indefinable and agreeable nuance which modifies blue to a lilac or violet hue. watching her askance, i was deeply sorry that my cooking seemed to pain her. "guide!" said mrs. doolittle batt, in that remarkable, booming voice of hers. "ma'am!" said kitten brown and i with spontaneous alacrity, leaping from the ground as though shot at. "this cooking," she said, with an ominous stare at us, "is atrocious. don't you know how to cook?" i said with a smiling attempt at ease: "there are various ways of cooking food for the several species of mammalia which an all-wise providence--" "do you think you're cooking for wild-cats?" she demanded. our smiles faded. "it's my opinion that you're incompetent," remarked the reverend dr. jones, slapping at midges with a hand that might have rocked all the cradles of the nation, but had not rocked any. "we're not getting our money's worth," said miss dingleheimer, "even if the government does pay your salaries." i looked appealingly from one stony face to another. in miss mcfadden's eye there was the somber glint of battle. she said: "if you can guide us no better than you cook, god save us all this day week!" and she hurled the contents of her tin plate into lake susan w. pillsbury. mrs. doolittle batt arose: "come," she said; "it is time we started. what is the name of the first lake we may hope to encounter?" we knew no more than did they, but we said that lake gladys doolittle batt was the first, hoping to placate that fearsome woman. "come on, then!" she cried, picking up her carved and varnished mountain staff. miss dingleheimer had brought one, too, from the catskills. so kitten brown and i loaded our mule, set him in motion, and drove him forward into the unknown. where we were going we had not the slightest idea; the margin of the lake was easy travelling, so easy that we never noticed that we had already gone around the lake three times, until mrs. batt recognized the fact and turned on us furiously. i didn't know how to explain it, except to say feebly that i was doing it as a sort of preliminary canter to harden and inure the ladies. "we don't need hardening!" she snarled. "do you understand that!" i comprehended that at once. but i forced a sickly smile and skipped forward in the wake of my mule, with something of the same abandon which characterizes the flight of an unwelcome dog. in the terrified ear of kitten i voiced my doubts concerning the prospects of a pleasant journey. we marched in the following order: arthur, the heavily laden mule, led; then came kitten brown and myself, all hung over with stew-pans, shotguns, rifles, cartridge-belts, ponchos, and the toilet reticules of the ladies; then marched the reverend dr. jones, and, in order, filing behind her, miss dingleheimer, mrs. batt, miss mcfadden, and miss white--the latter in her trained nurse's costume and wearing a red cross on her sleeve--an idea of mrs. batt, who believed in emergency methods. mrs. batt also bore a banner, much interfered with by the foliage, bearing the inscription: equal rights! eugenics or extermination! after a while she shouted: "guide! here, you may carry this banner for a while! i'm tired." kitten and i took turns with it after that. it was hard work, particularly as one by one in turn they came up and hung their parasols and shopping reticules all over us. we plodded forward like a pair of moving department stores, not daring to shift our burdens to arthur, because we had already stuffed into the panniers of that simple and dignified animal all our collecting boxes, cyanide jars, butterfly nets, note-books, reels of piano wire, thermometers, barometers, hydrometers, stereometers, aeronoids, adnoids--everything, in fact, that guides are not supposed to pack into the woods, but which we had smuggled unbeknown to those misguided ones we guided. and, to make room for our scientific paraphernalia, we had been obliged to do a thing so mean, so inexpressibly low, that i blush to relate it. but facts are facts; we discarded nearly a ton of feminine impedimenta. there was fancy work of all sorts in the making or in the raw--materials for knitting, embroidering, tatting, sewing, hemming, stitching, drawn-work, lace-making, crocheting. also we disposed of almost half a ton of toilet necessities--powder, perfumery, cosmetics, hot-water bags, slippers, negligees, novels, magazines, bon-bons, chewing-gum, hat-boxes, gloves, stockings, underwear. we left enough apparel for each lady to change once. they'd have to do some scrubbing now. science can not be halted by hatpins; cosmos can not be side-tracked by cosmetics. toward sunset we came upon a small, crystal clear pond, set between the bases of several lofty mountains. i was ready to drop with fatigue, but i nerved myself, drew a deep, exultant breath, and with one of those fine, sweeping gestures, i cried: "lake mrs. gladys doolittle batt! eureka! at last! excelsior!" there was a profound silence behind me. i turned, striving to mask my apprehension with a smile. the ladies were regarding the pond in surprise. i admit that it was a pond, not a lake. injecting into my voice the last remnants of glee which i could summon, i shouted, "eureka!" and began to caper about as though the size and beauty of the pond had affected me with irrepressible enthusiasm, hoping by my emotion to stampede the convention. the cold voice of mrs. doolittle batt checked my transports: "is that puddle named after me?" she demanded. "m-ma'am?" i stammered. "if that wretched frog-pond has been christened with my name, somebody is going to get into trouble," she said ominously. a profound silence ensued. arthur patiently switched at flies. as for me, i looked up at the majestic pines, gazed upon the lofty and eternal hills, then ventured a sneaking glance all around me. but i could discover no avenue of escape in case mrs. batt should charge me. "i had been informed," she began dangerously, "that the majestic body of water, which i understood had been honoured with my name, was twelve miles long and three miles wide. this appears to be a puddle!" "b-b-but it's very p-pretty," i protested feebly. "it's quite round and clear, and it's nearly a quarter of a mile in d-diameter--" "mind your business!" retorted mrs. doolittle batt. "i've been swindled!" kitten brown knew more about women than did i. he said in a fairly steady voice: "madame, it is an outrage! the women of this mighty nation should make the government answerable for its duplicity! your lake should have been at least twenty miles long!" everybody turned and looked at kitten. he was a handsome dog. "this young man appears to have some trace of common-sense," said mrs. batt. "i shall see to it that the government is held responsible for this odious act of insulting duplicity. i--i won't have my name given to this--this wallow!--" she advanced toward me, her small eyes blazing: i retreated to leeward of arthur. "guide!" she said in a voice still trembling with passion. "are you certain that you have made no mistake? you appear to be unusually ignorant." "i am afraid there can be no room for doubt," i said, almost scared out of my senses. "and on top of this outrage, am i to eat your cooking?" she demanded passionately. "did i come here to look at this frog-pond and choke on your cooking? _did_ i?" "_i_ can cook," said a clear, pleasant voice at my elbow. and miss white came forward, cool, clean, fresh as a posy in her uniform and cap. i immediately got behind her. "i can cook very nicely," she said smilingly. "it is part of my profession, you know. so if you two guides will be kind enough to build the fire and help me--" she let her violet eyes linger on me for an instant, then on brown. a moment later he and i were jostling each other in our eagerness to obey her slightest suggestion. it is that way with men. so we built her a fire and unpacked our provisions, and we waited very politely on the ladies when dinner was ready. it was a fine dinner--coffee, bacon, flap-jacks, soup, ash-bread, stewed chicken. the heavy artillery, made ravenous by their journey, required vast quantities of ammunition. they banqueted largely. i gazed in amazement at mrs. doolittle batt as she swallowed one flap-jack after another, while her eyes bulged larger and larger. nor was the capacity of miss dingleheimer and the reverend dr. jones to be mocked at by pachyderms. brown and i left them eating while we erected the row of little tents. every lady had demanded a separate tent. so we cut saplings, set up the silk, drove pegs, and brought armfuls of balsam boughs. i was afraid they'd demand their knitting and other utensils, but they had eaten to repletion, and were sleepy; and as each toilet case or reticule contained also a nightgown, they drew the flaps of their several tents without insisting that we unpack arthur's panniers. they all had disappeared within their tents except miss white, who insisted on cooking something for us, although we protested that the scraps of the banquet were all right for mere guides. she stood beside us for a few minutes, watching us busy with our delicious dinner. "you poor fellows," she said gently. "you are nearly starved." it is agreeable to be sympathized with by a tall, fair, fresh young girl. we looked up, simpering gratefully. "this is really a most lovely little lake," she said, gazing out across the still, crystalline water which was all rose and gold in the sunset, save where the sombre shapes of the towering mountains were mirrored in glassy depths. "it's odd," i said, "that no trout are jumping. there ought to be lots of them there, and this is their jumping hour." we all looked at the quiet, oval bit of water. not a circle, not the slightest ripple disturbed it. "it must be deep," remarked brown. we gazed up at the three lofty peaks, the bases of which were the shores of this tiny gem among lakes. deep, deep, plunging down into dusky profundity, the rocks fell away sheer into limpid depths. "that little lake may be a thousand feet deep," i said. "in professor farrago, of bronx park, measured a lake in the thunder mountains, which was two thousand seven hundred and sixty-nine feet deep." miss white looked at me curiously. into a patch of late sunshine flitted a small butterfly--one of the _grapta_ species. it settled on a chip of wood, uncoiled its delicate proboscis, and spread its fulvous and deeply indented wings. "_grapta california_," remarked brown to me. "_vanessa asteriska_" i corrected him. "note the anal angle of the secondaries and the argentiferous discal area bordering the subcostal nervule." "the characteristic stripes on the primaries are wanting," he demurred. "it is double brooded. the summer form lacks the three darker bands." a few moments' silence was broken by the voice of miss white. "i had no idea," she remarked, "that alaskan guides were so familiar with entomological terms and nomenclature." we both turned very red. brown mumbled something about having picked up a smattering. i added that brown had taught me. perhaps she believed us; her blue eyes rested on us curiously, musingly. also, at moments, i fancied there was the faintest glint of amusement in them. she said: "two scientific gentlemen from new york requested permission to join this expedition, but mrs. batt refused them." she gazed thoughtfully upon the waters of lake gladys doolittle batt. "i wonder," she murmured, "what became of those two gentlemen." it was evident that we had betrayed ourselves to this young girl. she glanced at us again, and perhaps she noticed in our fascinated gaze an expression akin to terror, for suddenly she laughed--such a clear, sweet, silvery little laugh! "for my part," she said, "i wish they had come with us. i like--men." with that she bade us goodnight very politely and went off to her tent, leaving us with our hats pressed against our stomachs, attempting by the profundity of our bows to indicate the depth of our gratitude. "_there's_ a girl!" exclaimed brown, as soon as she had disappeared behind her tent flaps. "she'll never let on to medusa, xantippe, cassandra and company. i _like_ that girl, smith." "you're not the only one imbued by such sentiments," said i. he smiled a fatuous and reminiscent smile. he certainly was good-looking. presently he said: "she has the most delightful way of gazing at a man--" "i've noticed," i said pleasantly. "oh. did she happen to glance at _you_ that way?" he inquired. i wanted to beat him. all i said was: "she's certainly some kitten." which bottled that young man for a while. we lay on the bank of the tiny lake, our backs against a huge pine-tree, watching the last traces of colour fading from peak and tree-top. "isn't it queer," i said, "that not a trout has splashed? it can't be that there are no fish in the lake." "there _are_ such lakes." "yes, very deep ones. i wonder how deep this is." "we'll be out at sunrise with our reel of piano wire and take soundings," he said. "the heavy artillery won't wake until they're ready to be loaded with flap-jacks." i shuddered: "they're fearsome creatures, brown. somehow, that resolute and bony one has inspired me with a terror unutterable." "mrs. batt?" "yes." he said seriously: "she'll make a horrid outcry when she asks for her knitting. what are you going to tell her?" "i shall say that indians ambuscaded us while she was asleep, and carried off all those things." "you lie very nicely, don't you?" he remarked admiringly. "_in vitium ducit culpæ fuga_," said i. "besides, they don't really need those articles." he laughed. he didn't seem to be very much afraid of mrs. batt. it had grown deliciously dusky, and myriads of stars were coming out. little by little the lake lost its shape in the darkness, until only an irregular, star-set area of quiet water indicated that there was any lake there at all. i remember that brown and i, reclining at the foot of the tree, were looking at the still and starry surface of the lake, over which numbers of bats were darting after insects; and i recollect that i was just about to speak, when, of a sudden, the silent and luminous surface of the water was shattered as with a subterranean explosion; a geyser of scintillating spray shot upward flashing, foaming, towering a hundred feet into the air. and through it i seemed to catch a glimpse of a vast, quivering, twisting mass of silver falling back with a crash into the lake, while the huge fountain rained spray on every side and the little lake rocked and heaved from shore to shore, sending great sheets of surf up over the rocks so high that the very tree-tops dripped. petrified, dumb, our senses almost paralyzed by the shock, our ears still deafened by the watery crash of that gigantic something that had fallen into the lake, and our eyes starting from their sockets, we stared at the darkness. slap--slash--slush went the waves, hitting the shore with a clashing sound almost metallic. vision and hearing told us that the water in the lake was rocking like the contents of a bath-tub. "g-g-good lord!" whispered brown. "is there a v-volcano under that lake?" "did you see that huge, glittering shape that seemed to fall into the water?" i gasped. "yes. what was it? a meteor?" "no. it was something that first came out of the lake and fell back--the way a trout leaps. heavens! it couldn't have been alive, could it?" "w-wh-what do you mean?" stammered brown. "it couldn't have been a f-f-fish, could it?" i asked with chattering teeth. "no! _no!_ it was as big as a pullman car! it must have been a falling star. did you ever hear of a fish as big as a sleeping car?" i was too thoroughly unnerved to reply. the roaring of the surf had subsided somewhat, enough for another sound to reach our ears--a raucous, gallinacious, squawking sound. i sprang up and looked at the row of tents. white-robed figures loomed in front of them. the heavy artillery was evidently frightened. [illustration: "the heavy artillery was evidently frightened."] we went over to them, and when we got nearer they chastely scuttled into their tents and thrust out a row of heads--heads hideous with curl-papers. "what was that awful noise? an earthquake?" shrilled the reverend dr. jones. "i think i'll go home." "was it an avalanche?" demanded mrs. batt, in a deep and shaky voice. "are we in any immediate danger, young man?" i said that it was probably a flying-star which had happened to strike the lake and explode. "what an awful region!" wailed miss dingleheimer. "i've had my money's worth. i wish to go back to new york at once. i'll begin to dress immediately--" "it might be a million years before another meteor falls in this latitude," i said, soothingly. "or it might be ten minutes," sobbed miss dingleheimer. "what do _you_ know about it, anyway! i want to go home. i'm putting on my stockings now. i'm getting dressed as fast as i can--" her voice was blotted out in a mighty crash from the lake. appalled, i whirled on my heel, just in time to see another huge jet of water rise high in the starlight, another, another, until the entire lake was but a cluster of gigantic geysers exploding a hundred feet in the air, while through them, falling back into the smother of furious foam, great silvery bulks dropped crashing, one after another. i don't know how long the incredible vision lasted; the woods roared with the infernal pandemonium, echoed and re-echoed from mountain to mountain; the tree-tops fairly stormed spray, driving it in sheets through the leaves; and the shores of the lake spouted surf long after the last vast, silvery shape had fallen back again into the water. as my senses gradually recovered, i found myself supporting mrs. batt on one arm and the reverend dr. jones upon my bosom. both had fainted. i released them with a shudder and turned to look for brown. somebody had swooned in his arms, too. [illustration: "somebody had swooned in his arms, too."] he was not noticing me, and as i approached him i heard him say something resembling the word "kitten." in spite of my demoralization, another fear seized me, and i drew nearer and peered closely at what he was holding so nobly in his arms. it was, as i supposed, angelica white. i don't know whether my arrival occultly revived her, for as i stumbled over a tent-peg she opened her blue eyes, and then disengaged herself from brown's arms. "oh, i am _so_ frightened," she murmured. she looked at me sideways when she said it. "come," said i coldly to brown, "let miss white retire and lie down. this meteoric shower is over and so is the danger." he evinced a desire to further soothe and minister to miss white, but she said, with considerable composure, that she was feeling better; and brown came unwillingly with me to inspect the heavy artillery lines. that formidable battery was wrecked, the pieces dismounted and lying tumbled about in their emplacements. but a vigorous course of cold water in dippers revived them, and we herded them into one tent and quieted them with some soothing prevarication, the details of which i have forgotten; but it was something about a flock of meteors which hit the earth every twelve billion years, and that it was now all over for another such interim, and everybody could sleep soundly with the consciousness of having assisted at a spectacle never before beheld except by a primordial protoplasmic cell. which flattered them, i think, for, seated once more at the base of our tree, presently we heard weird noises from the reconcentrados, like the moaning of the harbour bar. they slept, the heavy guns, like unawakened engines of destruction all a-row in battery. but brown and i, fearfully excited, still dazed and bewildered, sat with our fascinated eyes fixed on the lake, asking each other what in the name of miracles it was that we had witnessed and heard. on one thing we were agreed. a scientific discovery of the most enormous importance awaited our investigation. this was no time for temporising, for deception, for any species of polite shilly-shallying. we must, on the morrow, tear off our masks and appear before these misguided and feminine victims of our duplicity in our own characters as scientists. we must boldly avow our identities and flatly refuse to stir from this spot until the mystery of this astounding lake had been thoroughly investigated. and so, discussing our policy, our plans for the morrow, and mutually reassuring each other concerning our common ability to successfully defy the heavy artillery, we finally fell asleep. iii dawn awoke me, and i sat up in my blanket and aroused brown. no birds were singing. it seemed unusual, and i spoke of it to brown. never have i witnessed such a still, strange daybreak. mountains, woods, and water were curiously silent. there was not a sound to be heard, nothing stirred except the thin veil of vapour over the water, shreds of which were now parting from the shore and steaming slowly upward. there was, it seemed to me, something slightly uncanny about this lake, even in repose. the water seemed as translucent as a dark crystal, and as motionless as the surface of a mirror. nothing stirred its placid surface, not a ripple, not an insect, not a leaf floating. brown had lugged the pneumatic raft down to the shore where he was now pumping it full: i followed with the paddles, pole, and hydroscope. when the raft had been pumped up and was afloat, we carried the reel of gossamer piano-wire aboard, followed it, pushed off, and paddled quietly through the level cobwebs of mist toward the centre of the lake. from the shore i heard a gruesome noise. it originated under one of the row of tents of the heavy artillery. medusa, snoring, was an awesome sound in that wilderness and solitude of dawn. i was unscrewing the centre-plug from the raft and screwing into the empty socket the lens of the hydroscope and attaching the battery, while brown started his sounding; and i was still busy when an exclamation from my companion started me: "we're breaking some records! do you know it, smith?" "where is the lead?" "three hundred fathoms and still running!" "nonsense!" "look at it yourself! it goes on unreeling: i've put the drag on. hurry and adjust the hydroscope!" i sighted the powerful instrument for two thousand feet, altering it from minute to minute as brown excitedly announced the amazing depth of the lake. when he called out four thousand feet, i stared at him. "there's something wrong--" i began. "there's _nothing_ wrong!" he interrupted. "four thousand five hundred! five thousand! five thousand five hundred--" "are you squatting there and trying to tell me that this lake is over a mile deep!" "look for yourself!" he said in an unsteady voice. "here is the tape! you can read, can't you? six thousand feet--and running evenly. six thousand five hundred!... seven thousand! seven thousand five--" "it _can't_ be!" i protested. but it was true. astounded, i continued to adjust the hydroscope to a range incredible, turning the screw to focus at a mile and a half, at two miles, at two and a quarter, a half, three-quarters, three miles, three miles and a quarter--click! "good heavens!" he whispered. "this lake is three miles and a quarter deep!" mechanically i set the lachet, screwed the hood firm, drew out the black eye-mask, locked it, then, kneeling on the raft i rested my face in the mask, felt for the lever, and switched on the electric light. quicker than thought the solid lance of dazzling light plunged down through profundity, and the vast abyss of water was revealed along its pathway. nothing moved in those tremendous depths except, nearly two miles below, a few spots of tinsel glittered and drifted like flakes of mica. at first i scarcely noticed them, supposing them to be vast beds of silvery bottom sand glittering under the electric pencil of the hydroscope. but presently it occurred to me that these brilliant specks in motion were not on the bottom--were a little less than two miles deep, and therefore suspended. to be seen at all, at two miles' depth, whatever they were they must have considerable bulk. "do you see anything?" demanded brown. "some silvery specks at a depth of two miles." "what do they look like?" "specks." "are they in motion?" "they seem to be." "do they come any nearer?" after a while i answered: "one of the specks seems to be growing larger.... i believe it is in motion and is floating slowly upward.... it's certainly getting bigger.... it's getting longer." "is it a fish?" "it can't be." "why not?" "it's impossible. fish don't attain the size of whales in mountain ponds." there was a silence. after an interval i said: "brown, i don't know what to make of that thing." "is it coming any nearer?" "yes." "what does it look like now?" "it _looks_ like a fish. but it can't be. it looks like a tiny, silver minnow. but it can't be. why, if it resembles a minnow in size at this distance--what can be its actual dimensions?" "let me look," he said. unwillingly i raised my head from the mask and yielded him my place. a long silence followed. the western mountain-tops reddened under the rising sun; the sky grew faintly bluer. yet, there was not a bird-note in that still place, not a flash of wings, nothing stirring. here and there along the lake shore i noticed unusual-looking trees--very odd-looking trees indeed, for their trunks seemed bleached and dead, and as though no bark covered them, yet every stark limb was covered with foliage--a thick foliage so dark in colour that it seemed black to me. i glanced at my motionless companion where he knelt with his face in the mask, then i unslung my field-glasses and focussed them on the nearest of the curious trees. at first i could not quite make out what i was looking at; then, to my astonishment, i saw that these stark, gray trees were indeed lifeless, and that what i had mistaken for dark foliage were velvety clusters of bats hanging there asleep--thousands of them thickly infesting and clotting the dead branches with a sombre and horrid effect of foliage. i don't mind bats in ordinary numbers. but in such soft, motionless masses they slightly sickened me. there must have been literally tons of them hanging to the dead trees. "this is pleasant," i said. "look at those bats, brown." when brown spoke without lifting his head, his voice was so shaken, so altered, that the mere sound of it scared me: "smith," he said, "there is a fish in here, shaped exactly like a brook minnow. and i should judge, by the depth it is swimming in, that it is about as long as an ordinary pullman car." his voice shook, but his words were calm to the point of commonplace. which made the effect of his statement all the more terrific. "a--a _minnow_--as big as a pullman car?" i repeated, dazed. "larger, i think.... it looks to me through the hydroscope, at this distance, exactly like a tiny, silvery minnow. it's half a mile down.... swimming about.... i can see its eyes; they must be about ten feet in diameter. i can see its fins moving. and there are about a dozen others, much deeper, swimming around.... this is easily the most overwhelming contribution made to science since the discovery of the purple-spotted dingle-bock, _bukkus dinglii_.... we've got to catch one of those gigantic fish!" "how?" i gasped. "how are we going to catch a minnow as large as a sleeping car?" "i don't know, but we've got to do it. we've got to manage it, somehow." "it would require a steel cable to hold such a fish and a donkey engine to reel him in! and what about a hook? and if we had hook, line, steam-winch, and everything else, _what_ about bait?" he knelt for some time longer, watching the fish, before he resigned the hydroscope to me. then i watched it; but it came no nearer, seeming contented to swim about at the depth of a little more than half a mile. deep under this fish i could see others glittering as they sailed or darted to and fro. presently i raised my head and sat thinking. the sun now gilded the water; a little breeze ruffled it here and there where dainty cat's-paws played over the surface. "what on earth do you suppose those gigantic fish feed on?" asked brown under his breath. i thought a moment longer, then it came to me in a flash of understanding, and i pointed at the dead trees. "bats!" i muttered. "they feed on bats as other fish feed on the little, gauzy-winged flies which dance over ponds! you saw those bats flying over the pond last night, didn't you? that explains the whole thing! don't you understand? why, what we saw were these gigantic fish leaping like trout after the bats. it was their feeding time!" i do not imagine that two more excited scientists ever existed than brown and i. the joy of discovery transfigured us. here we had discovered a lake in the thunder mountains which was the deepest lake in the world; and it was inhabited by a few gigantic fish of the minnow species, the existence of which, hitherto, had never even been dreamed of by science. "kitten," i said, my voice broken by emotion, "which will you have named after you, the lake or the fish? shall it be lake kitten brown, or shall it be _minnius kittenii_? speak!" "what about that old party whose name you said had already been given to the lake?" he asked piteously. "who? mrs. batt? do you think i'd name such an important lake after _her_? anyway, she has declined the honour." "very well," he said, "i'll accept it. and the fish shall be known as _minnius smithii_!" too deeply moved to speak, we bent over and shook hands with each other. in that solemn and holy moment, surcharged with ecstatic emotion, a deep, distant reverberation came across the water to our ears. it was the heavy artillery, snoring. never can i forget that scene; sunshine glittering on the pond, the silent forests and towering peaks, the blue sky overhead, the dead trees where thousands of bats hung in nauseating clusters, thicker than the leaves in valembrosa--and kitten brown and i, cross-legged upon our pneumatic raft, hands clasped in pledge of deathless devotion to science and a fraternity unending. "and how about that girl?" he asked. "what girl?" "angelica white?" "well," said i, "_what_ about her?" "does she go with the lake or with the fish?" "what do you mean?" i asked coldly, withdrawing my hand from his clasp. "i mean, which of us gets the first chance to win her?" he said, blushing. "there's no use denying that we both have been bowled over by her; is there?" i pondered for several moments. "she is an extremely intelligent girl," i said, stalling. "yes, and then some." after a few minutes' further thought, i said: "possibly i am in error, but at moments it has seemed to me that my marked attentions to miss white are not wholly displeasing to her. i may be mistaken--" "i think you are, smith." "why?" "because--well, because i seem to think so." i said coldly: "because she happened to faint away in your arms last night is no symptom that she prefers you. is it?" "no." "then why do you seem to think that tactful, delicate, and assiduous attentions on my part may prove not entirely unwelcome to this unusually intelligent--" "smith!" "what?" "miss white is not only a trained nurse, but she also is about to receive her diploma as a physician." "how do you know?" "she told me." "when?" "when you were building the fire last night. also, she informed me that she had relentlessly dedicated herself to a eugenic marriage." "when did she tell you _that_?" "while you were bringing in a bucket of water from the lake last night. and furthermore, she told me that _i_ was perfectly suited for a eugenic marriage." "_when_ did she tell you _that_?" i demanded. "when she had--fainted--in my arms." "how the devil did she come to say a thing like that?" he became conspicuously red about the ears: "well, i had just told her that i had fallen in love with her--" "damn!" i said. and that's all i said; and seizing a paddle i made furiously for shore. behind me i heard the whirr of the piano wire as brown started the electric reel. later i heard him clamping the hood on the hydroscope; but i was too disgusted for any further words, and i dug away at the water with my paddle. in various and weird stages of morning déshabillé the heavy artillery came down to the shore for morning ablutions, all a-row like a file of ducks. they glared at me as i leaped ashore: "i want my breakfast!" snapped mrs. batt. "do you hear what i say, guide? and i don't wish to be kept waiting for it either! i desire to get out of this place as soon as possible." "i'm sorry," i said, "but i intend to stay here for some time." "what!" bawled the heavy artillery in booming unison. but my temper had been sorely tried, and i was in a mood to tell the truth and make short work of it, too. "ladies," i said, "i'll not mince matters. mr. brown and i are not guides; we are scientists from bronx park, and we don't know a bally thing about this wilderness we're in!" "swindler!" shouted mrs. batt, in an enraged voice. "i knew very well that the united states government would never have named that puddle of water after _me_!" "don't worry, madam! i've named it after mr. brown. and the new species of gigantic fish which i discovered in this lake i have named after myself. as for leaving this spot until i have concluded my scientific study of these fish, i simply won't. i intend to observe their habits and to capture one of them if it requires the remainder of my natural life to do so. i shall be sorry to detain you here during such a period, but it can't be helped. and now you know what the situation is, and you are at liberty to think it over after you have washed your countenances in lake kitten brown." rage possessed the heavy artillery, and a fury indescribable seized them when they discovered that indians had raided their half ton of feminine perquisites. i went up a tree. when the tumult had calmed sufficiently for them to distinguish what i said, i made a speech to them. from the higher branches of a neighboring tree kitten brown applauded and cried, "hear! hear!" "ladies," i said, "you know the worst, now. if you keep me up this tree and starve me to death it will be murder. also, you don't know enough to get out of these forests, but i can guide you back the way you came. i'll do it if you cease your dangerous demonstrations and permit mr. brown and myself to remain here and study these giant fish for a week or two." [illustration: "'if you keep me up this tree and starve me to death it will be murder.'"] they now seemed disposed to consider the idea. there was nothing else for them to do. so after an hour or two, brown and i ventured to descend from our trees, and we went among them to placate them and ingratiate ourselves as best we might. "think," i argued, "what a matchless opportunity for you to be among the first discoverers of a totally new and undescribed species of giant fish! think what a legacy it will be to leave such a record to posterity! think how proud and happy your descendants will be to know that their ancestors assisted at the discovery of _minnius smithii_!" "why can't they be named after _me_?" demanded mrs. batt. "because," i explained patiently, "they have already been named after _me_!" "couldn't _something_ be named after me?" inquired that fearsome lady. "the bats," suggested brown politely, "we could name a bat after you with pleasure--" i thought for a moment she meant to swing on him. he thought so, too, and ducked. "a bat!" she shouted. "name a _bat_ after _me_!" "many a celebrated scientist has been honoured by having his name conferred upon humbler fauna," i explained. but she remained dangerous, so i went and built the fire, and squatted there, frying bacon, while on the other side of the fire, sitting side by side, kitten brown and angelica white gazed upon each other with enraptured eyes. it was slightly sickening--but let that pass. i was beginning to understand that science is a jealous mistress and that any contemplated infidelity of mine stood every chance of being squelched. no; evidently i had not been fashioned for the joys of legal domesticity. science, the wanton jade, had not yet finished her dance with me. apparently my maxixe with her was to be external. _fides servanda est._ * * * * * that afternoon the heavy artillery held a council of war, and evidently came to a conclusion to make the best of the situation, for toward sundown they accosted me with a request for the raft, explaining that they desired to picnic aboard and afterward row about the lake and indulge in song. so brown and i put aboard the craft a substantial cold supper; and the heavy artillery embarked, taking aboard a guitar to be worked by miss dingleheimer, and knitting for the others. it was a lovely evening. brown and i had been discussing a plan to dynamite the lake and stun the fish, that method appealing to us as the only possible way to secure a specimen of the stupendous minnows which inhabited the depths. in fact, it was our only hope of possessing one of these creatures--fishing with a donkey engine, steel cable, and a hook baited with a bat being too uncertain and far more laborious and expensive. i was still smoking my pipe, seated at the foot of the big pine-tree, watching the water turn from gold to pink: brown sat higher up the slope, his arm around angelica white. i carefully kept my back toward them. on the lake the heavy artillery were revelling loudly, banqueting, singing, strumming the guitar, and trailing their hands overboard across the sunset-tinted water. i was thinking of nothing in particular as i now remember, except that i noticed the bats beginning to flit over the lake; when brown called to me from the slope above, asking whether it was perfectly safe for the heavy artillery to remain out so late. "why?" i demanded. "suppose," he shouted, "that those fish should begin to jump and feed on the bats again?" i had never thought of that. i rose and hurried nervously down to the shore, and, making a megaphone of my hands, i shouted: "come in! it isn't safe to remain out any longer!" scornful laughter from the artillery answered my appeal. "you'd better come in!" i called. "you can't tell what might happen if any of those fish should jump." "mind your business!" retorted mrs. batt. "we've had enough of your prevarications--" then, suddenly, without the faintest shadow of warning, from the centre of the lake a vast geyser of water towered a hundred feet in the air. for one dreadful second i saw the raft hurled skyward, balanced on the crest of the stupendous fountain, spilling ladies, supper, guitars, and knitting in every direction. then a horrible thing occurred; fish after fish shot up out of the storm of water and foam, seizing, as they fell, ladies, luncheon, and knitting in mid-air, falling back with a crashing shock which seemed to rock the very mountains. [illustration: "then a horrible thing occurred."] "help!" i screamed. and fainted dead away. * * * * * is it necessary to proceed? literature nods; science shakes her head. no, nothing but literature lies beyond the ripples which splashed musically upon the shore, terminating forever the last vibration from that immeasurable catastrophe. why should i go on? the newspapers of the nation have recorded the last scenes of the tragedy. we know that tons of dynamite are being forwarded to that solitary lake. we know that it is the determination of the government to rid the world of those gigantic minnows. and yet, somehow, it seems to me as i sit writing here in my office, amid the verdure of bronx park, that the destruction of these enormous fish is a mistake. what more splendid sarcophagus could the ladies of the lake desire than these huge, silvery, itinerant and living tombs? what reward more sumptuous could anybody wish for than to rest at last within the interior dimness of an absolutely new species of anything? for me, such a final repose as this would represent the highest pinnacle of sublimity, the uttermost zenith of mortal dignity. * * * * * so what more is there for me to say? as for angelica--but no matter. i hope she may be comparatively happy with kitten brown. yet, as i have said before, handsome men never last. but she should have thought of that in time. i absolve myself of all responsibility. she had her chance. one over i professor farrago had remarked to me that morning: "the city of new york always reminds me of a slovenly, fat woman with her dress unbuttoned behind." i nodded. "new york's architecture," said i, "--or what popularly passes for it--is all in front. the minute you get to the rear a pitiable condition is exposed." he said: "professor jane bottomly is all façade; the remainder of her is merely an occiputal backyard full of theoretical tin cans and broken bottles. i think we all had better resign." it was a fearsome description. i trembled as i lighted an inexpensive cigar. the sentimental feminist movement in america was clearly at the bottom of the bottomly affair. long ago, in a reactionary burst of hysteria, the north enfranchised the ethiopian. in a similar sentimental explosion of dementia, some sixty years later, the united states wept violently over the immemorial wrongs perpetrated upon the restless sex, opened the front and back doors of opportunity, and sobbed out, "go to it, ladies!" they are still going. professor jane bottomly was wished on us out of a pleasant april sky. she fell like a meteoric mass of molten metal upon the bronx park zoölogical society splashing her excoriating personality over everybody until everybody writhed. i had not yet seen the lady. i did not care to. sooner or later i'd be obliged to meet her but i was not impatient. now the field expeditionary force of the bronx park zoölogical society is, perhaps, the most important arm of the service. professor bottomly had just been appointed official head of all field work. why? nobody knew. it is true that she had written several combination nature and love romances. in these popular volumes trees, flowers, butterflies, birds, animals, dialect, sobs, and sun-bonnets were stirred up together into a saccharine mess eagerly gulped down by a provincial reading public, which immediately protruded its tongue for more. the news of her impending arrival among us was an awful blow to everybody at the bronx. professor farrago fainted in the arms of his pretty stenographer; professor cornelius lezard of the batrachian department ran around his desk all day long in narrowing circles and was discovered on his stomach still feebly squirming like an expiring top; dr. hans fooss, our beloved professor of pachydermatology sat for hours weeping into his noodle soup. as for me, i was both furious and frightened, for, within the hearing of several people, professor bottomly had remarked in a very clear voice to her new assistant, dr. daisy delmour, that she intended to get rid of me for the good of the bronx because of my reputation for indiscreet gallantry among the feminine employees of the bronx society. professor lezard overhead that outrageous remark and he hastened to repeat it to me. i was lunching at the time in my private office in the administration building with dr. hans fooss--he and i being too busy dissecting an unusually fine specimen of dingue to go to the rolling stone inn for luncheon--when professor lezard rushed in with the scandalous libel still sizzling in his ears. "everybody heard her say it!" he went on, wringing his hands. "it was a most unfortunate thing for anybody to say about you before all those young ladies. every stenographer and typewriter there turned pale and then red." "what!" i exclaimed, conscious that my own ears were growing large and hot. "did that outrageous woman have the bad taste to say such a thing before all those sensitive girls!" "she did. she glared at them when she said it. several blondes and one brunette began to cry." "i hope," said i, a trifle tremulously, "that no typewriter so far forgot herself as to admit noticing playfulness on my part." "they all were tearfully unanimous in declaring you to be a perfect gentleman!" "i am," i said. "i am also a married man--irrevocably wedded to science. i desire no other spouse. i am ineligible; and everybody knows it. if at times a purely scientific curiosity leads me into a detached and impersonally psychological investigation of certain--ah--feminine idiosyncrasies--" "certainly," said lezard. "to investigate the feminine is more than a science; it is a duty!" "of a surety!" nodded dr. fooss. i looked proudly upon my two loyal friends and bit into my cheese sandwich. only men know men. a jury of my peers had exonerated me. what did i care for professor bottomly! "all the same," added lezard, "you'd better be careful or professor bottomly will put one over on you yet." "i am always careful," i said with dignity. "all men should be. it is the only protection of a defenseless coast line," nodded lezard. "und neffer, neffer commid nodding to paper," added dr. fooss. "don'd neffer write it, 'i lofe you like i was going to blow up alretty!' ach, nein! don'd you write down somedings. effery man he iss entitled to protection; und so iss it he iss protected." stein in hand he beamed upon us benevolently over his knifeful of sauerfisch, then he fed himself and rammed it down with a hearty draught of pilsner. we gazed with reverence upon kultur as embodied in this great teuton. "that woman," remarked lezard to me, "certainly means to get rid of you. it seems to me that there are only two possible ways for you to hold down your job at the bronx. you know it, don't you?" i nodded. "yes," i said; "either i must pay marked masculine attention to professor bottomly or i must manage to put one over on her." "of course," said lezard, "the first method is the easier for _you_--" "not for a minute!" i said, hastily; "i simply couldn't become frolicsome with her. you say she's got a voice like a drill-sergeant and she goose-steps when she walks; and i don't mind admitting she has me badly scared already. no; she must be scientifically ruined. it is the only method which makes her elimination certain." "but if her popular nature books didn't ruin her scientifically, how can we hope to lead her astray?" inquired lezard. "there is," i said, thoughtfully, "only one thing that can really ruin a scientist. ridicule! i have braved it many a time, taking my scientific life in my hands in pursuit of unknown specimens which might have proved only imaginary. public ridicule would have ended my scientific career in such an event. i know of no better way to end professor bottomly's scientific career and capability for mischief than to start her out after something which doesn't exist, inform the newspapers, and let her suffer the agonising consequences." dr. fooss began to shout: "the idea iss schön! colossal! prachtvol! ausgezeichnet! wunderbar! wunderschön! gemütlich--" a large, tough noodle checked him. while he labored with teutonic imperturbability to master it lezard and i exchanged suggestions regarding the proposed annihilation of this fearsome woman who had come ravening among us amid the peaceful and soporific environment of bronx park. it was a dreadful thing for us to have our balmy lotus-eaters' paradise so startlingly invaded by a large, loquacious, loud-voiced lady who had already stirred us all out of our agreeable, traditional and leisurely inertia. inertia begets cogitation, and cogitation begets ideas, and ideas beget reflexion, and profound reflexion is the fundamental cornerstone of that immortal temple in which the goddess science sits asleep between her dozing sisters, custom and religion. this thought seemed to me so unusually beautiful that i wrote it with a pencil upon my cuff. while i was writing it, quietly happy in the deep pleasure that my intellectual allegory afforded me, dr. fooss swabbed the last morsel of nourishment from his plate with a wad of rye bread, then bolting the bread and wiping his beard with his fingers and his fingers on his waistcoat, he made several guttural observations too profoundly german to be immediately intelligible, and lighted his porcelain pipe. "ach wass!" he remarked in ruminative fashion. "dot frauenzimmer she iss to raise hell alretty determined. von pachydermatology she knows nodding. maybe she leaves me alone, maybe it is to be 'raus mit me. i' weis' ni'! it iss aber besser one over on dat lady to put, yess?" "it certainly is advisable," replied lezard. "let us try to think of something sufficiently disastrous to terminate her scientific career," said i. and i bowed my rather striking head and rested the point of my forefinger upon my forehead. thought crystallises more quickly for me when i assume this attitude. out of the corner of my eye i saw lezard fold his arms and sit frowning at infinity. dr. fooss lay back in a big, deeply padded armchair and closed his prominent eyes. his pipe went out presently, and now and then he made long-drawn nasal remarks, in german, too complicated for either lezard or for me to entirely comprehend. "we must try to get her as far away from here as possible," mused lezard. "is oyster bay _too_ far and too cruel?" i pondered darkly upon the suggestion. but it seemed unpleasantly like murder. "lezard," said i, "come, let us reason together. now _what_ is woman's besetting emotion?" "curiosity?" "very well; assuming that to be true, what--ah--quality particularly characterizes woman when so beset." "ruthless determination." "then," said i, "we ought to begin my exciting the curiosity of professor bottomly; and her ruthless determination to satisfy that curiosity should logically follow." "how," he asked, "are we to arouse her curiosity?" "by pretending that we have knowledge of something hitherto undiscovered, the discovery of which would redound to our scientific glory." "i see. she'd want the glory for herself. she'd swipe it." "she would," said i. "tee--hee!" he giggled; "wouldn't it be funny to plant something phony on her--" i waved my arms rather gracefully in my excitement: "that is the germ of an idea!" i said. "if we could plant something--something--far away from here--very far away--if we could bury something--like the cardiff giant--" "hundreds and hundreds of miles away!" "thousands!" i insisted, enthusiastically. "tee-hee! in tasmania, for example! maybe a tasmanian devil might acquire her!" "there exists a gnat," said i, "in borneo--_gnatus soporificus_--and when this tiny gnat stings people they never entirely wake up. it's really rather a pleasurable catastrophe, i understand. life becomes one endless cat-nap--one delightful siesta, with intervals for light nourishment.... she--ah--could sit very comfortably in some pleasant retreat and rock in a rocking-chair and doze quite happily through the years to come.... and from your description of her i should say that the soldiers' home might receive her." "it won't do," he said, gloomily. "why? is it too much like crime?" "oh not at all. only if she went to borneo she'd be sure to take a mosquito-bar with her." in the depressed silence which ensued dr. fooss suddenly made several futurist observations through his nose with monotonous but authoritative regularity. i tried to catch his meaning and his eye. the one remained cryptic, the other shut. lezard sat thinking very hard. and as i fidgetted in my chair, fiddling nervously with various objects lying on my desk i chanced to pick up a letter from the pile of still unopened mail at my elbow. still pondering on professor bottomly's proposed destruction, i turned the letter over idly and my preoccupied gaze rested on the postmark. after a moment i leaned forward and examined it more attentively. the letter directed to me was postmarked fort carcajou, cook's peninsula, baffin land; and now i recalled the handwriting, having already seen it three or four times within the last month or so. "lezard," i said, "that lunatic trapper from baffin land has written to me again. what do you suppose is the matter with him? is he just plain crazy or does he think he can be funny with me?" lezard gazed at me absently. then, all at once a gleam of savage interest lighted his somewhat solemn features. "read the letter to me," he said, with an evil smile which instantly animated my own latent imagination. and immediately it occurred to me that perhaps, in the humble letter from the wilds of baffin land, which i was now opening with eager and unsteady fingers, might lie concealed the professional undoing of professor jane bottomly, and the only hope of my own ultimate and scientific salvation. the room became hideously still as i unfolded the pencil-scrawled sheets of cheap, ruled letter paper. dr. fooss opened his eyes, looked at me, made porcine sounds indicative of personal well-being, relighted his pipe, and disposed himself to listen. but just as i was about to begin, lezard suddenly laid his forefinger across his lips conjuring us to densest silence. for a moment or two i heard nothing except the buzzing of flies. then i stole a startled glance at my door. it was opening slowly, almost imperceptibly. but it did not open very far--just a crack remained. then, listening with all our might, we heard the cautiously suppressed breathing of somebody in the hallway just outside of my door. lezard turned and cast at me a glance of horrified intelligence. in dumb pantomime he outlined in the air, with one hand, the large and feminine amplification of his own person, conveying to us the certainty of his suspicions concerning the unseen eavesdropper. we nodded. we understood perfectly that _she_ was out there prepared to listen to every word we uttered. a flicker of ferocious joy disturbed lezard's otherwise innocuous features; he winked horribly at dr. fooss and at me, and uttered a faint click with his teeth and tongue like the snap of a closing trap. "gentlemen," he said, in the guarded yet excited voice of a man who is confident of not being overheard, "the matter under discussion admits of only one interpretation: a discovery--perhaps the most vitally important discovery of all the centuries--is imminent. "secrecy is imperative; the scientific glory is to be shared by us alone, and there is enough of glory to go around. "mr. chairman, i move that epoch-making letter be read aloud!" "i second dot motion!" said dr. fooss, winking so violently at me that his glasses wabbled. "gentlemen," said i, "it has been moved and seconded that this epoch-making letter be read aloud. all those in favor will kindly say 'aye.'" "aye! aye!" they exclaimed, fairly wriggling in their furtive joy. "the contrary-minded will kindly emit the usual negation," i went on.... "it seems to be carried.... it _is_ carried. the chairman will proceed to the reading of the epoch-making letter." i quietly lighted a five-cent cigar, unfolded the letter and read aloud: "joneses shack, golden glacier, cook's peninsula, baffin land, march , . "professor, dear sir: "i already wrote you three times no answer having been rec'd perhaps you think i'm kiddin' you're a dam' liar i ain't. "hoping to tempt you to come i will hereby tell you more'n i told you in my other letters, the terminal moraine of this here golden glacier finishes into a marsh, nothing to see for miles excep' frozen tussock and mud and all flat as hell for fifty miles which is where i am trappin' it for mink and otter and now ready to go back to fort carcajou. i told you what i seen stickin' in under this here marsh, where anything sticks out the wolves have eat it, but most of them there ellerphants is in under the ice and mud too far for the wolves to git 'em. "i ain't kiddin' you, there is a whole herd of furry ellerphants in the marsh like as they were stuck there and all lay down and was drownded like. some has tusks and some hasn't. two ellerphants stuck out of the ice, i eat onto one, the meat was good and sweet and joosy, the damn wolves eat it up that night, i had cut stakes and rost for three months though and am eating off it yet. "thinking as how ellerphants and all like that is your graft, i being a keeper in the mouse house once in the bronx and seein' you nosin' around like you was full of scientific thinks, it comes to me to write you and put you next. "if you say so i'll wait here and help you with them ellerphants. livin' wages is all i ask also eleven thousand dollars for tippin' you wise. i won't tell nobody till i hear from you. i'm hones' you can trus' me. write me to fort carcajou if you mean bizness. so no more respectfully, james skaw." when i finished reading i cautiously glanced at the door, and, finding it still on the crack, turned and smiled subtly upon lezard and fooss. in their slowly spreading grins i saw they agreed with me that somebody, signing himself james skaw, was still trying to hoax the great zoölogical society of bronx park. "gentlemen," i said aloud, injecting innocent enthusiasm into my voice, "this secret expedition to baffin land which we three are about to organise is destined to be without doubt the most scientifically prolific field expedition ever organised by man. "imagine an entire herd of mammoths preserved in mud and ice through all these thousands of years! "gentlemen, no discovery ever made has even remotely approached in importance the discovery made by this simple, illiterate trapper, james skaw." "i thought," protested lezard, "that _we_ are to be announced as the discoverers." "we are," said i, "the discoverers of james skaw, which makes us technically the finders of the ice-preserved herd of mammoths--_technically_, you understand. a few thousand dollars," i added, carelessly, "ought to satiate james skaw." "we could name dot glacier after him," suggested dr. fooss. "certainly--the skaw glacier. that ought to be enough glory for him. it ought to satisfy him and prevent any indiscreet remarks," nodded lezard. "gentlemen," said i, "there is only one detail that really troubles me. ought we to notify our honoured and respected chief of division concerning this discovery?" "do you mean, should we tell that accomplished and fascinating lady, professor bottomly, about this herd of mammoths?" i asked in a loud, clear voice. and immediately answered my own question: "no," i said, "no, dear friends. professor bottomly already has too much responsibility weighing upon her distinguished mind. no, dear brothers in science, we should steal away unobserved as though setting out upon an ordinary field expedition. and when we return with fresh and immortal laurels such as no man before has ever worn, no doubt that our generous-minded chief of division will weave for us further wreaths to crown our brows--the priceless garlands of professional approval!" and i made a horrible face at my co-conspirators. before i finished lezard had taken his own face in his hands for the purpose of stifling raucous and untimely mirth. as for dr. fooss, his small, porcine eyes snapped and twinkled madly behind his spectacles, but he seemed rather inclined to approve my flowers of rhetoric. "ja," said he, "so iss it besser oursellufs dot gefrozenss herd von elephanten to discover, und, by and by, die elephanten bei der pronx bark home yet again once more to bring. we shall therefore much praise thereby bekommen. ach wass!" "gentlemen," said i, distinctly, "it is decided, then, that we shall say nothing concerning the true object of this expedition to professor bottomly." lezard and fooss nodded assent. then, in the silence, we all strained our ears to listen. and presently we detected the scarcely heard sound of cautiously retreating footsteps down the corridor. when it was safe to do so i arose and closed my door. "i think," said i, with a sort of infernal cheerfulness in my tones, "that we are about to do something jocose to jane bottomly." "a few," said professor lezard. he rose and silently executed a complicated ballet-step. "i shall laff," said dr. fooss, earnestly, "und i shall laff, und i shall laff--ach gott how i shall laff my pally head off!" i folded my arms and turned romanesquely toward the direction in which professor bottomly had retreated. "viper!" i said. "the bronx shall nourish you in its bosom no more! fade away, ophidian!" the sentiment was applauded by all. there chanced to be in my desk a bottle marked: "that's all!" on the label somebody had written: "do it now!" we did. iii it was given out at the bronx that our field expedition to baffin land was to be undertaken solely for the purpose of bringing back living specimens of the five-spotted arctic woodcock--_philohela quinquemaculata_--in order to add to our onomatology and our glossary of onomatopoeia an ontogenesis of this important but hitherto unstudied sub-species. i trust i make myself clear. scientific statements should be as clear as the spuyten duyvil. _sola in stagno salus!_ but two things immediately occurred which worried us; professor bottomly sent us official notification that she approved our expedition to baffin land, designated the steamer we were to take, and enclosed tickets. that scared us. then to add to our perplexity professor bottomly disappeared, leaving dr. daisy delmour in charge of her department during what she announced might be "a somewhat prolonged absence on business." and during the four feverish weeks of our pretended preparations for baffin land not one word did we hear from jane bottomly, which caused us painful inquietude as the hour approached for our departure. was this formidable woman actually intending to let us depart alone for the golden glacier? was she too lazy to rob us of the secretly contemplated glory which we had pretended awaited us? we had been so absolutely convinced that she would forbid our expedition, pack us off elsewhere, and take charge herself of an exploring party to baffin land, that, as the time for our leaving drew near we became first uneasy, and then really alarmed. it would be a dreadful jest on us if she made us swallow our own concoction; if she revealed to our colleagues our pretended knowledge of the golden glacier and james skaw and the supposedly ice-imbedded herd of mammoths, and then publicly forced us to investigate this hoax. more horrible still would it be if she informed the newspapers and gave them a hint to make merry over the three wise men of the bronx who went to baffin land in a boat. "_what_ do you suppose that devious and secretive female is up to?" inquired lezard who, within the last few days, had grown thin with worry. "is it possible that she is sufficiently degraded to suspect us of trying to put one over on her? is that what she is now doing to us?" "_terminus est_--it is the limit!" said i. he turned a morbid eye upon me. "she is making a monkey of us. that's what!" "_suspendenda omnia naso_," i nodded; "_tarde sed tute_. when i think aloud in latin it means that i am deeply troubled. _suum quemque scelus agitat._ do you get me, professor? i'm sorry i attempted to be sportive with this terrible woman. the curse of my scientific career has been periodical excesses of frivolity. see where this frolicsome impulse has landed me!--_super abyssum ambulans. trahit sua quemque voluptas; transeat in exemplum!_ she means to let us go to our destruction on this mammoth frappé affair." but dr. fooss was optimistic: "i tink she iss alretty herselluf by dot baffin land ge-gone," he said. "i tink she has der bait ge-swallowed. ve vait; ve see; und so iss it ve know." "but why hasn't she stopped our preparations?" i demanded. "if she wants all the glory herself why does she permit us to incur this expense in getting ready?" "no mans can to know der vorkings of der mental brocess by a frauenzimmer," said dr. fooss, wagging his head. the suspense became nerve-racking; we were obliged to pack our camping kits; and it began to look as though we would have either to sail the next morning or to resign from the bronx park zoölogical society, because all the evening papers had the story in big type--the details and objects of the expedition, the discovery of the herd of mammoths in cold storage, the prompt organization of an expedition to secure this unparalleled deposit of prehistoric mammalia--everything was there staring at us in violent print, excepting only the name of the discoverer and the names of those composing the field expedition. "she means to betray us after we have sailed," said lezard, greatly depressed. "we might just as well resign now before this hoax explodes and bespatters us. we can take our chances in vaudeville or as lecturing professors with the movies." i thought so, too, in point of fact we all had gathered in my study to write out our resignations, when there came a knock at the door and dr. daisy delmour walked in. oddly enough i had not before met dr. delmour personally; only formal written communications had hitherto passed between us. my idea of her had doubtless been inspired by the physical and intellectual aberrations of her chief; i naturally supposed her to be either impossible and corporeally redundant, or intellectually and otherwise as weazened as last year's li-che nut. i was criminally mistaken. and why lezard, who knew her, had never set me right i could not then understand. i comprehended later. for the feminine assistant of professor jane bottomly, who sauntered into my study and announced herself, had the features of athene, the smile of aphrodite, and the figure of psyche. i believe i do not exaggerate these scientific details, although it has been said of me that any pretty girl distorts my vision and my intellectual balance to the detriment of my calmer reason and my differentiating ability. "gentlemen," said dr. delmour, while we stood in a respectful semi-circle before her, modestly conscious of our worth, our toes turned out, and each man's features wreathed with that politely unnatural smirk which masculine features assume when confronted by feminine beauty. "gentlemen, on the eve of your proposed departure for baffin land in quest of living specimens of the five-spotted _philohela quinquemaculata_, i have been instructed by professor bottomly to announce to you a great good fortune for her, for you, for the bronx, for america, for the entire civilized world. "it has come to professor bottomly's knowledge, recently i believe, that an entire herd of mammoths lie encased in the mud and ice of the vast flat marshes which lie south of the terminal moraine of the golden glacier in that part of baffin land known as dr. cook's peninsula. "the credit of this epoch-making discovery is professor bottomly's entirely. how it happened, she did not inform me. one month ago today she sailed in great haste for baffin land. at this very hour she is doubtless standing all alone upon the frozen surface of that wondrous marsh, contemplating with reverence and awe and similar holy emotions the fruits of her own unsurpassed discovery!" dr. delmour's lovely features became delicately suffused and transfigured as she spoke; her exquisite voice thrilled with generous emotion; she clasped her snowy hands and gazed, enraptured, at the picture of dr. bottomly which her mind was so charmingly evoking. "perhaps," she whispered, "perhaps at this very instant, in the midst of that vast and flat and solemn desolation the only protuberance visible for miles and miles is professor bottomly. perhaps the pallid arctic sun is setting behind the majestic figure of professor bottomly, radiating a blinding glory to the zenith, illuminating the crowning act of her career with its unearthly aura!" she gazed at us out of dimmed and violet eyes. "gentlemen," she said, "i am ordered to take command of this expedition of yours; i am ordered to sail with you tomorrow morning on the labrador and baffin line steamer _dr. cook_. "the object of your expedition, therefore, is not to be the quest of _philohela quinquemaculata_; your duty now is to corroborate the almost miraculous discovery of professor bottomly, and to disinter for her the vast herd of frozen mammoths, pack and pickle them, and get them to the bronx. "tomorrow's morning papers will have the entire story: the credit and responsibility for the discovery and the expedition belong to professor bottomly, and will be given to her by the press and the populace of our great republic. "it is her wish that no other names be mentioned. which is right. to the discoverer belongs the glory. therefore, the marsh is to be named bottomly's marsh, and the glacier, bottomly's glacier. "yours and mine is to be the glory of laboring incognito under the direction of the towering scientific intellect of the age, professor bottomly. "and the most precious legacy you can leave your children--if you get married and have any--is that you once wielded the humble pick and shovel for jane bottomly on the bottomless marsh which bears her name!" * * * * * after a moment's silence we three men ventured to look sideways at each other. we had certainly killed professor bottomly, scientifically speaking. the lady was practically dead. the morning papers would consummate the murder. we didn't know whether we wanted to laugh or not. she was now virtually done for; that seemed certain. so greedily had this egotistical female swallowed the silly bait we offered, so arrogantly had she planned to eliminate everybody excepting herself from the credit of the discovery, that there seemed now nothing left for us to do except to watch her hurdling deliriously toward destruction. _should_ we burst into hellish laughter? we looked hard at dr. delmour and we decided not to--yet. said i: "to assist at the final apotheosis of professor bottomly makes us very, very happy. we are happy to remain incognito, mere ciphers blotted out by the fierce white light which is about to beat upon professor bottomly, fore and aft. we are happy that our participation in this astonishing affair shall never be known to science. "but, happiest of all are we, dear dr. delmour, in the knowledge that _you_ are to be with us and of us, incognito on this voyage now imminent; that you are to be our revered and beloved leader. "and i, for one, promise you personally the undivided devotion of a man whose entire and austere career has been dedicated to science--in _all_ its branches." i stepped forward rather gracefully and raised her little hand to my lips to let her see that even the science of gallantry had not been neglected by me. dr. daisy delmour blushed. "therefore," said i, "considering the fact that our names are not to figure in this expedition; and, furthermore, in consideration of the fact that _you_ are going, we shall be very, very happy to accompany you, dr. delmour." i again saluted her hand, and again dr. delmour blushed and looked sideways at professor lezard. iv it was, to be accurate, exactly twenty-three days later that our voyage by sea and land ended one monday morning upon the gigantic terminal moraine of the golden glacier, cook's peninsula, baffin land. four pack-mules carried our luggage, four more bore our persons; an arctic dicky-bird sat on a bowlder and said, "pilly-willy-willy! tweet! tweet!" as we rode out to the bowlder-strewn edge of the moraine the rising sun greeted us cordially, illuminating below us the flat surface of the marsh which stretched away to the east and south as far as the eye could see. so flat was it that we immediately made out the silhouettes of two mules tethered below us a quarter of a mile away. something about the attitude of these mules arrested our attention, and, gazing upon them through our field-glasses we beheld professor bottomly. that resourceful lady had mounted a pneumatic hammock upon the two mules, their saddles had sockets to fit the legs of the galvanized iron tripod. no matter in which way the mules turned, sliding swivels on the hollow steel frames regulated the hammock slung between them. it was an infernal invention. there lay jane bottomly asleep, her black hair drying over the hammock's edge, gilded to a peroxide lustre by the rays of the rising sun. i gazed upon her with a sort of ferocious pity. her professional days were numbered. _i_ also had her number! "how majestically she slumbers," whispered dr. delmour to me, "dreaming, doubtless, of her approaching triumph." dr. fooss and professor lezard, driving the pack-mules ahead of them, were already riding out across the marsh. "daisy," i said, leaning from my saddle and taking one of her gloved hands into mine, "the time has come for me to disillusion you. there are no mammoths in that mud down there." she looked at me in blue-eyed amazement. "you are mistaken," she said; "professor bottomly is celebrated for the absolute and painstaking accuracy of her deductions and the boldness and the imagination of her scientific investigations. she is the most cautious scientist in america; she would never announce such a discovery to the newspapers unless she were perfectly certain of its truth." i was sorry for this young girl. i pressed her hand because i was sorry for her. after a few moments of deepest thought i felt so sorry for her that i kissed her. [illustration: "i felt so sorry for her that i kissed her."] "you mustn't," said dr. delmour, blushing. the things we mustn't do are so many that i can't always remember all of them. "daisy," i said, "shall we pledge ourselves to each other for eternity--here in the presence of this immemorial glacier which moves a thousand inches a year--i mean an inch every thousand years--here in these awful solitudes where incalculable calculations could not enlighten us concerning the number of cubic tons of mud in that marsh--here in the presence of these innocent mules--" "oh, look!" exclaimed dr. delmour, lifting her flushed cheek from my shoulder. "there is a man in the hammock with professor bottomly!" i levelled my field-glasses incredulously. good heavens! there _was_ a man there. he was sitting on the edge of the hammock in a dejected attitude, his booted legs dangling. and, as i gazed, i saw the arm of professor bottomly raised as though groping instinctively for something in her slumber--saw her fingers close upon the blue-flannel shirt of her companion, saw his timid futile attempts to elude her, saw him inexorably hauled back and his head forcibly pillowed upon her ample chest. "daisy!" i faltered, "what does yonder scene of presumable domesticity mean?" "i--i haven't the faintest idea!" she stammered. "is that lady married! or is this revelry?" i asked, sternly. "she wasn't married when she sailed from n-new-york," faltered dr. delmour. we rode forward in pained silence, spurring on until we caught up with lezard and fooss and the pack-mules; then we all pressed ahead, a prey, now, to the deepest moral anxiety and agitation. the splashing of our mule's feet on the partly melted surface of the mud aroused the man as we rode up and he scrambled madly to get out of the hammock as soon as he saw us. a detaining feminine hand reached mechanically for his collar, groped aimlessly for a moment, and fell across the hammock's edge. evidently its owner was too sleepy for effort. meanwhile the man who had floundered free from the hammock, leaped overboard and came hopping stiffly over the slush toward us like a badly-winged snipe. "who are you?" i demanded, drawing bridle so suddenly that i found myself astride of my mule's ears. sliding back into the saddle, i repeated the challenge haughtily, inwardly cursing my horsemanship. he stood balancing his lank six feet six of bony altitude for a few moments without replying. his large gentle eyes of baby blue were fixed on me. "speak!" i said. "the reputation of a lady is at stake! who are you? we ask, before we shoot you, for purpose of future identification." he gazed at me wildly. "i dunno who i be," he replied. "my name _was_ james skaw before that there lady went an' changed it on me. she says she has changed my name to hers. i dunno. all i know is i'm married." "_married!_" echoed dr. delmour. he looked dully at the girl, then fixed his large mild eyes on me. "a mission priest done it for her a month ago when we was hikin' towards fort carcajou. hoon-hel are you?" he added. i informed him with dignity; he blinked at me, at the others, at the mules. then he said with infinite bitterness: "you're a fine guy, ain't you, a-wishin' this here lady onto a pore pelt-hunter what ain't never done nothin' to you!" "who did you say i wished on you?" i demanded, bewildered. "that there lady a-sleepin' into the nuptool hammick! you wished her onto me--yaas you did! whatnhel have i done to you, hey?" we were dumb. he shoved his hand into his pocket, produced a slug of twist, slowly gnawed off a portion, and buried the remains in his vast jaw. "all i done to you," he said, "was to write you them letters sayin's as how i found a lot of ellerphants into the mud. "what you done to me was to send that there lady here. was that gratitood? man to man i ask you?" a loud snore from the hammock startled us all. james skaw twisted his neck turkey-like, and looked warily at the hammock, then turning toward me: "aw," he said, "she don't never wake up till i have breakfast ready." "james skaw," i said, "tell me what has happened. on my word of honor i don't know." he regarded me with lack-lustre eyes. "i was a-settin' onto a bowlder," said he, "a-fig-urin' out whether you was a-comin' or not, when that there lady rides up with her led-mule a trailin'. "sez she: 'are you james skaw?' "yes, marm,' sez i, kinder scared an' puzzled. "'where is them ellerphants?' sez she, reachin' down from her saddle an' takin' me by the shirt collar, an' beatin' me with her umbrella. "sez i, 'i have wrote to a certain gent that i would show him them ellerphants for a price. bein' strictly hones' i can't show 'em to no one else until i hear from him.' "with that she continood to argoo the case with her umbrella, never lettin' go of my shirt collar. sir, she argood until dinner time, an' then she resoomed the debate until i fell asleep. the last i knowed she was still conversin'. "an' so it went next day, all day long, an' the next day. i couldn't stand it no longer so i started for fort carcajau. but she bein' onto a mule, run me down easy, an' kep' beside me conversin' volooble. "sir, do you know what it is to listen to umbrella argooment every day, all day long, from sun-up to night-fall? an' then some more? "i was loony, i tell you, when we met the mission priest. 'marry me,' sez she, 'or i'll talk you to death!' i didn't realise what she was sayin' an' what i answered. but them words i uttered done the job, it seems. "we camped there an' slep' for two days without wakin.' when i waked up i was convalescent. "she was good to me. she made soup an' she wrapped blankets onto me an' she didn't talk no more until i was well enough to endoor it. "an' by'm'by she brooke the nooze to me that we was married an' that she had went as far as to marry me in the sacred cause of science because man an' wife is one, an' what i knowed about them ellerphants she now had a right to know. "sir, she had put one over on me. so bein' strickly hones' i had to show her where them ellerphants lay froze up under the marsh." v where the ambition of this infatuated woman had led her appalled us all. the personal sacrifice she had made in the name of science awed us. still when i remembered that detaining arm sleepily lifted from the nuptual hammock, i was not so certain concerning her continued martyrdom. i cast an involuntary glance of critical appraisal upon james skaw. he had the golden hair and beard of the early christian martyr. his features were classically regular; he stood six feet six; he was lean because fit, sound as a hound's tooth, and really a superb specimen of masculine health. curry him and trim him and clothe him in evening dress and his physical appearance would make a sensation at the court of st. james. only his english required manicuring. the longer i looked at him the better i comprehended that detaining hand from the hammock. _fabas indulcet fames_. then, with a shock, it rushed over me that there evidently had been some ground for this man's letters to me concerning a herd of frozen mammoths. professor bottomly had not only married him to obtain the information but here she was still camping on the marsh! "james skaw," i said, tremulously, "where are those mammoths?" he looked at me, then made a vague gesture: "under the mud--everywhere--all around us." "has _she_ seen them?" "yes, i showed her about a hundred. there's one under you. look! you can see him through the slush." "ach gott!" burst from dr. fooss, and he tottered in his saddle. lezard, frightfully pale, passed a shaking hand over his brow. as for me my hair became dank with misery, for there directly under my feet, the vast hairy bulk of a mammoth lay dimly visible through the muddy ice. what i had done to myself when i was planning to do professor bottomly suddenly burst upon me in all its hideous proportions. fame, the plaudits of the world, the highest scientific honours--all these in my effort to annihilate her, i had deliberately thrust upon this woman to my own everlasting detriment and disgrace. a sort of howl escaped from dr. fooss, who had dismounted and who had been scratching in the slush with his feet like a hen. for already this slight gallinaceous effort of his had laid bare a hairy section of frozen mammoth. lezard, weeping bitterly, squatted beside him clawing at the thin skin of ice with a pick-axe. it seemed more than i could bear and i flung myself from my mule and seizing a spade, fell violently to work, the tears of rage and mortification coursing down my cheeks. "hurrah!" cried dr. delmour, excitedly, scrambling down from her mule and lifting a box of dynamite from her saddle-bags. transfigured with enthusiasm she seized a crowbar, traced in the slush the huge outlines of the buried beast, then, measuring with practiced eye the irregular zone of cleavage, she marked out a vast oval, dug holes along it with her bar, dropped into each hole a stick of dynamite, got out the batteries and wires, attached the fuses, covered each charge, and retired on a run toward the moraine, unreeling wire as she sped upward among the bowlders. half frantic with grief and half mad with the excitement of the moment we still had sense enough to shoulder our tools and drive our mules back across the moraine. only the mule-hammock in which reposed professor bottomly remained on the marsh. for one horrid instant temptation assailed me to press the button before james skaw could lead the hammock-mules up to the moraine. it was my closest approach to crime. with a shudder i viewed the approach of the mules. james skaw led them by the head; the hammock on its bar and swivels swung gently between them; professor bottomly slept, lulled, no doubt, to deeper slumber by the gently swaying hammock. when the hammock came up, one by one we gazed upon its unconscious occupant. and, even amid dark and revengeful thoughts, amid a mental chaos of grief and fury and frantic self-reproach, i had to admit to myself that jane bottomly was a fine figure of a woman, and good-looking, too, and that her hair was all her own and almost magnificent at that. with a modiste to advise her, a maid to dress her, i myself might have--but let that pass. only as i gazed upon her fresh complexion and the softly parted red lips of professor bottomly, and as i noted the beautiful white throat and prettily shaped hands, a newer, bitterer, and more overwhelming despair seized me; and i realized now that perhaps i had thrown away more than fame, honours, applause; i had perhaps thrown away love! at that moment professor bottomly awoke. for a moment her lilac-tinted eyes had a dazed expression, then they widened, and she lay very quietly looking from one to another of us, cradled in the golden glory of her hair, perfectly mistress of herself, and her mind as clear as a bell. "well," she said, "so you have arrived at last." and to dr. delmour she smilingly extended a cool, fresh hand. "have you met my husband?" she inquired. we admitted that we had. "james!" she called. at the sound of her voice james skaw hopped nimbly to do her bidding. a tender smile came into her face as she gazed upon her husband. she made no explanation concerning him, no apology for him. and, watching her, it slowly filtered into my mind that she liked him. with one hand in her husband's and one on dr. delmour's arm she listened to daisy's account of what we were about to do to the imbedded mammoth, and nodded approval. james skaw turned the mules so that she might watch the explosion. she twisted up her hair, then sat up in her hammock; daisy delmour pressed the electric button; there came a deep jarring sound, a vast upheaval, and up out of the mud rose _five or six dozen mammoths_ and toppled gently over upon the surface of the ice. [illustration: "out of the mud rose _five or six dozen mammoths_."] miserable as we were at such an astonishing spectacle we raised a tragic cheer as professor bottomly sprang out of her hammock and, telling dr. delmour to get a camera, seized her husband and sped down to where one of the great, hairy frozen beasts lay on the ice in full sunshine. and then we tasted the last drop of gall which our over-slopping cup of bitterness held for us; professor bottomly climbed up the sides of the frozen mammoth, dragging her husband with her, and stood there waving a little american flag while dr. delmour used up every film in the camera to record the scientific triumph of the ages. [illustration: "dr. delmour used up every film in the camera to record the scientific triumph of the ages."] almost idiotic with the shock of my great grief i reeled and tottered away among the bowlders. fooss came to find me; and when he found me he kicked me violently for some time. "esel dumkopf!" he said. when he was tired lezard came and fell upon me, showering me with kicks and anathema. when he went away i beat my head with my fists for a while. every little helped. after a time i smelled cooking, and presently dr. delmour came to where i sat huddled up miserably in the sun behind the bowlder. "luncheon is ready," she said. i groaned. "don't you feel well?" i said that i did not. she lingered apparently with the idea of cheering me up. "it's been such fun," she said. "professor lezard and i have already located over a hundred and fifty mammoths within a short distance of here, and apparently there are hundreds, if not thousands, more in the vicinity. the ivory alone is worth over a million dollars. isn't it wonderful!" she laughed excitedly and danced away to join the others. then, out of the black depth of my misery a feeble gleam illuminated the stygian obscurity. there was one way left to stay my approaching downfall--only one. professor bottomly meant to get rid of me, "for the good of the bronx," but there remained a way to ward off impending disaster. and though i had lost the opportunity of my life by disbelieving the simple honesty of james skaw,--and though the honors and emoluments and applause which ought to have been mine were destined for this determined woman, still, if i kept my head, i should be able to hold my job at the bronx. dr. delmour was immovable in the good graces of professor bottomly; and the only way for me to retain my position was to marry her. the thought comforted me. after a while i felt well enough to arise and partake of some luncheon. they were all seated around the campfire when i approached. i was welcomed politely, inquiries concerning my health were offered; but the coldly malevolent glare of dr. fooss and the calm contempt in lezard's gaze chilled me; and i squatted down by daisy delmour and accepted a dish of soup from her in mortified silence. professor bottomly and james skaw were feasting connubially side by side, and she was selecting titbits for him which he dutifully swallowed, his large mild eyes gazing at vacancy in a gentle, surprised sort of way as he gulped down what she offered him. neither of them paid any attention to anybody else. fooss gobbled his lunch in a sort of raging silence; lezard, on the other side of dr. delmour, conversed with her continually in undertones. after a while his persistent murmuring began to make me uneasy, even suspicious, and i glared at him sideways. daisy delmour, catching my eye, blushed, hesitated, then leaning over toward me with delightful confusion she whispered: "i know that you will be glad to hear that i have just promised to marry your closest friend, professor lezard--" "what!" i shouted with all my might, "have _you_ put one over on me, too?" lezard and fooss seized me, for i had risen and was jumping up and down and splashing them with soup. "everybody has put one over on me!" i shrieked. "everybody! now i'm going to put one over on myself!" [illustration: "'everybody has put one over on me!' i shrieked."] and i lifted my plate of soup and reversed it on my head. they told me later that i screamed for half an hour before i swooned. afterward, my intellect being impaired, instead of being dismissed from my department, i was promoted to the position which i now hold as president emeritus of the consolidated art museums and zoölogical gardens of the city of new york. i have easy hours, little to do, and twenty ornamental stenographers and typewriters engaged upon my memoirs which i dictate when i feel like it, steeped in the aroma of the most inexpensive cigar i can buy at the rolling stone inn. there is one typist in particular--but let that pass. _vir sapit qui pauca loquitor._ un peu d'amour when i returned to the plateau from my investigation of the crater, i realized that i had descended the grassy pit as far as any human being could descend. no living creature could pass that barrier of flame and vapour. of that i was convinced. now, not only the crater but its steaming effluvia was utterly unlike anything i had ever before beheld. there was no trace of lava to be seen, or of pumice, ashes, or of volcanic rejecta in any form whatever. there were no sulphuric odours, no pungent fumes, nothing to teach the olfactory nerves what might be the nature of the silvery steam rising from the crater incessantly in a vast circle, ringing its circumference halfway down the slope. under this thin curtain of steam a ring of pale yellow flames played and sparkled, completely encircling the slope. the crater was about half a mile deep; the sides sloped gently to the bottom. but the odd feature of the entire phenomenon was this: the bottom of the crater seemed to be entirely free from fire and vapour. it was disk-shaped, sandy, and flat, about a quarter of a mile in diameter. through my field-glasses i could see patches of grass and wild flowers growing in the sand here and there, and the sparkle of water, and a crow or two, feeding and walking about. i looked at the girl who was standing beside me, then cast a glance around at the very unusual landscape. we were standing on the summit of a mountain some two thousand feet high, looking into a cup-shaped depression or crater, on the edges of which we stood. this low, flat-topped mountain, as i say, was grassy and quite treeless, although it rose like a truncated sugar-cone out of a wilderness of trees which stretched for miles below us, north, south, east, and west, bordered on the horizon by towering blue mountains, their distant ranges enclosing the forests as in a vast amphitheatre. from the centre of this enormous green floor of foliage rose our grassy hill, and it appeared to be the only irregularity which broke the level wilderness as far as the base of the dim blue ranges encircling the horizon. except for the log bungalow of mr. blythe on the eastern edge of this grassy plateau, there was not a human habitation in sight, nor a trace of man's devastating presence in the wilderness around us. again i looked questioningly at the girl beside me and she looked back at me rather seriously. "shall we seat ourselves here in the sun?" she asked. i nodded. very gravely we settled down side by side on the thick green grass. "now," she said, "i shall tell you why i wrote you to come out here. shall i?" "by all means, miss blythe." sitting cross-legged, she gathered her ankles into her hands, settling herself as snugly on the grass as a bird settles on its nest. "the phenomena of nature," she said, "have always interested me intensely, not only from the artistic angle but from the scientific point of view. "it is different with father. he is a painter; he cares only for the artistic aspects of nature. phenomena of a scientific nature bore him. also, you may have noticed that he is of a--a slightly impatient disposition." i had noticed it. he had been anything but civil to me when i arrived the night before, after a five-hundred mile trip on a mule, from the nearest railroad--a journey performed entirely alone and by compass, there being no trail after the first fifty miles. to characterize blythe as slightly impatient was letting him down easy. he was a selfish, bad-tempered old pig. "yes," i said, answering her, "i did notice a negligible trace of impatience about your father." she flushed. "you see i did not inform my father that i had written to you. he doesn't like strangers; he doesn't like scientists. i did not dare tell him that i had asked you to come out here. it was entirely my own idea. i felt that i _must_ write you because i am positive that what is happening in this wilderness is of vital scientific importance." "how did you get a letter out of this distant and desolate place?" i asked. "every two months the storekeeper at windflower station sends in a man and a string of mules with staples for us. the man takes our further orders and our letters back to civilization." i nodded. "he took my letter to you--among one or two others i sent----" a charming colour came into her cheeks. she was really extremely pretty. i liked that girl. when a girl blushes when she speaks to a man he immediately accepts her heightened colour as a personal tribute. this is not vanity: it is merely a proper sense of personal worthiness. she said thoughtfully: "the mail bag which that man brought to us last week contained a letter which, had i received it earlier, would have made my invitation to you unnecessary. i'm sorry i disturbed you." "_i_ am not," said i, looking into her beautiful eyes. i twisted my mustache into two attractive points, shot my cuffs, and glanced at her again, receptively. she had a far-away expression in her eyes. i straightened my necktie. a man, without being vain, ought to be conscious of his own worth. "and now," she continued, "i am going to tell you the various reasons why i asked so celebrated a scientist as yourself to come here." i thanked her for her encomium. "ever since my father retired from boston to purchase this hill and the wilderness surrounding it," she went on, "ever since he came here to live a hermit's life--a life devoted solely to painting landscapes--i also have lived here all alone with him. "that is three years, now. and from the very beginning--from the very first day of our arrival, somehow or other i was conscious that there was something abnormal about this corner of the world." she bent forward, lowering her voice a trifle: "have you noticed," she asked, "that so many things seem to be _circular_ out here?" "circular?" i repeated, surprised. "yes. that crater is circular; so is the bottom of it; so is this plateau, and the hill; and the forests surrounding us; and the mountain ranges on the horizon." "but all this is natural." "perhaps. but in those woods, down there, there are, here and there, great circles of crumbling soil--_perfect_ circles a mile in diameter." "mounds built by prehistoric man, no doubt." she shook her head: "these are not prehistoric mounds." "why not?" "because they have been freshly made." "how do you know?" "the earth is freshly upheaved; great trees, partly uprooted, slant at every angle from the sides of the enormous piles of newly upturned earth; sand and stones are still sliding from the raw ridges." she leaned nearer and dropped her voice still lower: "more than that," she said, "my father and i both have seen one of these huge circles _in the making_!" "what!" i exclaimed, incredulously. "it is true. we have seen several. and it enrages father." "enrages?" "yes, because it upsets the trees where he is painting landscapes, and tilts them in every direction. which, of course, ruins his picture; and he is obliged to start another, which vexes him dreadfully." i think i must have gaped at her in sheer astonishment. "but there is something more singular than that for you to investigate," she said calmly. "look down at that circle of steam which makes a perfect ring around the bowl of the crater, halfway down. do you see the flicker of fire under the vapour?" "yes." she leaned so near and spoke in such a low voice that her fragrant breath fell upon my cheek: "in the fire, under the vapours, there are little animals." "what!!" "little beasts live in the fire--slim, furry creatures, smaller than a weasel. i've seen them peep out of the fire and scurry back into it.... _now_ are you sorry that i wrote you to come? and will you forgive me for bringing you out here?" an indescribable excitement seized me, endowing me with a fluency and eloquence unusual: "i thank you from the bottom of my heart!" i cried; "--from the depths of a heart the emotions of which are entirely and exclusively of scientific origin!" in the impulse of the moment i held out my hand; she laid hers in it with charming diffidence. "yours is the discovery," i said. "yours shall be the glory. fame shall crown you; and perhaps if there remains any reflected light in the form of a by-product, some modest and negligible little ray may chance to illuminate me." surprised and deeply moved by my eloquence, i bent over her hand and saluted it with my lips. she thanked me. her pretty face was rosy. it appeared that she had three cows to milk, new-laid eggs to gather, and the construction of some fresh butter to be accomplished. at the bars of the grassy pasture slope she dropped me a curtsey, declining very shyly to let me carry her lacteal paraphernalia. so i continued on to the bungalow garden, where blythe sat on a camp stool under a green umbrella, painting a picture of something or other. "mr. blythe!" i cried, striving to subdue my enthusiasm. "the eyes of the scientific world are now open upon this house! the searchlight of fame is about to be turned upon you--" "i prefer privacy," he interrupted. "that's why i came here. i'll be obliged if you'll turn off that searchlight." "but, my dear mr. blythe--" "i want to be let alone," he repeated irritably. "i came out here to paint and to enjoy privately my own paintings." if what stood on his easel was a sample of his pictures, nobody was likely to share his enjoyment. "your work," said i, politely, "is--is----" "is what!" he snapped. "_what_ is it--if you think you know?" "it is entirely, so to speak, _per se_--by itself--" "what the devil do you mean by that?" i looked at his picture, appalled. the entire canvas was one monotonous vermillion conflagration. i examined it with my head on one side, then on the other side; i made a funnel with both hands and peered intently through it at the picture. a menacing murmuring sound came from him. "satisfying--exquisitely satisfying," i concluded. "i have often seen such sunsets--" "what!" "i mean such prairie fires--" "damnation!" he exclaimed. "i'm painting a bowl of nasturtiums!" "i was speaking purely in metaphor," said i with a sickly smile. "to me a nasturtium by the river brink is more than a simple flower. it is a broader, grander, more magnificent, more stupendous symbol. it may mean anything, everything--such as sunsets and conflagrations and götterdämmerungs! or--" and my voice was subtly modulated to an appealing and persuasive softness--"it may mean nothing at all--chaos, void, vacuum, negation, the exquisite annihilation of what has never even existed." he glared at me over his shoulder. if he was infected by cubist tendencies he evidently had not understood what i said. "if you won't talk about my pictures i don't mind your investigating this district," he grunted, dabbing at his palette and plastering a wad of vermilion upon his canvas; "but i object to any public invasion of my artistic privacy until i am ready for it." "when will that be?" he pointed with one vermilion-soaked brush toward a long, low, log building. "in that structure," he said, "are packed one thousand and ninety-five paintings--all signed by me. i have executed one or two every day since i came here. when i have painted exactly ten thousand pictures, no more, no less, i shall erect here a gallery large enough to contain them all. "only real lovers of art will ever come here to study them. it is five hundred miles from the railroad. therefore, i shall never have to endure the praises of the dilettante, the patronage of the idler, the vapid rhapsodies of the vulgar. only those who understand will care to make the pilgrimage." he waved his brushes at me: "the conservation of national resources is all well enough--the setting aside of timber reserves, game preserves, bird refuges, all these projects are very good in a way. but i have dedicated this wilderness as a last and only refuge in all the world for true art! because true art, except for my pictures, is, i believe, now practically extinct!... you're in my way. would you mind getting out?" i had sidled around between him and his bowl of nasturtiums, and i hastily stepped aside. he squinted at the flowers, mixed up a flamboyant mess of colour on his palette, and daubed away with unfeigned satisfaction, no longer noticing me until i started to go. then: "what is it you're here for, anyway?" he demanded abruptly. i said with dignity: "i am here to investigate those huge rings of earth thrown up in the forest as by a gigantic mole." he continued to paint for a few moments: "well, go and investigate 'em," he snapped. "i'm not infatuated with your society." "what do you think they are?" i asked, mildly ignoring his wretched manners. "i don't know and i don't care, except, that sometimes when i begin to paint several trees, the very trees i'm painting are suddenly heaved up and tilted in every direction, and all my work goes for nothing. _that_ makes me mad! otherwise, the matter has no interest for me." "but what in the world could cause--" "i don't know and i don't care!" he shouted, waving palette and brushes angrily. "maybe it's an army of moles working all together under the ground; maybe it's some species of circular earthquake. i don't know! i don't care! but it annoys me. and if you can devise any scientific means to stop it, i'll be much obliged to you. otherwise, to be perfectly frank, you bore me." "the mission of science," said i solemnly, "is to alleviate the inconveniences of mundane existence. science, therefore, shall extend a helping hand to her frailer sister, art--" "science can't patronize art while i'm around!" he retorted. "i won't have it!" "but, my dear mr. blythe--" "i won't dispute with you, either! i don't like to dispute!" he shouted. "don't try to make me. don't attempt to inveigle me into discussion! i know all i want to know. i don't want to know anything you want me to know, either!" i looked at the old pig in haughty silence, nauseated by his conceit. after he had plastered a few more tubes of vermilion over his canvas he quieted down, and presently gave me an oblique glance over his shoulder. "well," he said, "what else are you intending to investigate?" "those little animals that live in the crater fires," i said bluntly. "yes," he nodded, indifferently, "there are creatures which live somewhere in the fires of that crater." "do you realize what an astounding statement you are making?" i asked. "it doesn't astound _me_. what do i care whether it astounds you or anybody else? nothing interests me except art." "but--" "i tell you nothing interests me except art!" he yelled. "don't dispute it! don't answer me! don't irritate me! i don't care whether anything lives in the fire or not! let it live there!" "but have you actually seen live creatures in the flames?" "plenty! _plenty!_ what of it? what about it? let 'em live there, for all i care. i've painted pictures of 'em, too. that's all that interests me." "what do they look like, mr. blythe?" "look like? _i_ don't know! they look like weasels or rats or bats or cats or--stop asking me questions! it irritates me! it depresses me! don't ask any more! why don't you go in to lunch? and--tell my daughter to bring me a bowl of salad out here. _i've_ no time to stuff myself. some people have. _i_ haven't. you'd better go in to lunch.... and tell my daughter to bring me seven tubes of chinese vermilion with my salad!" "you don't mean to mix--" i began, then checked myself before his fury. "i'd rather eat vermilion paint on my salad than sit here talking to _you_!" he shouted. i cast a pitying glance at this impossible man, and went into the house. after all, he was _her_ father. i _had_ to endure him. * * * * * after miss blythe had carried to her father a large bucket of lettuce leaves, she returned to the veranda of the bungalow. [illustration: "miss blythe had carried to her father a large bucket of lettuce leaves."] a delightful luncheon awaited us; i seated her, then took the chair opposite. a delicious omelette, fresh biscuit, salad, and strawberry preserves, and a tall tumbler of iced tea imbued me with a sort of mild exhilaration. out of the corner of my eye i could see blythe down in the garden, munching his lettuce leaves like an ill-tempered rabbit, and daubing away at his picture while he munched. "your father," said i politely, "is something of a genius." "i am so glad you think so," she said gratefully. "but don't tell him so. he has been surfeited with praise in boston. that is why we came out here." "art," said i, "is like science, or tobacco, or tooth-wash. every man to his own brand. personally, i don't care for his kind. but who can say which is the best kind of anything? only the consumer. your father is his own consumer. he is the best judge of what he likes. and that is the only true test of art, or anything else." "how delightfully you reason!" she said. "how logically, how generously!" "reason is the handmaid of science, miss blythe." she seemed to understand me. her quick intelligence surprised me, because i myself was not perfectly sure whether i had emitted piffle or an epigram. as we ate our strawberry preserves we discussed ways and means of capturing a specimen of the little fire creatures which, as she explained, so frequently peeped out at her from the crater fires, and, at her slightest movement, scurried back again into the flames. of course i believed that this was only her imagination. yet, for years i had entertained a theory that fire supported certain unknown forms of life. "i have long believed," said i, "that fire is inhabited by living organisms which require the elements and temperature of active combustion for their existence--microörganisms, but not," i added smilingly, "any higher type of life." "in the fireplace," she ventured diffidently, "i sometimes see curious things--dragons and snakes and creatures of grotesque and peculiar shapes." i smiled indulgently, charmed by this innocently offered contribution to science. then she rose, and i rose and took her hand in mine, and we wandered over the grass toward the crater, while i explained to her the difference between what we imagine we see in the glowing coals of a grate fire and my own theory that fire is the abode of living animalculae. on the grassy edge of the crater we paused and looked down the slope, where the circle of steam rose, partly veiling the pale flash of fire underneath. "how near can we go?" i inquired. "quite near. come; i'll guide you." leading me by the hand, she stepped over the brink and we began to descend the easy grass slope together. there was no difficulty about it at all. down we went, nearer and nearer to the wall of steam, until at last, when but fifteen feet away from it, i felt the heat from the flames which sparkled below the wall of vapour. here we seated ourselves upon the grass, and i knitted my brows and fixed my eyes upon this curious phenomenon, striving to discover some reason for it. except for the vapour and the fires, there was nothing whatever volcanic about this spectacle, or in the surroundings. from where i sat i could see that the bed of fire which encircled the crater; and the wall of vapour which crowned the flames, were about three hundred feet wide. of course this barrier was absolutely impassable. there was no way of getting through it into the bottom of the crater. a slight pressure from miss blythe's fingers engaged my attention; i turned toward her, and she said: "there is one more thing about which i have not told you. i feel a little guilty, because _that_ is the real reason i asked you to come here." "what is it?" "i think there are emeralds on the floor of that crater." "emeralds!" "i _think_ so." she felt in the ruffled pocket of her apron, drew out a fragment of mineral, and passed it to me. i screwed a jeweler's glass into my eye and examined it in astonished silence. it was an emerald; a fine, large, immensely valuable stone, if my experience counted for anything. one side of it was thickly coated with vermilion paint. "where did this come from?" i asked in an agitated voice. "from the floor of the crater. is it _really_ an emerald?" i lifted my head and stared at the girl incredulously. "it happened this way," she said excitedly. "father was painting a picture up there by the edge of the crater. he left his palette on the grass to go to the bungalow for some more tubes of colour. while he was in the house, hunting for the colours which he wanted, i stepped out on the veranda, and i saw some crows alight near the palette and begin to stalk about in the grass. one bird walked right over his wet palette; i stepped out and waved my sun-bonnet to frighten him off, but he had both feet in a sticky mass of chinese vermilion, and for a moment was unable to free himself. "i almost caught him, but he flapped away over the edge of the crater, high above the wall of vapour, sailed down onto the crater floor, and alighted. "but his feet bothered him; he kept hopping about on the bottom of the crater, half running, half flying; and finally he took wing and rose up over the hill. "as he flew above me, and while i was looking up at his vermilion feet, something dropped from his claws and nearly struck me. it was that emerald." when i had recovered sufficient composure to speak steadily, i took her beautiful little hand in mine. "this," said i, "is the most exciting locality i have ever visited for purposes of scientific research. within this crater may lie millions of value in emeralds. you are probably, today, the wealthiest heiress upon the face of the globe!" i gave her a winning glance. she smiled, shyly, and blushingly withdrew her hand. for several exquisite minutes i sat there beside her in a sort of heavenly trance. how beautiful she was! how engaging--how sweet--how modestly appreciative of the man beside her, who had little beside his scientific learning, his fame, and a kind heart to appeal to such youth and loveliness as hers! there was something about her that delicately appealed to me. sometimes i pondered what this might be; sometimes i wondered how many emeralds lay on that floor of sandy gravel below us. yes, i loved her. i realised it now. i could even endure her father for her sake. i should make a good husband. i was quite certain of that. i turned and gazed upon her, meltingly. but i did not wish to startle her, so i remained silent, permitting the chaste language of my eyes to interpret for her what my lips had not yet murmured. it was a brief but beautiful moment in my life. "the way to do," said i, "is to trap several dozen crows, smear their feet with glue, tie a ball of indian twine to the ankle of every bird, then liberate them. some are certain to fly into the crater and try to scrape the glue off in the sand. then," i added, triumphantly, "all we have to do is to haul in our birds and detach the wealth of midas from their sticky claws!" "that is an excellent suggestion," she said gratefully, "but i can do that after you have gone. all i wanted you to tell me was whether the stone is a genuine emerald." i gazed at her blankly. "you are here for purposes of scientific investigation," she added, sweetly. "i should not think of taking your time for the mere sake of accumulating wealth for my father and me." there didn't seem to be anything for me to say at that moment. chilled, i gazed at the flashing ring of fire. and, as i gazed, suddenly i became aware of a little, pointed muzzle, two pricked-up ears, and two ruby-red eyes gazing intently out at me from the mass of flames. the girl beside me saw it, too. "don't move!" she whispered. "that is one of the flame creatures. it may venture out if you keep perfectly still." rigid with amazement, i sat like a stone image, staring at the most astonishing sight i had ever beheld. for several minutes the ferret-like creature never stirred from where it crouched in the crater fire; the alert head remained pointed toward us; i could even see that its thick fur must have possessed the qualities of asbestos, because here and there a hair or two glimmered incandescent; and its eyes, nose, and whiskers glowed and glowed as the flames pulsated around it. after a long while it began to move out of the fire, slowly, cautiously, cunning eyes fixed on us--a small, slim, wiry, weasel-like creature on which the sunlight fell with a vitreous glitter as it crept forward into the grass. then, from the fire behind, another creature of the same sort appeared, another, others, then dozens of eager, lithe, little animals appeared everywhere from the flames and began to frisk and play and run about in the grass and nibble the fresh, green, succulent herbage with a snipping sound quite audible to us. one came so near my feet that i could examine it minutely. its fur and whiskers seemed heavy and dense and like asbestos fibre, yet so fine as to appear silky. its eyes, nose, and claws were scarlet, and seemed to possess a glassy surface. i waited my opportunity, and when the little thing came nosing along within reach, i seized it. instantly it emitted a bewildering series of whistling shrieks, and twisted around to bite me. its body was icy. "don't let it bite!" cried the girl. "be careful, mr. smith!" [illustration: "'don't let it bite!' cried the girl. 'be careful, mr. smith!'"] but its jaws were toothless; only soft, cold gums pinched me, and i held it twisting and writhing, while the icy temperature of its body began to benumb my fingers and creep up my wrist, paralyzing my arm; and its incessant and piercing shrieks deafened me. in vain i transferred it to the other hand, and then passed it from one hand to the other, as one shifts a lump of ice or a hot potato, in an attempt to endure the temperature: it shrieked and squirmed and doubled, and finally wriggled out of my stiffened and useless hands, and scuttled away into the fire. it was an overwhelming disappointment. for a moment it seemed unendurable. "never mind," i said, huskily, "if i caught one in my hands, i can surely catch another in a trap." "i am so sorry for your disappointment," she said, pitifully. "do _you_ care, miss blythe?" i asked. she blushed. "of course i care," she murmured. my hands were too badly frost-nipped to become eloquent. i merely sighed and thrust them into my pockets. even my arm was too stiff to encircle her shapeful waist. devotion to science had temporarily crippled me. love must wait. but, as we ascended the grassy slope together, i promised myself that i would make her a good husband, and that i should spend at least part of every day of my life in trapping crows and smearing their claws with glue. that evening i was seated on the veranda beside wilna--miss blythe's name was wilna--and what with gazing at her and fitting together some of the folding box-traps which i always carried with me--and what with trying to realise the pecuniary magnificence of our future existence together, i was exceedingly busy when blythe came in to display, as i supposed, his most recent daub to me. the canvas he carried presented a series of crimson speckles, out of which burst an eruption of green streaks--and it made me think of stepping on a caterpillar. my instinct was to placate this impossible man. he was _her_ father. i meant to honour him if i had to assault him to do it. "supremely satisfying!" i nodded, chary of naming the subject. "it is a stride beyond the art of the future: it is a flying leap out of the not yet into the possibly perhaps! i thank you for enlightening me, mr. blythe. i am your debtor." he fairly snarled at me: "what are _you_ talking about!" he demanded. i remained modestly mute. to wilna he said, pointing passionately at his canvas: "the crows have been walking all over it again! i'm going to paint in the woods after this, earthquakes or no earthquakes. have the trees been heaved up anywhere recently?" "not since last week," she said, soothingly. "it usually happens after a rain." "i think i'll risk it then--although it did rain early this morning. i'll do a moonlight down there this evening." and, turning to me: "if you know as much about science as you do about art you won't have to remain here long--i trust." "what?" said i, very red. he laughed a highly disagreeable laugh, and marched into the house. presently he bawled for dinner, and wilna went away. for her sake i had remained calm and dignified, but presently i went out and kicked up the turf two or three times; and, having foozled my wrath, i went back to dinner, realising that i might as well begin to accustom myself to my future father-in-law. it seemed that he had a mania for prunes, and that's all he permitted anybody to have for dinner. disgusted, i attempted to swallow the loathly stewed fruit, watching blythe askance as he hurriedly stuffed himself, using a tablespoon, with every symptom of relish. "now," he cried, shoving back his chair, "i'm going to paint a moonlight by moonlight. wilna, if billy arrives, make him comfortable, and tell him i'll return by midnight." and without taking the trouble to notice me at all, he strode away toward the veranda, chewing vigorously upon his last prune. "your father," said i, "is eccentric. genius usually is. but he is a most interesting and estimable man. i revere him." "it is kind of you to say so," said the girl, in a low voice. i thought deeply for a few moments, then: "who is 'billy?'" i inquired, casually. i couldn't tell whether it was a sudden gleam of sunset light on her face, or whether she blushed. "billy," she said softly, "is a friend of father's. his name is william green." "oh." "he is coming out here to visit--father--i believe." "oh. an artist; and doubtless of mature years." "he is a mineralogist by profession," she said, "--and somewhat young." "oh." "twenty-four years old," she added. upon her pretty face was an absent expression, vaguely pleasant. her blue eyes became dreamy and exquisitely remote. i pondered deeply for a while: "wilna?" i said. "yes, mr. smith?" as though aroused from agreeable meditation. but i didn't know exactly what to say, and i remained uneasily silent, thinking about that man green and his twenty-four years, and his profession, and the bottom of the crater, and wilna--and striving to satisfy myself that there was no logical connection between any of these. "i think," said i, "that i'll take a bucket of salad to your father." why i should have so suddenly determined to ingratiate myself with the old grouch i scarcely understood: for the construction of a salad was my very best accomplishment. wilna looked at me in a peculiar manner, almost as though she were controlling a sudden and not unpleasant inward desire to laugh. evidently the finer and more delicate instincts of a woman were divining my motive and sympathizing with my mental and sentimental perplexity. so when she said: "i don't think you had better go near my father," i was convinced of her gentle solicitude in my behalf. "with a bucket of salad," i whispered softly, "much may be accomplished, wilna." and i took her little hand and pressed it gently and respectfully. "trust all to me," i murmured. she stood with her head turned away from me, her slim hand resting limply in mine. from the slight tremor of her shoulders i became aware how deeply her emotion was now swaying her. evidently she was nearly ready to become mine. but i remained calm and alert. the time was not yet. her father had had his prunes, in which he delighted. and when pleasantly approached with a bucket of salad he could not listen otherwise than politely to what i had to say to him. quick action was necessary--quick but diplomatic action--in view of the imminence of this young man green, who evidently was _persona grata_ at the bungalow of this irritable old dodo. tenderly pressing the pretty hand which i held, and saluting the finger-tips with a gesture which was, perhaps, not wholly ungraceful, i stepped into the kitchen, washed out several heads of lettuce, deftly chopped up some youthful onions, constructed a seductive french dressing, and, stirring together the crisp ingredients, set the savoury masterpiece away in the ice-box, after tasting it. it was delicious enough to draw sobs from any pig. when i went out to the veranda, wilna had disappeared. so i unfolded and set up some more box-traps, determined to lose no time. sunset still lingered beyond the chain of western mountains as i went out across the grassy plateau to the cornfield. here i set and baited several dozen aluminium crow-traps, padding the jaws so that no injury could be done to the birds when the springs snapped on their legs. then i went over to the crater and descended its gentle, grassy slope. and there, all along the borders of the vapoury wall, i set box-traps for the lithe little denizens of the fire, baiting every trap with a handful of fresh, sweet clover which i had pulled up from the pasture beyond the cornfield. my task ended, i ascended the slope again, and for a while stood there immersed in pleasurable premonitions. everything had been accomplished swiftly and methodically within the few hours in which i had first set eyes upon this extraordinary place--everything!--love at first sight, the delightfully lightning-like wooing and winning of an incomparable maiden and heiress; the discovery of the fire creatures; the solving of the emerald problem. and now everything was ready, crow-traps, fire-traps, a bucket of irresistible salad for blythe, a modest and tremulous avowal for wilna as soon as her father tasted the salad and i had pleasantly notified him of my intentions concerning his lovely offspring. daylight faded from rose to lilac; already the mountains were growing fairy-like under that vague, diffuse lustre which heralds the rise of the full moon. it rose, enormous, yellow, unreal, becoming imperceptibly silvery as it climbed the sky and hung aloft like a stupendous arc-light flooding the world with a radiance so white and clear that i could very easily have written verses by it, if i wrote verses. down on the edge of the forest i could see blythe on his camp-stool, madly besmearing his moonlit canvas, but i could not see wilna anywhere. maybe she had shyly retired somewhere by herself to think of me. so i went back to the house, filled a bucket with my salad, and started toward the edge of the woods, singing happily as i sped on feet so light and frolicsome that they seemed to skim the ground. how wonderful is the power of love! when i approached blythe he heard me coming and turned around. "what the devil do _you_ want?" he asked with characteristic civility. "i have brought you," said i gaily, "a bucket of salad." "i don't want any salad!" "w-what?" "i never eat it at night." i said confidently: "mr. blythe, if you will taste this salad i am sure you will not regret it." and with hideous cunning i set the bucket beside him on the grass and seated myself near it. the old dodo grunted and continued to daub the canvas; but presently, as though forgetfully, and from sheer instinct, he reached down into the bucket, pulled out a leaf of lettuce, and shoved it into his mouth. my heart leaped exultantly. i had him! "mr. blythe," i began in a winningly modulated voice, and, at the same instant, he sprang from his camp-chair, his face distorted. "there are onions in this salad!" he yelled. "what the devil do you mean! are you trying to poison me! what are you following me about for, anyway? why are you running about under foot every minute!" "my dear mr. blythe," i protested--but he barked at me, kicked over the bucket of salad, and began to dance with rage. [illustration: "kicked over the bucket of salad, and began to dance with rage."] "what's the matter with you, anyway!" he bawled. "why are you trying to feed me? what do you mean by trying to be attentive to me!" "i--i admire and revere you--" "no you don't!" he shouted. "i don't want you to admire me! i don't desire to be revered! i don't like attention and politeness! do you hear! it's artificial--out of date--ridiculous! the only thing that recommends a man to me is his bad manners, bad temper, and violent habits. there's some meaning to such a man, none at all to men like you!" he ran at the salad bucket and kicked it again. "they all fawned on me in boston!" he panted. "they ran about under foot! they bought my pictures! and they made me sick! i came out here to be rid of 'em!" i rose from the grass, pale and determined. "you listen to me, you old grouch!" i hissed. "i'll go. but before i go i'll tell you why i've been civil to you. there's only one reason in the world: i want to marry your daughter! and i'm going to do it!" i stepped nearer him, menacing him with outstretched hand: "as for you, you pitiable old dodo, with your bad manners and your worse pictures, and your degraded mania for prunes, you are a necessary evil that's all, and i haven't the slightest respect for either you or your art!" "is that true?" he said in an altered voice. "true?" i laughed bitterly. "of course it's true, you miserable dauber!" "d-dauber!" he stammered. "certainly! i _said_ 'dauber,' and i mean it. why, your work would shame the pictures on a child's slate!" "smith," he said unsteadily, "i believe i have utterly misjudged you. i believe you are a good deal of a man, after all--" "i'm man enough," said i, fiercely, "to go back, saddle my mule, kidnap your daughter, and start for home. and i'm going to do it!" "wait!" he cried. "i don't want you to go. if you'll remain i'll be very glad. i'll do anything you like. i'll quarrel with you, and you can insult my pictures. it will agreeably stimulate us both. don't go, smith--" "if i stay, may i marry wilna?" "if you ask me i won't let you!" "very well!" i retorted, angrily. "then i'll marry her anyway!" "that's the way to talk! don't go, smith. i'm really beginning to like you. and when billy green arrives you and he will have a delightfully violent scene--" "what!" he rubbed his hands gleefully. "he's in love with wilna. you and he won't get on. it is going to be very stimulating for me--i can see that! you and he are going to behave most disagreeably to each other. and i shall be exceedingly unpleasant to you both! come, smith, promise me that you'll stay!" profoundly worried, i stood staring at him in the moonlight, gnawing my mustache. "very well," i said, "i'll remain if--" something checked me, i did not quite know what for a moment. blythe, too, was staring at me in an odd, apprehensive way. suddenly i realised that under my feet the ground was stirring. "look out!" i cried; but speech froze on my lips as beneath me the solid earth began to rock and crack and billow up into a high, crumbling ridge, moving continually, as the sod cracks, heaves up, and crumbles above the subterranean progress of a mole. up into the air we were slowly pushed on the ever-growing ridge; and with us were carried rocks and bushes and sod, and even forest trees. i could hear their tap-roots part with pistol-like reports; see great pines and hemlocks and oaks moving, slanting, settling, tilting crazily in every direction as they were heaved upward in this gigantic disturbance. blythe caught me by the arm; we clutched each other, balancing on the crest of the steadily rising mound. "w-what is it?" he stammered. "look! it's circular. the woods are rising in a huge circle. what's happening? do you know?" over me crept a horrible certainty that _something living_ was moving under us through the depths of the earth--something that, as it progressed, was heaping up the surface of the world above its unseen and burrowing course--something dreadful, enormous, sinister, and _alive_! "look out!" screamed blythe; and at the same instant the crumbling summit of the ridge opened under our feet and a fissure hundreds of yards long yawned ahead of us. and along it, shining slimily in the moonlight, a vast, viscous, ringed surface was moving, retracting, undulating, elongating, writhing, squirming, shuddering. "it's a worm!" shrieked blythe. "oh, god! it's a mile long!" [illustration: "'it's a worm!' shrieked blythe."] as in a nightmare we clutched each other, struggling frantically to avoid the fissure; but the soft earth slid and gave way under us, and we fell heavily upon that ghastly, living surface. instantly a violent convulsion hurled us upward; we fell on it again, rebounding from the rubbery thing, strove to regain our feet and scramble up the edges of the fissure, strove madly while the mammoth worm slid more rapidly through the rocking forests, carrying us forward with a speed increasing. through the forest we tore, reeling about on the slippery back of the thing, as though riding on a plowshare, while trees clashed and tilted and fell from the enormous furrow on every side; then, suddenly out of the woods into the moonlight, far ahead of us we could see the grassy upland heave up, cake, break, and crumble above the burrowing course of the monster. "it's making for the crater!" gasped blythe; and horror spurred us on, and we scrambled and slipped and clawed the billowing sides of the furrow until we gained the heaving top of it. as one runs in a bad dream, heavily, half-paralyzed, so ran blythe and i, toiling over the undulating, tumbling upheaval until, half-fainting, we fell and rolled down the shifting slope onto solid and unvexed sod on the very edges of the crater. below us we saw, with sickened eyes, the entire circumference of the crater agitated, saw it rise and fall as avalanches of rock and earth slid into it, tons and thousands of tons rushing down the slope, blotting from our sight the flickering ring of flame, and extinguishing the last filmy jet of vapour. suddenly the entire crater caved in and filled up under my anguished eyes, quenching for all eternity the vapour wall, the fire, and burying the little denizens of the flames, and perhaps a billion dollars' worth of emeralds under as many billion tons of earth. quieter and quieter grew the earth as the gigantic worm bored straight down into depths immeasurable. and at last the moon shone upon a world that lay without a tremor in its milky lustre. "i shall name it _verma gigantica_," said i, with a hysterical sob; "but nobody will ever believe me when i tell this story!" still terribly shaken, we turned toward the house. and, as we approached the lamplit veranda, i saw a horse standing there and a young man hastily dismounting. and then a terrible thing occurred; for, before i could even shriek, wilna had put both arms around that young man's neck, and both of his arms were clasping her waist. blythe was kind to me. he took me around the back way and put me to bed. and there i lay through the most awful night i ever experienced, listening to the piano below, where wilna and william green were singing, "un peu d'amour." the eggs of the silver moon in the new white marble administration building at bronx park, my private office separated the offices of dr. silas quint and professor boomly; and it had been arranged so on purpose, because of the increasingly frequent personal misunderstanding between these two celebrated entomologists. it was very plain to me that a crisis in this quarrel was rapidly approaching. a bitter animosity had for some months existed on both sides, born of the most intense professional jealousy. they had been friends for years. no unseemly rivalry disturbed this friendship as long as it was merely a question of collecting, preparing, and mounting for exhibition the vast numbers of butterflies and moths which haunt this insectivorous earth. even their zeal in the eternal hunt for new and undescribed species had not made them enemies. i am afraid that my suggestion for the construction of a great glass flying-cage for _living_ specimens of moths and butterflies started the trouble between these hitherto godly and middle-aged men. that, and the carnegie educational medal were the causes which began this deplorable affair. various field collectors, employed by both quint and boomly, were always out all over the world foraging for specimens; also, they were constantly returning with spoils from every quarter of the globe. now, to secure rare and beautiful living specimens of butterflies and moths for the crystal flying-cage was a serious and delicate job. such tropical insects could not survive the journey of several months from the wilds of australia, india, asia, africa, or the jungles of south america--nor could semi-tropical species endure the captivity of a few weeks or even days, when captured in the west indies, mexico, or florida. only our duller-coloured, smaller, and hardier native species tolerated capture and exhibition. therefore, the mode of procedure which i suggested was for our field expeditions to obtain males and females of the same species of butterfly or moth, mate them, and, as soon as any female deposited her eggs, place the tiny pearl-like eggs in cold storage to retard their hatching, which normally occurs, in the majority of species, within ten days or two weeks. this now was the usual mode of procedure followed by the field collectors employed by dr. quint and professor boomly. and not only were the eggs of various butterflies and moths so packed for transportation, but a sufficient store of their various native food-plants was also preserved, where such food-plants could not be procured in the united states. so when the eggs arrived at bronx park, and were hatched there in due time, the young caterpillars had plenty of nourishment ready for them in cold storage. might i not, legitimately, have expected the carnegie educational medal for all this? i have never received it. i say this without indignation--even without sorrow. i merely make the statement. yet, my system was really a very beautiful system; a tiny batch of eggs would arrive from ceylon, or sumatra, or africa; when taken from cold storage and placed in the herbarium they would presently hatch; the caterpillars were fed with their accustomed food-plant--a few leaves being taken from cold storage every day for them--they would pass through their three or four moulting periods, cease feeding in due time, transform into the chrysalis stage, and finally appear in all the splendour and magnificence of butterfly or moth. the great glass flying-cage was now alive with superb moths and butterflies, flitting, darting, fluttering among the flowering bushes or feeding along the sandy banks of the brook which flowed through the flying-cage, bordered by thickets of scented flowers. and it was like looking at a meteoric shower of winged jewels, where the huge metallic-blue _morphos_ from south america flapped and sailed, and the orange and gold and green _ornithoptera_ from borneo pursued their majestic, bird-like flight--where big, glittering _papilios_ flashed through the bushes or alighted nervously to feed for a few moments on jasmine and phlox, and where the slowly flopping _heliconians_ winged their way amid the denser tangles of tropical vegetation. nothing like this flying-cage had ever before been seen in new york; thousands and thousands of men, women, and children thronged the lawn about the flying-cage all day long. by night, also, the effect was wonderful; the electric lights among the foliage broke out; the great downy-winged moths, which had been asleep all day while the butterflies flitted through the sunshine, now came out to display their crimson or peacock-spotted wings, and the butterflies folded their wings and went to bed for the night. the public was enchanted, the authorities of the bronx proud and delighted; all apparently was happiness and harmony. except that nobody offered me the carnegie medal. i was sitting one morning in my office, which, as i have said, separated the offices of dr. quint and professor boomly, when there came a loud rapping on my door, and, at my invitation, dr. quint bustled in--a little, meagre, excitable, near-sighted man with pointed mustaches and a fleck of an imperial smudging his lower lip. "last week," he began angrily, "young jones arrived from singapore bringing me the eggs of _erebia astarte_, the great silver moon butterfly. attempts to destroy them have been made. last night i left them in a breeding-cage on my desk. has anybody been in there?" "i don't know," i said. "what has happened?" "i found an ichneumon fly in the cage yesterday!" he shouted; "and this morning the eggs have either shrunk to half their size or else the eggs of another species have been secretly substituted for them and the silver moon eggs stolen! has _he_ been in there?" "who?" i asked, pretending to misunderstand. "_he!_" demanded quint fiercely. "if he has i'll kill him some day." _he_ meant his one-time friend, dr. boomly. alas! "for heaven's sake, why are you two perpetually squabbling?" i asked wearily. "you used to be inseparable friends. why can't you make up?" "because i've come to know him. that's why! i have unmasked this--this borgia--this machiavelli--this monster of duplicity! matters are approaching a point where something has got to be done short of murder. i've stood all his envy and jealousy and cheap imputations and hints and contemptible innuendoes that i'm going to--" he stopped short, glaring at the doorway, which had suddenly been darkened by the vast bulk of professor boomly--a figure largely abdominal but majestic--like the massive butt end of an elephant. for the rest, he had a rather insignificant and peevish face and a melancholy mustache that usually looked damp. "mr. smith," he said to me, in his thin, high, sarcastic voice--a voice incongruously at variance with his bulk--"has anybody had the infernal impudence to enter my room and nose about my desk?" "yes, _i_ have!" replied quint excitedly. "i've been in your room. what of it? what about it?" boomly permitted his heavy-lidded eyes to rest on quint for a moment, then, turning to me: "i want a patent lock put on my door. will you speak to professor farrago?" "i want one put on mine, too!" cried quint. "i want a lock put on my door which will keep envious, dull-minded, mentally broken-down, impertinent, and fat people out of my office!" boomly flushed heavily: "fat?" he repeated, glaring at quint. "did you say 'fat?'" "yes, fat--intellectually and corporeally fat! i want that kind of individual kept out. i don't trust them. i'm afraid of them. their minds are atrophied. they are unmoral, possibly even criminal! i don't want them in my room snooping about to see what i have and what i'm doing. i don't want them to sneak in, eaten up with jealousy and envy, and try to damage the eggs of the silver moon butterfly because the honour and glory of hatching them would probably procure for me the carnegie educational medal--" "why, you little, dried-up, protoplasmic atom!" burst out boomly, his face suffused with passion, "are you insinuating that i have any designs on your batch of eggs?" "it's my belief," shouted quint, "that you want that medal yourself, and that you put an ichneumon fly in my breeding-cage in hopes it would sting the eggs of the silver moon." "if you found an ichneumon fly there," retorted boomly, "you probably hatched it in mistake for a butterfly!" and he burst into a peal of contemptuous laughter, but his little, pig-like eyes under the heavy lids were furious. "i now believe," said quint, trembling with rage, "that you have criminally substituted a batch of common _plexippus_ eggs for the silver moon eggs i had in my breeding-cage! i believe you are sufficiently abandoned to do it!" "ha! ha!" retorted boomly scornfully. "i don't believe you ever had anything in your breeding-cage except a few clothes moths and cockroaches!" quint began to dance: "you _did_ take them!" he yelled; "and you left me a bunch of milkweed butterflies' eggs! give me my eggs or i shall violently assault you!" "assault your grandmother!" remarked boomly, with unscientific brevity. "what do you suppose i want of your ridiculous eggs? haven't i enough eggs of _heliconius salome_ hatching to give me the carnegie medal if i want it?" "the silver moon eggs are unique!" cried quint. "you know it! you know that if they hatch, pupate, and become perfect insects that i shall certainly be awarded--" "you'll be awarded the matteawan medal," remarked boomly with venom. quint ran at him with a half-suppressed howl, his momentum carrying him halfway up professor boomly's person. then, losing foothold, he fell to the floor and began to kick in the general direction of professor boomly. it was a sorrowful sight to see these two celebrated scientists panting, mauling, scuffling and punching each other around the room, tables and chairs and scrapbaskets flying in every direction, and i mounted on the window-sill horrified, speechless, trying to keep clear of the revolving storm centre. "where are my silver moon eggs!" screamed dr. quint. "where are my eggs that jones brought me from singapore--you entomological robber! you've got 'em somewhere! if you don't give 'em up i'll find means to destroy you!" "you insignificant pair of maxillary palpi!" bellowed professor boomly, galloping after dr. quint as he dodged around my desk. "i'll pull off those antennæ you call whiskers if i can get hold of em--" dr. quint's threatened mustaches bristled as he fled before the elephantine charge of professor boomly--once again around my desk, then out into the hall, where i heard the door of his office slam, and boomly, gasping, panting, breathing vengeance outside, and vowing to leave quint quite whiskerless when he caught him. it was a painful scene for scientists to figure in or to gaze upon. profoundly shocked and upset, i locked up the anthropological department offices and went out into the park, where the sun was shining and a gentle june wind stirred the trees. too completely upset to do any more work that day, i wandered about amid the gaily dressed crowds at hazard; sometimes i contemplated the monkeys; sometimes gazed sadly upon the seals. they dashed and splashed and raced round and round their tank, or crawled up on the rocks, craned their wet, sleek necks, and barked--houp! houp! houp! for luncheon i went over to the rolling stone restaurant. there was a very pretty girl there--an unusually pretty girl--or perhaps it was one of those days on which every girl looked unusually pretty to me. there are such days. her voice was exquisite when she spoke. she said: "we have, today, corned beef hash, fried ham and eggs, liver and bacon--" but let that pass, too. i took my tea very weak; by that time i learned that her name was mildred case; that she had been a private detective employed in a department store, and that her duties had been to nab wealthy ladies who forgot to pay for objects usually discovered in their reticules, bosoms, and sometimes in their stockings. but the confinement of indoor work had been too much for mildred case, and the only outdoor job she could find was the position of lady waitress in the rustic rolling stone inn. she was very, very beautiful, or perhaps it was one of those days--but let that pass, too. "you are the great mr. percy smith, curator of the anthropological department, are you not?" she asked shyly. "yes," i said modestly; and, to slightly rebuke any superfluous pride in me, i paraphrased with becoming humility, pointing upward: "but remember, mildred, there is one greater than i." "mr. carnegie?" she nodded innocently. that was true, too. i let it go at that. we chatted: she mentioned professor boomly and dr. quint, gently deploring the rupture of their friendship. both gentlemen, in common with the majority of the administration personnel, were daily customers at the rolling stone inn. i usually took my lunch from my boarding-house to my office, being too busy to go out for mere nourishment. that is why i had hitherto missed mildred case. "mildred," i said, "i do not believe it can be wholesome for a man to eat sandwiches while taking minute measurements of defunct monkeys. also, it is not a fragrant pastime. hereafter i shall lunch here." "it will be a pleasure to serve you," said that unusually--there i go again! it was an unusually beautiful day in june. which careful, exact, and scientific statement, i think ought to cover the subject under consideration. after luncheon i sadly selected a five-cent cigar; and, as i hesitated, lingering over the glass case, undecided still whether to give full rein to this contemplated extravagance, i looked up and found her beautiful grey eyes gazing into mine. "what gentle thoughts are yours, mildred?" i said softly. "the cigar you have selected," she murmured, "is fly-specked." deeply touched that this young girl should have cared--that she should have expressed her solicitude so modestly, so sweetly, concerning the maculatory condition of my cigar, i thanked her and purchased, for the same sum, a packet of cigarettes. that was going somewhat far for me. i had never in all my life even dreamed of smoking a cigarette. to a reserved, thoughtful, and scientific mind there is, about a packet of cigarettes, something undignified, something vaguely frolicsome. when i paid her for them i felt as though, for the first time in my life, i had let myself go. oddly enough, in this uneasy feeling of gaiety and abandon, a curious sensation of exhilaration persisted. we had quite a merry little contretemps when i tried to light my cigarette and the match went out, and then _she_ struck another match, and we both laughed, and _that_ match was extinguished by her breath. instantly i quoted: "'her breath was like the new-mown hay--'" "mr. smith!" she said, flushing slightly. "'her eyes,' i quoted, 'were like the stars at even!'" "you don't mean _my_ eyes, do you?" i took a puff at my unlighted cigarette. it also smelled like recently mown hay. i felt that i was slipping my cables and heading toward an unknown and tempestuous sea. "what time are you free, mildred?" i asked, scarcely recognising my own voice in such reckless apropos. she shyly informed me. i struck a match, relighted my cigarette, and took one puff. that was sufficient: i was adrift. i realised it, trembled internally, took another puff. "if," said i carelessly, "on your way home you should chance to stroll along the path beyond the path that leads to the path which--" i paused, checked by her bewildered eyes. we both blushed. "which way do you usually go home?" i asked, my ears afire. [illustration: "'which way do you usually go home?' i asked."] she told me. it was a suitably unfrequented path. so presently i strolled thither; and seated myself under the trees in a bosky dell. now, there is a quality in boskiness not inappropriate to romantic thoughts. boskiness, cigarettes, a soft afternoon in june, the hum of bees, and the distant barking of the seals, all these were delicately blending to inspire in me a bashful sentiment. a specimen of _papilio turnus_, di-morphic form, _glaucus_, alighted near me; i marked its flight with scientific indifference. yet it is a rare species in bronx park. a mock-orange bush was in snowy bloom behind me; great bunches of wistaria hung over the rock beside me. the combination of these two exquisite perfumes seemed to make the boskiness more bosky. there was an unaccustomed and sportive lightness to my step when i rose to meet mildred, where she came loitering along the shadow-dappled path. she seemed surprised to see me. she thought it rather late to sit down, but she seated herself. i talked to her enthusiastically about anthropology. she was so interested that after a while she could scarcely keep still, moving her slim little feet restlessly, biting her pretty lower lip, shifting her position--all certain symptoms of an interest in science which even approached excitement. warmed to the heart by her eager and sympathetic interest in the noble science so precious, so dear to me, i took her little hand to soothe and quiet her, realizing that she might become overexcited as i described the pituitary body and why its former functions had become atrophied until the gland itself was nearly obsolete. so intense her interest had been that she seemed a little tired. i decided to give adequate material support to her spinal process. it seemed to rest and soothe her. i don't remember that she said anything except: "mr. _smith_!" i don't recollect what we were saying when she mentioned me by name rather abruptly. the afternoon was wonderfully still and calm. the month was june. after a while--quite a while--some little time in point of accurate fact--she detected the sound of approaching footsteps. i remember that she was seated at the opposite end of the bench, rather feverishly occupied with her hat and her hair, when young jones came hastily along the path, caught sight of us, halted, turned violently red--being a shy young man--but instead of taking himself off, he seemed to recover from a momentary paralysis. "mr. smith!" he said sharply. "professor boomly has disappeared; there's a pool of blood on his desk; his coat, hat, and waistcoat are lying on the floor, the room is a wreck, and dr. quint is in there tearing up the carpet and behaving like a madman. we think he suddenly went insane and murdered professor boomly. what is to be done?" horrified, i had risen at his first word. and now, as i understood the full purport of his dreadful message, my hair stirred under my hat and i gazed at him, appalled. "what is to be done?" he demanded. "shall i telephone for the police?" "do you actually believe," i faltered, "that this unfortunate man has murdered boomly?" "i don't know. i looked over the transom, but i couldn't see professor boomly. dr. quint has locked the door." "and he's tearing up the carpet?" "like a lunatic. i didn't want to call in the police until i'd asked you. such a scandal in bronx park would be a frightful thing for us all--" he hesitated, looked around, coldly, it seemed to me, at mildred case. "a scandal," he repeated, "is scarcely what might be expected among a harmonious and earnest band of seekers after scientific knowledge. is it, mil--miss case?" now, i don't know why mildred should have blushed. there was nothing that i could see in this young man's question to embarrass her. preoccupied, still confused by the shock of this terrible news, i looked at jones and at mildred; and they were staring rather oddly at each other. i said: "if this affair turns out to be as ghastly as it seems to promise, we'll have to call in a detective. i'll go back immediately--" "why not take me, also?" asked mildred case, quietly. "what?" i asked, looking at her. "why not, mr. smith? i was once a private detective." surprised at the suggestion, i hesitated. "if you desire to keep this matter secret--if you wish to have it first investigated privately and quietly--would it not be a good idea to let me use my professional knowledge before you call in the police? because as soon as the police are summoned all hope of avoiding publicity is at an end." she spoke so sensibly, so quietly, so modestly, that her offer of assistance deeply impressed me. as for young jones, he looked at her steadily in that odd, chilling manner, which finally annoyed me. there was no need of his being snobbish because this very lovely and intelligent young girl happened to be a waitress at the rolling stone inn. "come," i said unsteadily, again a prey to terrifying emotions; "let us go to the administration building and learn how matters stand. if this affair is as terrible as i fear it to be, science has received the deadliest blow ever dealt it since cagliostro perished." as we three strode hastily along the path in the direction of the administration building, i took that opportunity to read these two youthful fellow beings a sermon on envy, jealousy, and coveteousness. "see," said i, "to what a miserable condition the desire for notoriety and fame has brought two learned and enthusiastic delvers in the vineyard of endeavor! the mad desire for the carnegie medal completely turned the hitherto perfectly balanced brains of these devoted disciples of science. envy begat envy, jealousy begat jealousy, pride begat pride, hatred begat hatred--" "it's like that book in the bible where everybody begat everybody else," said mildred seriously. at first i thought she had made an apt and clever remark; but on thinking it over i couldn't quite see its relevancy. i turned and looked into her sweet face. her eyes were dancing with brilliancy and her sensitive lips quivered. i feared, she was near to tears from the reaction of the shock. had jones not been walking with us--but let that go, too. we were now entering the administration building, almost running; and as soon as we came to the closed door of dr. quint's room, i could hear a commotion inside--desk drawers being pulled out and their contents dumped, curtains being jerked from their rings, an unmistakable sound indicating the ripping up of a carpet--and through all this din the agitated scuffle of footsteps. i rapped on the door. no notice taken. i rapped and knocked and called in a low, distinct voice. suddenly i recollected i had a general pass-key on my ring which unlocked any door in the building. i nodded to jones and to mildred to stand aside, then, gently fitting the key, i suddenly pushed out the key which remained on the inside, turned the lock, and flung open the door. a terrible sight presented itself: dr. quint, hair on end, both mustaches pulled out, shirt, cuffs, and white waistcoat smeared with blood, knelt amid the general wreckage on the floor, in the act of ripping up the carpet. "doctor!" i cried in a trembling voice. "what have you done to professor boomly?" he paused in his carpet ripping and looked around at us with a terrifying laugh. "i've settled _him_!" he said. "if you don't want to get all over dust you'd better keep out--" "quint!" i cried. "are you crazy?" "pretty nearly. let me alone--" "where is boomly!" i demanded in a tragic voice. "where is your old friend, billy boomly? where is he, quint? and what does _that_ mean--that pool of blood on the floor? whose is it?" "it's bill's," said quint, coolly ripping up another breadth of carpet and peering under it. "what!" i exclaimed. "do you admit that?" "certainly i admit it. i told him i'd terminate him if he meddled with my silver moon eggs." "you mean to say that you shed blood--the blood of your old friend--merely because he meddled with a miserable batch of butterfly's eggs?" i asked, astounded. "i certainly did shed his blood for just that particular thing! and listen; you're in my way--you're standing on a part of the carpet which i want to tear up. do you mind moving?" such cold-blooded calmness infuriated me. i sprang at quint, seized him, and shouted to jones to tie his hands behind him with the blood-soaked handkerchief which lay on the floor. at first, while jones and i were engaged in the operation of securing the wretched man, quint looked at us both as though surprised; then he grew angry and asked us what the devil we were about. "those who shed blood must answer for it!" i said solemnly. "what? what's the matter with you?" he demanded in a rage. "shed blood? what if i did? what's that to you? untie this handkerchief, you unmentionable idiot!" i looked at jones: "his mind totters," i said hoarsely. "what's that!" cried quint, struggling to get off the chair whither i had pushed him: but with my handkerchief we tied his ankles to the rung of the chair, heedless of his attempts to kick us, and sprang back out of range. "now," i said, "what have you done with the poor victim of your fury? where is he? where is all that remains of professor boomly?" "boomly? i don't know where he is. how the devil should i know?" "don't lie," i said solemnly. "lie! see here, smith, when i get out of this chair i'll settle you, too--" "quint! there is another and more terrible chair which awaits such criminals as you!" "you old fluff!" he shouted. "i'll knock your head off, too. do you understand? i'll attend to you as i attended to boomly--" "assassin!" i retorted calmly. "only an alienist can save you now. in this awful moment--" a light touch on my arm interrupted me, and, a trifle irritated, as any man might be when checked in the full flow of eloquence, i turned to find mildred at my elbow. "let me talk to him," she said in a quiet voice. "perhaps i may not irritate him as you seem to." "very well," i said. "jones and i are here as witnesses." and i folded my arms in an attitude not, perhaps, unpicturesque. "dr. quint," said mildred in her soft, agreeable voice, and actually smiling slightly at the self-confessed murderer, "is it really true that you are guilty of shedding the blood of professor boomly?" "it is," said quint, coolly. she seemed rather taken aback at that, but presently recovered her equanimity. "why?" she asked gently. "because he attempted a most hellish crime!" yelled quint. "w-what crime?" she asked faintly. "i'll tell you. he wanted the carnegie medal, and he knew it would be given to me if i could incubate and hatch my batch of silver moon butterfly eggs. he realised well enough that his heliconian eggs were not as valuable as my silver moon eggs. so first he sneaked in here and put an ichneumon fly in my breeding-cage. and next he stole the silver moon eggs and left in their place some common _plexippus_ eggs, thinking that because they were very similar i would not notice the substitution. "i did notice it! i charged him with that cataclysmic outrage. he laughed. we came into personal collision. he chased me into my room." panting, breathless with rage at the memory of the morning's defeat which i had witnessed, quint glared at me for a moment. then he jerked his head toward mildred: "as soon as he went to luncheon--boomly, i mean--i climbed over that transom and dropped into this room. i had been hunting for ten minutes before i found my silver moon eggs hidden under the carpet. so i pocketed them, climbed back over the transom, and went to my room." he paused dramatically, staring from one to another of us: "boomly was there!" he said slowly. "where?" asked mildred with a shudder. "in my room. he had picked the lock. i told him to get out! he went. i shouted after him that i had recovered the silver moon eggs and that i should certainly be awarded the carnegie medal. "then that monster in human form laughed a horrible laugh, avowing himself guilty of a crime still more hideous than the theft of the silver moon eggs! do you know what he had done?" "w-what?" faltered mildred. "he had stolen from cold storage and had concealed the leaves of the bimba bush, brought from singapore to feed the silver moon caterpillars! _that's_ what boomly had done! _"and my silver moon eggs had already begun to hatch!!! and my caterpillars would starve!!!!"_ his voice ended in a yell; he struggled on his chair until it nearly upset. "you lunatic!" i shouted. "was that a reason for spilling the blood of a human being!" "it was reason enough for me!" "madman!" "let me loose! he's hidden those leaves somewhere or other! i've torn this place to pieces looking for them. i've got to find them, i tell you--" mildred went to the infuriated entomologist and laid a firm hand on his shoulder: "listen," she said: "how do you know that professor boomly has not concealed these bimba leaves on his own person?" quint ceased his contortions and gaped at her. "i never thought of that," he said. "what have you done with him?" she asked, very pale. "i tell you, i don't know." "you must know what you did with him," she insisted. quint shook his head impatiently, apparently preoccupied with other thoughts. we stood watching him in silence until he looked up and became conscious of our concentrated gaze. "my caterpillars are starving," he began violently. "i haven't anything else they'll eat. they feed only on the bimba leaf. they _won't_ eat anything else. it's a well-known fact that they won't. why, in johore, where they came from, they'll travel miles over the ground to find a bimba bush--" "what!" exclaimed mildred. "certainly--miles! they'd starve sooner than eat anything except bimba leaves. if there's a bush within twenty miles they'll find it--" "wait," said mildred quietly. "where are these starving caterpillars?" "in a glass jar in my pocket--here! what the devil are you doing!" for the girl had dexterously slipped the glass jar from his coat pocket and was holding it up to the light. inside it were several dozen tiny, dark caterpillars, some resting disconsolately on the sides of the glass, some hungrily travelling over the bottom in pitiful and hopeless quest of nourishment. heedless of the shouts and threats of dr. quint, the girl calmly uncorked the jar, took on her slender forefinger a single little caterpillar, replaced the cork, and, kneeling down, gently disengaged the caterpillar. it dropped upon the floor, remained motionless for a moment, then, turning, began to travel rapidly toward the doorway behind us. "now," she said, "if poor professor boomly really has concealed these bimba leaves upon his own person, this little caterpillar, according to dr. quint, is certain to find those leaves." [illustration: "'this little caterpillar ... is certain to find those leaves.'"] overcome with excitement and admiration for this intelligent and unusually beautiful girl, i seized her hands and congratulated her. "murder," said i to the miserable quint, "will out! this infant caterpillar shall lead us to that dark and secret spot where you had hoped to conceal the horrid evidence of your guilt. three things have undone you--a caterpillar replete with mysterious instinct, a humble bunch of bimba leaves, and the marvellous intelligence of this young and lovely girl. madman, your hour has struck!" he looked at me in a dazed sort of way, as though astonishment had left him unable to articulate. but i had become tired of his violence and his shouts and yells; so i asked jones for his handkerchief, and, before quint knew what i was up to i had tied it over his mouth. he became a brilliant purple, but all he could utter was a furious humming, buzzing noise. meanwhile, jones had opened the door; the little caterpillar, followed by mildred and myself, continued to hustle along as though he knew quite well where he was going. down the hallway he went in undulating haste, past my door, we all following in silent excitement as we discovered that, parallel to the caterpillar's course, ran a gruesome trail of blood drops. and when the little creature turned and made straight for the door of professor farrago, our revered chief, the excitement among us was terrific. the caterpillar halted; i gently tried the door; it was open. instantly the caterpillar crossed the threshold, wriggling forward at top speed. we followed, peering fearfully around us. nobody was visible. could quint have dragged his victim here? by heaven, he had! for the caterpillar was travelling straight under the lounge upon which professor farrago was accustomed to repose after luncheon, and, dropping on one knee, i saw a fat foot partly protruding from under the shirred edges of the fringed drapery. "he's there!" i whispered, in an awed voice to the others. "courage, miss case! try not to faint." jones turned and looked at her with that same odd expression; then he went over to where she stood and coolly passed one arm around her waist. "try not to faint, mildred," he said. "it might muss your hair." it was a strange thing to say, but i had no time then to analyze it, for i had seized the fat foot which partly protruded from under the sofa, clad in a low-cut congress gaiter and a white sock. and then _i_ nearly fainted, for instead of the dreadful, inert resistance of lifeless clay, the foot wriggled and tried to kick at me. "help!" came a thin but muffled voice. "help! help, in the name of heaven!" "boomly!" i cried, scarcely believing my ears. "take that man away, smith!" whimpered boomly. "he's a devil! he'll murder me! he made my nose bleed all over everything!" "boomly! you're _not_ dead!" "yes, i am!" he whined. "i'm dead enough to suit me. keep that little lunatic off--that's all i ask. he can have his carnegie medal for all i care, only tie him up somewhere--" "professor boomly!" cried mildred excitedly. "have you any bimba leaves concealed about your person?" "yes, i have," he said sulkily. there came a hitch of the fat foot, a heavy scuffling sound, heavy panting, and then, skittering out across the floor came a flat, sealed parcel. "there you are," he said; "now, let me alone until that fiend has gone home." "he won't attack you again," i said. "come out." but professor boomly flatly declined to stir. i looked at the parcel: it was marked: "bimba leaves; johore." with a sigh of unutterable relief, i picked up the ravenous little caterpillar, placed him on the packet, and turned to go. and didn't. it is a very sickening fact i have now to record. but to a scientist all facts are sacred, sickening or otherwise. for what i caught a glimpse of, just outside the door in the hallway, was jones kissing mildred case. and being shyly indemnified for his trouble with a gentle return in kind. both his arms were around her waist; both her hands rested upon his shoulders; and, as i looked--but let it pass!--let it pass. deliberately i fished in my pocket, found my packet of cigarettes, lighted one. _tobacco diffugiunt mordaces curae et laetificat cor hominis!_ note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the voice in the fog by harold macgrath author of the man on the box, hearts and masks, the million dollar mystery, etc. with illustrations by a. b. wenzell new york grosset & dunlap publishers the bobbs-merrill company [frontispiece: kitty killigrew] to cav. giovanni piccinini in memory of many happy florentine days the voice in the fog chapter i fog. a london fog, solid, substantial, yellow as an old dog's tooth or a jaundiced eye. you could not look through it, nor yet gaze up and down it, nor over it; and you only thought you saw it. the eye became impotent, untrustworthy; all senses lay fallow except that of touch; the skin alone conveyed to you with promptness and no incertitude that this thing had substance. you could feel it; you could open and shut your hands and sense it on your palms, and it penetrated your clothes and beaded your spectacles and rings and bracelets and shoe-buckles. it was nightmare, bereft of its pillows, grown somnambulistic; and london became the antechamber to hades, lackeyed by idle dreams and peopled by mistakes. there is something about this species of fog unlike any other in the world. it sticks. you will find certain english cousins of yours, as far away from london as hong-kong, who are still wrapt up snugly in it. happy he afflicted with strabismus, for only he can see his nose before his face. in the daytime you become a fish, to wriggle over the ocean's floor amid strange flora and fauna, such as ash-cans and lamp-posts and venders' carts and cab-horses and sandwich-men. but at night you are neither fish, bird nor beast. the night was may thirteenth; never mind the year; the date should suffice: and a walpurgis night, if you please, without any mendelssohn to interpret it. that happy line of milton's--"pandemonium, the high capital of satan and his peers"--fell upon london like elijah's mantle. confusion and his cohort of synonyms (why not?) raged up and down thoroughfare and side-street and alley, east and west, danced before palace and tenement alike: all to the vast amusement of the gods, to the mild annoyance of the half-gods (in mayfair), and to the complete rout of all mortals a-foot or a-cab. imagine: militant suffragettes trying to set fire to the prime minister's mansion, _siegfried_ being sung at the opera, and a yellow london fog! the press about covent garden was a mathematical problem over which euclid would have shed bitter tears and hastily retired to his arbors and citron tables. thirty years previous (to the thirteenth of may, not euclid) some benighted beggar invented the chinese puzzle; and tonight, many a frantic policeman would have preferred it, sitting with the scullery maid and the pantry near by. simple matter to shift about little blocks of wood with the tip of one's finger; but cabs and carriages and automobiles, each driver anxious to get out ahead of his neighbor!--not to mention the shouting and the din and discord of horns and whistles and sirens and rumbling engines! "it's hard luck," said crawford, sympathetically. "it will be half an hour before they get this tangle straightened out." "i shouldn't mind, jim, if it weren't for kitty," replied his wife. "i am worried about her." "well, i simply could not drag her into this coupé and get into hers myself. she's a heady little lady, if you want to know. as it is, she'll get back to the hotel quicker than we shall. her cab is five up. if you wish, i'll take a look in and see if she's all right." "please do;" and she smiled at him, lovely, enchanting. "you're the most beautiful woman in all this world!" "am i?" click! the light went out. there was a smothered laugh; and when the light flared up again, the aigrette in her copper-beech hair was all askew. "if anybody saw us!"--secretly pleased and delighted, as any woman would have been who possessed a husband who was her lover all his waking hours. "what! in this fog? and a lot i'd care if they did. now, don't stir till i come back; and above all, keep the light on." "and hurry right back; i'm getting lonesome already." he stepped out of the coupé. harlequin, and colombine, and humpty-dumpty; shapes which came out of nowhere and instantly vanished into nothing, for all the world like the absurd pantomimes of his boyhood days. he kept close to the curb, scrutinizing the numbers as he went along. never had he seen such a fog. two paces away from the curb a headlight became an effulgence. indeed, there were a thousand lights jammed in the street, and the fog above absorbed the radiance, giving the scene a touch of brocken. all that was needed was a witch on a broomstick. he counted five vehicles, and stopped. the door-window was down. "miss killigrew?" he said. "yes. is anything wrong?" "no. just wanted to see if you were all right. better let me take your place and you ride with mrs. crawford." "good of you; but you've had enough trouble. i shall stay right here." "where's your light?" "the globe is broken. i'd rather be in the dark. its fun to look about. i never saw anything to equal it." "not very cheerful. we'll be held up at least half an hour. you are not afraid?" "what, i?" she laughed. "why should i be afraid? the wait will not matter. but the truth is, i'm worried about mother. she would go to that suffragette meeting; and i understand they have tried to burn up the prime minister's house." "fine chance! but don't you worry. your mother's a sensible woman. she'll get back to the hotel, if she isn't there already." "i wish she had not gone. father will be tearing his hair and twigging the whole savoy force by the ears." crawford smiled. readily enough he could conjure up the picture of mr. killigrew, short, thick-set, energetic, raging back and forth in the lobby, offering to buy taxicabs outright, the hotel, and finally the city of london itself; typically money-mad american that he was. crawford wanted to laugh, but he compromised by saying: "he must be very careful of that hair of his; he hasn't much left." "and he pulls out a good deal of it on my account. poor dad! why in the world should i marry a title?" "why, indeed!" "mrs. crawford was beautiful tonight. there wasn't a beauty at the opera to compare with her. royalties are frumps, aren't they? and that ruby! i don't see how she dares wear it!" "i am not particularly fond of it; but it's a fad of hers. she likes to wear it on state occasions. i have often wondered if it is really the nana sahib's ruby, as her uncle claimed. driver, the savoy, and remember it carefully; the savoy." "yes, sir; i understand, sir. but we'll all be some time, sir. collision forward is what holds us, sir." alone again, kitty killigrew leaned back, thinking of the man who had just left her and of his beautiful wife. if only she might some day have a romance like theirs! presently she peered out of the off-window. a brood of _siegfried_-dragons prowled about, now going forward a little, now swerving, now pausing; lurid eyes and threatening growls. once upon a time, in her pigtail days, when her father was going to be rich and was only half-way between the beginning and the end of his ambition, kitty had gone to a tent-circus. among other things she had looked wonderingly into the dim, blurry glass-tank of the "human fish," who was at that moment busy selling photographs of himself. to-night, in searching for comparisons, this old forgotten picture recurred to her mind; blithely memory brought it forth and threw it upon the screen. all london had become a glass-tank, filled with human pollywogs. she did not want to marry a title; she did not want to marry money; she did not want to marry at all. poor kindly dad, who believed that she could be made happy only by marrying a title. as if she was not as happy now as she was ever destined to be! voices. two men were speaking near the curb-door. she turned her head involuntarily in this direction. there were no lights in the frontage before which stood her cab, which intervened between the brocken haze in the street, throwing a square of stygian shadow against the fog, with right and left angles of aureola. she could distinguish no shapes. "cheer up, old top; you're in hard luck." "i'm a bally ass." "no, no; only a ripping good sporty game all the way through." oddly enough, kitty sensed the irony. she wondered if the speaker's companion did. "well, a wager's a wager." "and you're the last chap to welch a square bet. what's the odds? my word, i didn't urge you to change the stakes." "didn't you?" the voice was young and pleasant; and kitty was sure that the owner's face was even as pleasant as his voice. what had he wagered and lost? "if you're really hard pressed. . . ." "hard pressed! man, i've nothing in god's world but two guineas, six." "oh, i say now!" "its the truth." "if a fiver will help you. . . ." "thanks. a wager's a wager. i've lost. i was a bally fool to play cards. deserve what i got. six months; that's the agreement. a madman's wager; but i'll stick." "six months; twelve o'clock, midnight, november thirteenth. it's the date, old boy; that's what hoodooed you, as the americans say." kitty wasn't sure that the speaker was english; if he was, he had lost the insular significance of his vowels. still, it was, in its way, as pleasant a voice as the other's. there was no doubt about the younger man; he was english to the core, english in his love of chance, english in his loyalty to his word; stupidly english. that he was the younger was a trifling matter to deduce: no young man ever led his elder into mischief, harmful or innocuous. "six months. it's a joke, my boy; a great big laugh for you and me, when there's nothing left in life but toddies and churchwardens. six months." "i dare say i can hang on till that time is over. well, good night! no letters, no addresses." "exact terms. six months from date i'll be cooling my heels in your ante-room." "cavenaugh, if it's anything else except a joke. . . ." "oh, rot! it was your suggestion. i tell you, it's a lark, nothing more. a gentleman's word." "i'll start for my diggings." "ride home with me; my cab's here somewhere." "no, thanks. i've got a little thinking to do and prefer to be alone. good night." "and good luck go with you. deuce take it, if you feel so badly. . . ." there was no reply; and kitty decided that the younger man had gone on. silence; or rather, she no longer heard the speakers. then a low chuckle came to her and this chuckle broadened into ironic laughter; and she knew that mephisto was abroad. what had been the wager; and what was the meaning of the six months? it is instinctive in woman to interpret the human voice correctly, especially when the eyes are not distracted by physical presentations. this man outside, whoever and whatever he was, deep in her heart kitty knew that he was not going to play fair. what a disappointing world it was!--to set these human voices ringing in her ears, and then to take them out of her life forever! still the din of horns and whistles and sirens, still the shouting. would they never move on? she was hungry. she wanted to get back to the hotel, to learn what had happened to her mother. militant suffragettes, indeed! a pack of mad witches, who left their brooms behind kitchen doors when they ought to be wielding them about dusty corners. woman never won anything by using brickbats and torches: which proved on the face of it that these militants were inefficient, irresponsible, and unlearned in history. poor simpletons! had not theirs always been the power behind the throne? what more did they want? her cogitations were peculiarly interrupted. the door opened, and a man plumped down beside her. "enid, it looks as if we'd never get out of this hole. have you got your collar up?" numb and terrified, kitty felt the man's hands fumbling about her neck. "where's your sable stole? you women beat the very devil for thoughtlessness. a quid to a farthing, you've left it in the box, and i'll have to go back for it, providing they'll let me in. and it's midnight, if a minute." pressing herself tightly into her corner, kitty managed to gasp: "my name is not enid, sir. you have mistaken your carriage." "what? good heavens!" almost instantly a match sparkled and flared. his eyes, screened behind his hand, palm outward (a perfectly natural action, yet nicely calculated), beheld a pretty, charming face, large irish blue eyes (a bit startled at this moment), and a head of hair as shiny-black as polished chinese blackwood. the match, still burning, curved like a falling star through the window. "a thousand pardons, madam! very stupid of me. quite evident that i am lost. i beg your pardon again, and hope i have not annoyed you." he was gone before she could form any retort. where had she heard that voice before? with a little shudder--due to the thought of those cold strange fingers feeling about her throat--her hands went up. instantly she cried aloud in dismay. her sapphires! they had vanished! chapter ii daniel killigrew, of killigrew and company (sugar, coffee and spices), was in a towering rage; at least, he towered one inch above his normal height, which was five feet six. like an animal recently taken in captivity he trotted back and forth through the corridors, in and out of the office, to and from the several entrances, blowing the while like a grampus. all he could get out of these infernally stupid beings was "really, sir!" he couldn't get a cab, he couldn't get a motor, he couldn't get anything. manager, head-clerk, porter, doorman and page, he told them, one and all, what a dotty old spoof of a country they lived in; that they were all dead-alive persons, fit to be neither under nor above earth; that they wouldn't be one-two in a race with january molasses--"treacle, i believe you call it here!" and what did they say to this scathing arraignment? yes, what did they say? "really, sir!" he knew and hoped it would happen: if ever germany started war, it would be over before these britishers made up their minds that there was a war. a hundred years ago they had beaten napoleon (with the assistance of spain, austria, germany and russia), and were now resting. quarter to one, and neither wife nor daughter; outside there, somewhere in the fog; and he could not go to them. it was maddening. molly might be arrested and kitty lost. served him right; he should have put his foot down. the idea of molly being allowed to go with those rattle-pated women! suffragettes! a "bah!" exploded with a loud report. hereafter he would show who voted in the killigrew family. poor man! he was made of that unhappy mental timber which agrees thoughtlessly to a proposition for the sake of peace and then regrets it in the name of war. his wife and daughter twisted him round their little fingers and then hunted cover when he found out what they had done. he went out again to the main entrance and smoked himself headachy. he hated london. he had always hated it in theory, now he hated it in fact. he hated tea, buttered muffins, marmalade, jam, toast, cricket, box hedges three hundred years old, ruins, and the checkless baggage system, the wet blankets called newspapers. all the racial hatred of his forebears (tipperary born) surged hot and wrathful in his veins. at the drop of a hat he would have gone to war, individually, with all england. "really, sir!" nothing but that, when he was dying of anxiety! a taxicab drew up before the canopy. he knew it was a taxicab because he could hear the sound of the panting engine. the curb-end of the canopy was curtained by the abominable fog. mistily a forlorn figure emerged. the doorman started leisurely toward this figure. killigrew pushed him aside violently. molly, with her hat gone, her hair awry, her dress torn, her gloves ragged, her eyes puffed! he sprang toward her, filled with berserker rage. who had dared. "give the man five pounds," she whispered. "i promised it." "five. . . ." "give it to him! good heavens, do i look as if i were joking? pay him, pay him!" killigrew counted out five sovereigns, perhaps six, he was not sure. the chauffeur swooped them up, and set off. "molly killigrew. . . ." "not a word till i get to the rooms. hurry! daniel, if you say anything i shall fall down!" he led her to the lift. curious glances followed, but these signified nothing. on a night such as this was there would be any number of accidents. once in the living-room of the luxurious suite, mrs. killigrew staggered over to the divan and tumbled down upon it. she began to cry hysterically. "molly, old girl! molly!" he put his arm tenderly across her heaving shoulders and kneeled. his old girl! love crowded out all other thoughts. money-mad he might be, but he never forgot that molly had once fried his meat and peeled his potatoes and darned his socks. "molly, what has happened? who did this? tell me, and i'll kill him!" "dan, when they started up the street for the prime minister's house, i could not get out of the crowd. i was afraid to. it was so foggy you had to follow the torches. i did not know what they were about till the police rushed us. one grabbed me, but i got away." all this between sobs. "dan, i don't want to be a suffragette." sob. "i don't want to vote." sob. and for the first time that night killigrew smiled. "where's kitty?" he started to his feet. "she hasn't got back from the opera yet. she'll be the death of me, one of these fine days. you know her. like as not she's stepped out of her cab to see what's going on, and has lost herself." "but the crawfords were with her." "would that make any difference with kitty if she wanted to get out? i told her not to wear any jewels, but she wouldn't mind me. she never does. i haven't any authority except in my offices. you and kitty. . . ." "don't scold!" "all right; i won't. but, all the same, you and the girl need checking." "daniel, it was only because i wanted something to occupy myself with. it's no fun for me to sit still in my house and watch everybody else work. the butler orders the meals, the housekeeper takes charge of the linen, the footman the carriages. why, i can't find a button to sew on anything any more. i only wanted something to do." killigrew did not smile this time. here was the whole matter in a nutshell: she wanted something to do. and there were thousands of others just like her. man-like, he forgot that women needed something more than money and attention from an army of servants. he had his offices, his stock-ticker, his warfare. not because she wanted to vote, but because she wanted and needed something to do. "molly, old girl, i begin to see. i'm going to finance a home-bureau of charity. i mean it. fifty thousand the year to do with as you like. no hospitals, churches, heathen; but the needy and deserving near by. you can send boys to college and girls to schools; and kitty'll be glad to be your lieutenant. i never had a college education. not that i ever needed it,"--with sudden truculence in his tone. "but it might be a good thing for some of the rising generations in my tenements. i'll leave the choice to you. and when it comes to voting, why, tell me which way to vote, and i'll do it. i'll be a bull moose, if you say so." "you're the kindest man in the world, dan, and i'm an old fool of a woman!" kitty burst into the room, star-eyed, pale. "mother!" she sped to her mother's side. "oh, i felt it in my bones that something was going to happen!" "think of it, kitty dear; your mother, fighting with a policeman! oh, it was frightful!" "never mind, mumsy," kitty soothed. she rang for the maid, a thing her father had not thought to do. and when her mother was snug in bed, her head in cooling bandages, her face and hands bathed in refreshing cologne, kitty returned to her father, "dad, you mustn't say a word to mother about it, but i've been robbed." "what?" "my necklace. and i could not identify the thief if he stood before me this very minute. the interior light was out of order. he entered, pretending he had made a mistake. he called me enid and told me to put up my collar; touched my neck with his hands. i was so astonished that i could not move. finally i managed to explain that he had made a mistake. he apologized and got out; and it is quite evident that the necklace went with him." "can't you remember the least thing about him?" "nothing, absolutely nothing." "where were the crawfords?" "i did not wait to see them. my cab was ahead of theirs. what shall we do?" "notify the police; it's all we can do. they cost me an even ten thousand, kitty. and i told you not to wear them on a night like this. i'm discouraged. i want to get out of this blasted country. i'm hoodooed." killigrew walked the floor. he took out a cigar, eyed it thoughtfully, and returned it to his pocket. "because they happen to be born in this smoke, they think the way they do things is the last word on the subject. i'd like to show them." "dad,"--with a bit of a smile,--"i know what the trouble is. you want to go home." "and that's the truth. this is the first trip abroad i ever took with you and your mother, and it's going to be the last. i can't live out of my element, which is hurry and bustle and getting things done quickly. i'm a fish out of water. i want to go home; i want to see the giants wallop the cubs; and i want my two-weeks' bass fishing. but i'll hang on till the end of june as i promised. ten thousand in sapphires you couldn't match in a hundred years, and molly coming in banged up like a prize-fighter! . . . someone at the door." it proved to be crawford. "glad you got back safely," he said relievedly. "had her necklace stolen," replied killigrew briefly. "you don't mean to say. . . ." kitty recounted her amazing adventure. "and my wife's ruby is gone." crawford made the disclosure simply. he was a quiet man; he had learned the futility of gestures, of wasting words in lamentation. "good gracious!" exclaimed kitty. "the windows of the cab were down. i stood outside, smoking to pass the time. suddenly i heard mrs. crawford cry out. a hand had reached in from the off side, clutched the pendant, twisted it off, and was gone. all quicker than i can tell it. i tried to give chase, but it was utter folly. i couldn't see anything two feet away. mrs. crawford is a bit knocked up over it. rather sinister stone, if its history is a true one: the nana sahib's ruby, you know. for the jewel itself i don't care. i never liked to see her wear it." killigrew threw up his hands. "and this is the london you've been bragging about to me! how much was the ruby worth?" "don't know; nobody does. it's one of those jewels you can't set a price on. he will not be able to dispose of it in its present shape. he'll break it up and sell the pieces, and that's the shame of it. think of the infernal cleverness of the man! two or three hundred vehicles stalled in the street, fog so thick you couldn't see your hand before your face. simple game for a man with ready wit. and the police busy at the two ends of the block, trying to straighten out the tangle. mrs. crawford says that the hand was white, slender and well kept. it came in swiftly and accurately. the man had been watching and waiting. she was so unprepared for the act that she didn't even try to catch the hand. i have notified scotland yard. but you can't hunt down a hand. i'm willing to wager that we'll neither of us ever see the gems again." "he must have come directly from your carriage to mine," said kitty. "i am heart-broken." "one of the tricks of fate. glad you got back all right. we were mightily worried. come over across the hall at nine to-morrow, all of you, for breakfast. don't fuss up. and we'll talk over the affair and plan what's to be done. good night." "i like that young man," declared killigrew emphatically. "he's the real article. american to the backbone; a millionaire who doesn't splurge. well," sighing regretfully, "he was born to it, and i had to dig for mine. but i can't get it through my head why he wants to excavate mummies when he could dig up potatoes with some profit." "dad, find me an earl or a duke like mr. crawford, and i'll marry him just as fast as you like." "kittibudget, i'm not so strong for dukes as i was. your mother will have a black eye in the morning, or i don't know a shindy when i see it. now, hike off to bed. i'm all in." "you poor old dad! i worry you to death." she threw her lovely arms about his neck and kissed him. "well, you're worth it. kitty, i've had a jolt to-night. you marry whom you blame please. i've been doing some tall thinking. make your own romance, duke or dry-goods clerk. you'd never hook up with anything that wasn't a man. you're irish. if he happens to be made, all well and good; if not, why, i'll undertake to make him. and that's a bargain. i don't want any alimony money in the killigrew family." she kissed him again and went into her bedroom. kind-hearted, impulsive old dad! in a week's time he would forget all about this heart-to-heart talk, and shoo away every male who hadn't a title or a million, or who wasn't due to fall heir to one or the other. nevertheless, she had long since made up her mind to build her own romance. that was her right, and she did not propose to surrender it to anybody. her weary head on the pillow, she thought of the voices in the fog. "a wager's a wager." the next morning the fog was not quite so thick; that is, in places there were holes and punctures. you saw a man's face and torso, but neither hat nor legs. again, you saw the top of a cab bowling along, but no horse: phantasmally. breakfast in crawford's suite was merry enough. misfortune was turned into jest. at least, they made a fine show of it; which is characteristic of people who bow to the inevitable whenever confronted by it. crawford was passing his cigars, when a page was announced. the boy entered briskly, carrying a tray upon which reposed a small package. "by special messenger, sir. it was thought you might be liking to have it at once, sir." the page pocketed the shilling politely and departed. "that's the first bit of live work i've seen anybody do in this hotel," commented killigrew, striking a match. "i have stopped here often," said crawford, "and they are familiar with my wishes. excuse me till i see what this is." the quartet at the table began chatting again, about the fog, what they intended doing in paris, sunshiny paris. by and by crawford came over quietly and laid something on the table before his wife's plate. it was the nana sahib's ruby, so-called. chapter iii that same morning, at eleven precisely (when an insolent west wind sprang up and tore the fog into ribbons and scarves and finally blew it into smithereens, channelward) there stood before the windows of a famous haberdashery in the strand a young man, twenty-four years of age, typically english, beardless, hair clipped neatly about his neck and temples, his skin fresh colored, his body carefully but thriftily clothed. smooth-skinned he was about the eyes and nose and mouth, unmarked by dissipation; and he stood straight; and by the set of his shoulders (not particularly deep or wide) you would infer that when he looked at you he would look straight. pity, isn't it, that you never really can tell what a man is inside by drawing up your brief from what he is outside. there is always the heel of achilles somewhere; trust the devil to find that. of course you wish to know forthwith who returned the ruby, and why. as our statesmen say, regarding any important measure for public welfare, the time is not yet ripe. besides, the young man i am describing had never heard of the nana sahib's ruby, unless vaguely in some sepoy mutiny tale. his expression at this moment was rather mournful. he was regretting the thirty shillings the week he had for several years drawn regularly in this shop. inside there he had introduced the raglan shirt, the duke of westminster four-in-hand, and the churchill batwing collar. he longed to enter and plead for reinstatement, but his new-found pride refused to budge his legs door-ward. thirty shillings, twelve for his "third floor back," and the rest for clothes and books and simple amusements. what a whirl he had been in, this past fortnight! he pulled at his chin, shook his head and turned away. no, he simply could not do it. what! suffer himself to be laughed at behind his back? impossible, a thousand times no! at the first news stand he bought two or three morning papers, and continued on to his lodgings. he must leave england at once, but the question was--how? it was a comfortable room, as "third floor backs" go. he read the "want" advertisements carefully, and at length paused at a paragraph which seemed to suit his fancy perfectly. "cabin stewards wanted--white star line--new york and liverpool." he cut out the clipping, folded it and stored it away. then he proceeded to pack up his belongings, not a very laborious affair. manuscripts. he riffled the pages ruefully. sonnets and chant-royals and epics, fine and lofty in spirit; so fine indeed that they easily sifted through every editorial office in london. there was even a bulky romance. he had read so much about the enormous royalties which american authors received for their work, and english authors who were popular on the other side, that his ambition had been frenetically stirred. the fortunes such men as maundering and piffle and drool made! and all he had accomplished so far had been the earnest support of the postal service. far back at the beginning he had been unfortunate enough to sell a sonnet for ten shillings. alack! you sell your first sonnet, you win your first hand at cards, and then the passion has you. poetry was a drug on the market. nobody read it (or wrote it) these days; and any one who attempted to sell it was clearly mad. oh, a jingle for punch might pass, you know; something clever, with a snapper to it. but epic poetry? sonnets? why, didn't you know that there wasn't a magazine going that did not have some sub-editor who could whack out fourteen lines in fourteen minutes, whenever a page needed filling up? these things he had been told times without number. and maundering, piffle and drool had long since cornered the romance market. the king's highway had become no thoroughfare. america. he would go to the land of the brave (when occasion demanded) and the free (if you were imaginative). having packed his trunk and valise, he departed for liverpool. besides, america was all that was left; he was at the end of his rope. what a rollicking old fraud life was! swung out of his peaceful orbit, by the legerdemain of death; no longer a humble steady star but a meteor; bumping as yet darkly against the planets; and then this monumental folly which had returned him to the old orbit but still in meteoric form, without peace or means of livelihood! an ass, indeed, if ever there was one. he eventually arrived at his destination, lied blithely to the chief steward, and was assigned to the first-class cabins on the promenade deck, simply because his manner was engaging and his face pleasing to the eye. the sea? he had never been on it but once, and then only in a rowboat. a good sailor? perhaps. chicken and barley broths at eleven; the captain's table in the dining-saloon, breakfast, luncheon and dinner; cabin housekeeper and luggage man at the ports; and always a natty, stiffly starched jacket with a metal number; and "yes, sir!" and "no, sir!" and "thank you, sir!" his official vocabulary. fine job for a poet! it was all in the game he was going to play with fate. a chap who could sell flamingo ties to gentlemen with purple noses, and shirts with attached cuffs to coal-porters ought not to worry over such a simple employment as cabin-steward on board an ocean liner. early the next morning they left port, with only a few first-class passengers. the heavy travel was coming from the west, not going that way. the series of cabins under his stewardship were vacant. therefore, with the thoroughness of his breed, he set about to learn "ship"; and by the time the first bugle for dinner blew, he knew port from starboard, boat-deck from main, and many other things, some unknown to the chief-steward who had made a hundred and twenty voyages on this very ship. beautiful weather; a mild southwest blow, with a moderate beam-sea; only the deck _would_ come up smack against the soles of his boots in a most unexpected and aggravating manner. but after the third day out, he found his sea-legs and learned how to "lean." from two till five his time was his own, and a very good deal of this time he devoted to henley and morris and walt whitman, an ancient brier between his teeth and a canister of excellent tobacco at his elbow. odd, isn't it, that an englishman without his pipe is as incomplete as a manx cat, which, as doubtless you know, has no tail. after all, does a manx cat know that it is incomplete? let me say, then, as incomplete as a small boy without pockets. toward his fellow stewards he was friendly without being companionable; and as they were of a decent sort, they let him go his way. several times during the voyage he opened his trunk and took out the manuscripts. hang it, they weren't so bally bad. if he could still re-read them, after an hour or two with henley, there must be some merit to them. one afternoon he sat alone on the edge of his bunk. the sun was pouring into the porthole; intermittently it flashed over him. suddenly and alertly he got up, looked out, listened intently, then stepped back into the cabin and locked the door. again he listened. there was no sound except the steady heart-beats of the great engines below. he sat down sidewise, took out the chamois bag which hung around his neck, and poured the contents out on the blanket. blue stones, rather dull at first; but ah! when the sun awoke the fires in them: blue as the flower o' the corn, the flame of burning sulphur. he gathered them up and slowly trickled them through his fingers. sapphires, unset, beautiful as a woman's eyes. he replaced them in the chamois bag; and for the rest of the afternoon went about his affairs preoccupiedly, grave as a bishop under his miter. for, all said and done, he had much to be grave about. in one of the panels of the partition which separated the cabin from the next, there was a crack. a human eye could see through it very well. and did. my young poet had "signed on" under the name of thomas webb. it was not assumed. for years he had been known in the haberdashery as webb. there was more to it, however; there was a tail to the kite. the english have an inordinate fondness for hyphens, for mother's family name and grandmother's family name and great-grandmother's, with the immediate paternal cognomen as a period. thomas' full name was a rosary, if you like, of yeomen, of soldiers, of farmers, of artists, of gentle bloods, of dreamers. the latest transfusion of blood is always most powerful in effect upon the receiver; and as thomas' father had died in penury for the sake of an idea, it was in order that the son should be something of a dreamer too. poetry is but an expression of life seen through dreams. his father had been a scholar, risen from the people; his mother had been gentle. from his seventh year the boy had faced life alone. he had never gone with the stream but had always found lodgment in the backwaters. there is no employment quieter, peacefuller than that of a clerk in a haberdashery. from mondays till saturdays, calm; a perfect environment for a poet. you would be surprised to learn of the vast army of poets and novelists and dramatists who dispense four-in-hands, collars, buttons and hosiery six days in the week and who go a-picnicking on the seventh, provided it does not rain. thomas had an idea. it was not a reflection of his lamented father's; it was wholly his own. he wanted to be loved. his father's idea had been to love; thus, humanity had laughed him into the grave. so it will be seen that thomas' idea was the more sensible of the two. the voyage was uneventful. blue day followed blue day. when at length the great port of new york loomed in the distance, thomas felt a thrilling in his spine. perhaps yonder he might make his fortune; no matter what else he did, that remained to be accomplished, for he was a fortune-hunter, of the ancient type; that is, he expected to work for it. shore leave would be his, and if during that time he found nothing, why, he was determined to finish the summer as a steward; and by fall he would have enough in wages and tips to give him a start in life. at present he could jingle but seven-and-six in his pocket; and jingle it frequently he did, to assure himself that it was not wearing away. an important tug came bustling alongside. by the yellow flag he knew that it carried the quarantine officials, inspectors, and a few privileged citizens. among others who came aboard thomas noted a sturdy thick-chested man in a derby hat--bowler, thomas called it. quietly this man sought the captain and handed him what looked to thomas like a cablegram. the captain read it and shook his head. thomas overheard a little of their conversation. "you're welcome to look about, mr. haggerty; but i don't think you'll find the person you seek." "if you don't mind, i'll take a prowl. special case, captain. mr. killigrew thought perhaps i'd see a face i knew." "valuable?" "fine sapphires. a chance that they may come int' this port. they haven't yet." "your customs inspectors ought to be able to help you," observed the captain, hiding a smile. "nothing but motes can slip through their fingers." "sometimes they're tripped up," replied haggerty. "a case like this is due t' slip through. i'll take a look." thomas heard no more. a detective. unobserved, he went down to his stuffy cabin, took off the chamois bag and locked it in his trunk. so long as it remained on board, it was in british territory. the following day he went into the great city of man-made cliffs. he walked miles and miles. naturally he sought the haberdashers along broadway. no employment was offered him: for the reason that he failed to state his accomplishments. but he was in nowise discouraged. he would go back to liverpool. the ship would sail with full cabin strength, and this trip there would be tips, three sovereigns at least, and maybe more, if his charges happened to be generous. he tied the chamois bag round his neck again, and turned in. he was terribly tired and footsore. he slept fitfully. at half after nine he sat up, fully awake. his cabin-mate (whom he rather disliked) was not in his bunk. indeed, the bunk had not been touched. suddenly thomas' hand flew to his breast. the chamois bag was gone! chapter iv iambic and hexameter, farewell! in that moment the poet died in thomas; i mean, the poet who had to dig his expressions of life out of ink-pots. things boil up quickly and unexpectedly in the soul; century-old impulses, undreamed of by the inheritor; and when these bubble and spill over the kettle's lip, watch out. there is an island in the south seas where small mud-geysers burst forth under the pressure of the foot. fate had stepped on thomas. as he sprang out of his bunk he was a reversion: the outlaw in lincoln-green, the yeoman of the guard, the bandannaed smuggler of the southeast coast. quickly he got into his uniform. he went about this affair the right way, with foresight and prudence; for he realized that he must act instantly. he sought the purser, who was cordial. "i'm not feeling well," began thomas; "and the doctor is ashore. where's there an apothecary's shop?" "two blocks straight out from the pier entrance. you'll see red and blue lights in the windows. tummy?" "i'm subject to dizzy spells. where's jameson?" jameson was the surly cabin-mate. "quit. gone over to the cunard. fool. like a little money advanced? here's a bill, five dollars." "thank you, sir." twenty shillings, ten pence. "doesn't jameson take his peg a little too often, sir?" "he's a blighter. glad to get rid of him. hurry back. and don't stop at mike's or johnny's,"--smiling. "i never touch anything heavier than ale, sir." mike's or johnny's; it saved him the trouble of asking. tippling pubs where stewards foregathered. his uniform was his passport. nobody questioned him as he passed the barrier at a dog-trot. outside the smelly pier (sugar, coffee and spices, shipments from killigrew and company) he paused to send a short prayer to heaven. then he approached a snoozing stevedore. "where's mike's?" "lead y' there, ol' scout!" "no; tell me where it is. here's a shilling." explicit directions followed; and away went thomas at a dog-trot again: the lust to punish, maim or kill in his heart. he was not a university man; he had not played cricket at lord's or stroked the crew from leander; but he was island-born, a chap for cold tubbings, calisthenics and long tramps into the country on pleasant sundays. thomas was slender, but sound and hard. jameson was not at mike's nor at johnny's; but there were dozens of other saloons. he did not ask questions. he went in, searched, and strode out. in the lowest kind of a drinking dive he found his man. a great wave of dizziness swept over thomas. when it passed, only the bandannaed smuggler remained, cautious, cunning, patient. the quarry was alone in a side-room, drinking gin and smiling to himself. for an hour thomas waited. his palms became damp with cold sweat and his knees wabbled, but not in fear. four glasses of ale, sipped slowly, tasting of wormwood. in the bar-mirror he could watch every move made by jameson. no one went in. he had evidently paid in advance for the bottle of gin. thomas ordered his fifth glass of ale, and saw jameson's head sink forward a little. thomas' sigh almost split his heart in twain. jameson's head went up suddenly, and with a drunken smile he reached for the bottle and poured out a stiff potion. he drank it neat. thomas wiped his palms on his sleeves and ordered a cigar. "lonesome?" asked the swart bartender. this good-looking chap was rather a puzzle to him. he wasn't waiting for anybody, and he wasn't trying to get drunk. five ales in an hour and not a dozen words; just an ordinary britisher who didn't know how to amuse himself in gawd's own country. jameson's head fell upon his arms. with assured step thomas walked toward the corridor which divided the so-called wine-rooms. at the end of the corridor was a door. he did not care where it led so long as it led outside this evil-smelling den. he found the room empty opposite jameson's. he went in quietly. the shabby waiter followed him, soft-footed as a cat. "a bottle of old tom," said thomas. the waiter nodded and slipped out. he saw the sleeper in the other room, and gently closed the door. "gink in number two wants a bottle o' gin. he's th' kind. layer o' ale an' then his quart. th' real souse." "so that's his game, huh?" said the bartender. "how's th' gink in number four?" "dead t' th' world." "tip th' sneak. there may be a chancet t' roll 'em both. here y' are. soak 'im two-fifty." half an hour longer thomas waited. then he rose and tiptoed to the door, drawing it back without the least sound. jameson's had not latched. taking a deep long breath (strange, how one may control the heart by this process!) thomas crossed the corridor and entered the other room; entered prepared for any emergency. if jameson awoke, so much the worse for him. the gods owe it to the mortals they keep in bondage to bestow a grain of luck here and there along the way to elysium or hades. his cabin-mate's stentorian breathing convinced the trespasser that it was the stupidest, heaviest kind of sleep. for a moment he looked down at the man contemptuously. to have befuddled his brain at such a time! or was it because the wretch knew that he, thomas, would not dare cry out over his loss? he stepped behind the sleeping man. he wanted to fall upon him, beat him with his fists. ah, if he had not found him! the night, fortunately, was warm and thick. jameson had carelessly thrown open his coat and vest. underneath he wore the usual sailor-jersey. thomas steeled his arms. with one hand he pulled the roll collar away from the man's neck and with the other sought for the string: sought in vain. the light, the four drab walls, the haze of tobacco smoke, all turned red. "where is it, you dog? quick!" thomas shook the man. "where is it? quick, or i'll throttle you!" "lemme 'lone!" jameson sagged toward the table again. thomas bent him back ruthlessly and plunged a hand into the inside pocket of the man's coat. the touch of the chamois-bag burned like fire. he pulled it out and transferred it to his own pocket and made for the door. he did not care now what happened. found! woe to any one who had the ill-luck to stand between him and the exit. outside the door stood the shabby waiter, grinning cheerfully. he was accompanied by a hulking, shifty-eyed creature. "roll 'im, ol' sport? caught in th' act, huh?" gibed the waiter. thomas had the right idea. he struck first. the waiter crashed against the wall. the hulking, shifty-eyed one fared worse. he went down with his face to the cracks in the floor. thomas dashed for the exit. chapter v outside he found himself in a kind of court. he ran about wildly, like a rat in a trap. he plumped into the alley, accidentally. down this he fled, into the street. a voice called out peremptorily to him to stop, but he went on all the faster, swift as a hare. he doubled and circled through this street and that until at last he came out into a broad, brilliant thoroughfare. an iron-pillared railway reared itself skyward and trains clamored past. bloomsbury: millions of years and miles away! he would wake up presently, with the sunlight (when it shone) pouring into his room, and the bright geraniums on the outside window-sill bidding him good morning. he was on the point of rushing up the station stairway, when he espied a cab at the far corner. a replica of a london cab, something which smacked of home; he could have hugged for sheer joy the bleary-eyed cabby who touched his rusty high hat. "free?" "free 's th' air, bo. where to?" "pier , white star line. how much?"--quite his old-time self again. "two dollars,"--promptly. "all right. and hurry!" thomas climbed in. he was safe. as the crow flies it was less than a ten-minutes' jog from that corner to pier . thomas had not gone far; he had merely covered a good deal of ground. cabby drove about for three-quarters of an hour and then drew up before the pier. back to his cabin once more, weak as a swimmer who had breasted a strong tide. he opened his trunk and rammed the chamois-bag into the toe of one of his patent-leather boots. in the daytime he would wear it about his neck, but each night back into the shoe it must go. he flung himself on the bunk, not to sleep, but to think and wonder. meantime there was great excitement in the dive. the waiter was rocking his body, wailing and holding his jaw. his companion was sitting on the floor. in the wine-room two policemen and a thick-set, black-mustached man in a derby hat were asking questions. "robbed!" moaned jameson. the man in the derby hat shook him roughly. "robbed o' what, y' soak?" "robbed!" "mike," said the man in the derby, "put th' darbies on th' sneak. we'll get something for our trouble, anyhow. an' tell that waiter t' put th' brakes on his yawp. bring him in here. now, you, what's happened?" "why, the gink in uniform comes in . . ." the bartender interrupted. "a gink dressed like a ship-steward comes in an' orders ale. drinks five glasses. goes out int' th' wine-room 'cross th' hall an' orders a bottle o' gin. an' next i hears johnny howlin' murder. frame-up, mr. haggerty. nothin' t' do with it, hones' t' gawd! th' boss ain't here." jameson lurched toward the bartender. "young lookin'? red cheeks? 'old himself like a sojer?" "that's 'im," agreed the bartender. "what were y' robbed of?" demanded haggerty. jameson looked into a pair of chilling blue eyes. his own wavered drunkenly. "money." "y' lie! what was it?" haggerty seized jameson by the collar and swung him about. "hurry up!" "i tell you, my money. paid off t'dy. 'e knew it. sly." jameson had become almost sober. out of the muddle one thing loomed clearly: he could not be revenged upon his cabin-mate without getting himself into deep trouble. money; he'd stick to that. "who is he?" "name's webb; firs'-class steward on th' _celtic_. damn 'im!" "lock this fool up till morning," said haggerty. "i'll find out what he's been robbed of." "british subject!" roared jameson. "not t'night. take 'im away. think i saw th' fellow running as i came by. yelled at him, but he could run some. take 'im away. something fishy about this. i'll call on my friend webb in th' morning. there might be something in this." and haggerty paid his call promptly; only, thomas saw him first. the morning sun lighted up the rugged irish face. thomas not only saw him but knew who he was, and in this he had the advantage of the encounter. one of the first things a detective has to do is to surprise his man, and then immediately begin to bullyrag and overbear him; pretend that all is known, that the game is up. nine times out of ten it serves, for in the same ratio there is always a doubtful confederate who may "peach" in order to save himself. thomas never stirred from his place against the rail. he drew on his pipe and pretended to be stolidly interested in the sweating stevedores, the hoist-booms and the brown coffee-bags. a hand fell lightly on his shoulder. haggerty had a keen eye for a face; he saw weak spots, where a hundred other men would have seen nothing out of the ordinary. the detective always planned his campaign upon his interpretation of the face of the intended victim. "webb?" thomas lowered his pipe and turned. "yes, sir." "where were you between 'leven an' twelve last night?" "what is that to you, sir?" (yeoman of the guard style.) "what did jameson take away from you?" "who are you, and what's your business with me?" the pipe-stem returned with a click to its ivory vise. "my name is haggerty, of th' new york detective force; american scotland yard, 'f that'll sound better. better tell me all about it." "i'm a british subject, on board a british ship." "nothing doing in m' lord style. when y' put your foot on that pier you become amenable t' th' laws o' th' united states, especially 'f you've committed a crime." "a crime?" "listen here. you went int' lumpy joe's, waited till jameson got drunk, an' then you rolled him." "rolled?"--genuinely bewildered. "picked his pockets, if you want it blunt. th' question is, did he take it from you 'r you from him? i can arrest you, mr. webb, british subject 'r not. 's up t' you t' tell me th' story. don't be afraid of me; i don't eat up men. all y' got t' do is t' treat me on th' level. you won't lose anything 'f you're honest." "come with me, sir." (the smuggler was, in his day, a match in cunning for any or all of his majesty's coast-guards.) haggerty followed the young man down the various companionways. instinctively he knew what was coming, the pith of the matter if not the details. thomas pulled out his trunk, unlocked it, threw back the lid, and picked up an old leather box. "look at this, sir. it was my mother's. and i'd be a fine chap, would i not, to let a drunken scoundrel steal it and get away with it." it was a neapolitan brooch, of pink coral, surrounded by small pearls. haggerty balanced it on his palm and appraised it at three or found hundred dollars. he glanced casually into the leather box. some faded tin-types, some letters, a very old bible, and odds and ends of a young man's fancy: haggerty shrugged. it looked as if he had stumbled into a mare's-nest. "he said you took money." "he lied,"--tersely. "do y' want t' appear against him?" "no. we sail at seven to-morrow. so long as he missed his shot, let him go." "why didn't y' lodge a complaint against him?" "i'm not familiar with your laws, mr. haggerty. so i took the matter in my own hands." "don't do it again. sorry t' trouble you. but duty's duty. an' listen. always play your game above board; it pays." "thanks." haggerty started to offer his hand, but the look in the gray eyes caused him to misdoubt and reconsider the impulse. so thomas made his first mistake, which, later on, was to cost him dear. coconnas shook hands with caboche the headsman, and escaped the "question extraordinary." truth is, thomas was not an accomplished liar. he could lie to the detective, but he could not bring himself to shake hands on it. on the way down the plank haggerty mused: "an' i thought i had a hunch!" thomas sighed. "play your game above board; it pays." into what a labyrinth of lies he was wayfaring! that same night, on the other side of the atlantic, the ninth baron of dimbledon sailed for america to rehabilitate his fortunes. he did and he didn't. chapter vi thomas was a busy man up to and long after the hour of sailing. his cabins were filled with about all the variant species of the race: two nervous married women with their noisy mismanaged children, three young men on a lark, and an actress who was paying her husband's expenses and gladly announced the fact over and through the partitions. three bells tingled all day long, and the only thing that saved thomas from the "sickbay" was the fact that the bar closed at eleven. and a rough passage added to his labors. no henley this voyage, no comfy loafing about the main-deck in the sunshine. a busy, miserable, dejected young man, who cursed his folly and yet clung to it with that tenacity which makes prejudice england's first-born. night after night, stretched out wearily on his bunk, the sordid picture of lumpy joe's returned to him. by a hair's breadth! it was always a source of amazement to recall how quickly and shrewdly his escape had been managed. he felt reasonably safe. jameson would never dare tell what he knew, to incriminate himself for the sake of revenge. to have got the best of him and to have pulled the wool over the eyes of a keen american detective! in liverpool he deliberately threw away a full sovereign in motion-pictures and music-halls. but he drank nothing, not even his customary ale. not so long ago he had tasted his first champagne; very expensive, something more than two hundred pounds. stupid ass! and yet . . . the very life he had always been longing for, dreaming of, behind his counters: to be free, to rove at will, to seek adventure. "then," said sir tristram, "i will fight with you unto the uttermost." "i grant," said sir palomides, "for in a better quarrel keep i never to fight, for and i die of your hands, of a better knight's hands may i not be slain." . . . off for america again; and the book of marvelous adventures, to be opened wide by a pair of irish blue eyes, deep as the sea, glancing as the sunlight on its crests. "you are my steward, i believe?" in his soul of souls thomas hoped so. "yes, miss--indeed, yes, if you occupy this cabin." "here are the tickets"; and the young lady signed the slip of paper he gave her: mr. and mrs. daniel killigrew, miss killigrew and maid. "i shall probably keep you very busy." there was a twinkle in her eyes, but he was english and did not see it. "that is what i am here for, miss." he smiled reassuringly. "never ask my father if he wishes tea and toast"--gravely. "yes, miss"--with honest gravity. thomas knew nothing of women, young or old. with the habits and tastes of the male biped he was tolerably familiar. he was to learn. "hot water-bottles for my mother every night, and a pot of chocolate for myself. i shall always have my breakfast early in the saloon. i'm a first-rate sailor." a rush, a whir. "kitty, you darling! they have put us on the other side of the ship." thomas was genuinely glad of it. with a goddess and a nymph to wait upon, heaven knew how many broken dishes he'd have to account for. never in the park, never after the matinees, never in all wide london, had he seen two such lovely types: titian and greuse. "no!" said the greuse. "stupid mistake at the booking-office," replied the titian. "come up on deck. they are putting off." "just a moment. put the small luggage, mr. . . ." "webb." "mr. webb. put the small luggage on the lounge. never mind the straps. that is all." "yes, miss." the two young women hurried off. thomas stared after them, his brows bent in a mixture of perplexity, dazzlement and diffidence. "a very good-looking steward." "kitty, you little wretch!" "why, he _is_ good-looking." "princes, dukes, waiters, cabbies, stewards; all you do is look at them, and they become slaves. you've more mischief in you than a dozen kittens." "i have met cabbies whom i much prefer to certain dukes." "but i've a young man picked out for you. he's an artist." "good night!" murmured kitty. "if there is one kind of person in the world dad considers wholly useless and incompetent, it's an artist or a poet." "but this artist makes fifteen thousand and sometimes twenty thousand the year." "then he's no artist. what is his name?" "forbes, j. mortimer forbes." "oh. the pretty-cover man." "my dear, he is one of the nicest young men in new york. his family is one of the best, and he goes everywhere. and but for his kindness. . . ." "what?" "some day i'll tell you the story. here we go! good-by, england!" "good-by, sapphires!" said kitty, so low that the other did not hear her. at dinner thomas was called to account by the chief steward for permitting his thumb to connect with the soup. but what would you, with titian and greuse smiling a soft "thank you!" for everything you did for them? * * * * * * "night, daddy." "good night, kittibudget." crawford smiled after the blithe, buoyant figure as it swung confidently down the deck. "i don't know what i'm going to do," mused killigrew, looking across the rail at the careening stars. "what about?" "that child. i can't harness her." "somebody's bound to"--prophetically. "it's got to be a whole man, or he'll wish he'd never been born. she's had her way so long that she's spoiled." "not a bit of it." "yes, she is. i told her not to wear those sapphires that night. and, by the way, i've been hoping they'd turn up like that ruby of yours. how do you account for that?" the coal of crawford's cigar waxed and waned and the ash lengthened. "i've no doubt that you've been mighty curious since that morning. perhaps you read the tale in the newspapers. i know of only one man who would return the nana sahib's ruby. sentiment; for i believe the poor devil was really fond of me. a valet. with me for ten years. he was really my comrade; always my right-hand on my exploration trips; back-boned, fearless, reliable in a pinch, and a scholar in a way; though i can't imagine how and where he picked up his learning. he saved my life at least twice by his quick wit. in those days i was something of a stick; never went out. i hired him upon his word and because he looked honest. and he was for ten years. he gave his name as mason, said he was born in central new york. we got along without friction of any sort. and i still miss him. stole a hundred thousand dollars' worth of gems; hid them in the heels of my old shoes and nearly got away with them. haggerty, the detective, thought for weeks that i was the man. i still believe that i was the innocent cause of mason's relapse; for haggerty was certain that somewhere in the past mason had been a criminal. you see, i had a peculiar fad. i used to buy up old safes and open them for the sport of it. crazy idea, but i found a good deal of amusement in it." "you don't say!" gasped killigrew, who had never heard of this phase before. "it's my belief that mason got his inspiration from watching me. i am devilish sorry." "then you believe that he is up to his old tricks again?" "yes,"--reluctantly. "the man who took my wife's ruby, took your daughter's sapphires. it needed a clever mind to conceive such a _coup_. three other carriages were entered, with more or less success. in a dense fog; a needle in a haystack. and they'll never find him." "it's up to you to put the detectives on the right track." "i suppose i'll have to do it." "if he returns to america he'll be caught. i'll give haggerty the tip." "i have my doubts of mason committing any such folly. he picked up a small fortune that night. strange mix-up." "here, try one of these," urged killigrew, as the butt of crawford's cigar went overboard. "thanks." thomas moved away from the ventilator. mix-up, indeed! he stole down to the promenade deck, where the stewardess informed him that miss killigrew had just ordered her chocolate. he flew to the kitchens. it was a narrow escape. to have been found wanting the first night out! "come in," said a voice in answer to his knock. [illustration: "come in," said a voice.] he set the tray down on the stool, his heart insurgent and his fingers all thumbs. he might live to be a steward eighty years old, but he never would get over the awe, the embarrassment of these invasions by night. each time he saw a woman in her peignoir or kimono he felt as though he had committed a sacrilege. true, he understood their attitude; he was merely a serving machine and for the time wiped off the roster of mankind. a long blue coat of silk brocade enveloped kitty from her throat to her sandals; sleeves which fell over her hands; buttoned by loops over corded knots. an experienced traveler could have told him that it was the peculiar garment which any self-respecting chinaman would wear who was in mourning for his grandfather. kitty wore it because of its beauty alone. "thank you," she said, as thomas went out backward, court style. kitty smiled across at her maid who was arranging the combs and brushes preparatory to taking down her mistress' hair. "he looked as if he were afraid of something, celeste." celeste smiled enigmatically. "ma'm'selle shoult haff been born in pariss." this was translatable, or not, as you pleased. kitty sipped the chocolate and found it excellent. at length she dismissed the maid, switched off the lights, and then remembered that there was no water in the carafe. she rang. thomas replied so promptly that he could not have been farther off than the companionway. "you rang, miss?" "yes, webb. please fill this carafe." "is it possible that it was empty, miss?" "i used it and forgot to ring for more." all this in the dark. thomas hurried away, wishing he could find some magic spring on board. for what purpose he could not have told. as for kitty, she remained standing by the door, profoundly astonished. chapter vii third day out. kitty smiled at the galloping horizon; smiled at the sunny sky; smiled at the deck-steward as he served the refreshing broth; smiled at the tips of her sensible shoes, at her hands, at her neighbors: until mrs. crawford could contain her curiosity no longer. "kitty killigrew, what have you been doing?" "doing?" "well, going to do?"--shrewdly. kitty gazed at her friend in pained surprise, her blue eyes as innocent as the sea--and as full of hidden mysterious things. "good gracious! can't a person be happy and smile?" "happy i have no doubt you are; but i've studied that smile of yours too closely not to be alarmed by it." "well, what does it say?" "mischief." kitty did not reply to this, but continued smiling--at space this time. on the ship crossing to naples in february their chairs on deck had been together; they had become acquainted, and this acquaintance had now ripened into one of those intimate friendships which are really sounder and more lasting than those formed in youth. crawford had heard of killigrew as a great and prosperous merchant, and killigrew had heard of crawford as a millionaire whose name was very rarely mentioned in the society pages of the sunday newspapers. men recognize men at once; it doesn't take much digging. before they arrived in naples they had agreed to take the sicilian trip together, then up italy, through france, to england. the scholar and the merchant at play were like two boys out of school; the dry whimsical humor of the scotsman and the volatile sparkle of the irishman made them capital foils. killigrew dropped his _rodney stone_. "say, crawford," he began, "after seeing ten thousand saints in ten thousand cathedrals, since february, i'd give a hundred dollars for a ringside ticket to a scrap like that one,"--indicating the volume on his knee. crawford lay back and laughed. "well," said his wife, with an amused smile, "why don't you say it?" "say what?" "'so would i!'" "men are quite hopeless," sighed mrs. killigrew, when the laughter had subsided. "you oughtn't object to a good shindy, molly," slyly observed her husband. "you'll never forgive me that black eye." "i'll never forgive the country you got it in,"--grimly. "but what's the harm in a good scrap between two husky fellows, trained to a hair to slam-bang each other?" "it isn't refined, dad," said kitty. he sent a searching glance at her; he never was sure when that girl was laughing. "fiddle-sticks! for four months now i've been shopping every day with you women, and you can't tell me prize-fights are brutal." crawford applauded gently. "by the way, crawford, you know something about direct charity." killigrew threw back his rug and sat up. "i've got an idea. what's the use of giving checks to hospitals and asylums and colleges, when you don't know whether the cash goes right or wrong? i'm going to let molly here start a home-bureau to keep her from voting; a lump sum every year to give away as she pleases. i'm strong for giving boys college education. smooths 'em out; gives them a start in life; that is, if they are worth anything at the beginning. like this: back the boy and screw up his honor and interest by telling him that you expect to be paid back when the time comes. there's no better charity in the world than making a man of a boy, making him want to stand on his own feet, independent. when you help inefficient people, you throw your money away. what do you think of the idea?" "a first-rate one. i'd like to come in." "no; this is all my own and molly's. but how'll i start her off?" "get an efficient young man to act as private secretary; a fairly good accountant; no rich man's son, but some one who has had a chance to observe life. make him a buffer between mrs. killigrew and the whining cheats. and above all, no young man who has social entrée to your house. that kind of a private secretary is always a fizzle." "any one in mind?" "no." "i have," said kitty, rising and going toward the companion-ladder to the lower decks. "what now?" demanded killigrew. "let her be; kitty has a sensible head on her shoulders, for all her foolery." mrs. killigrew laid a restraining hand on her husband's arm. but mrs. crawford smiled a replica of that smile which had aroused her curiosity in regard to kitty. and then her face grew serious. kitty had a mind like her father's. her ideas were seldom nebulous or slow in forming. they sprang forth, full grown, like those mythological creatures: minerva was an idea of jove's, as doubtless venus was an idea of neptune's. men with this quality become captains-general of armies or of money-bags. in a man it signifies force; in a woman, charm. kitty searched diligently and found the object of her quest on the main-deck, starboard, leaning against one of the deck supports and reading from a book which lay flat on the broad teak rail, in a blue shadow. the sea smiled at kitty and kitty smiled at the sea. men are not the only adventurers; they have no monopoly on daring. and what kitty proposed doing was daring indeed, for she did not know into what dangers it might eventually lead her. "mr. webb?" thomas looked up. "you are wanting me, miss?" "if you are not too busy." "really, no. i have been reading." he closed the book, loose-leafed from frequent perusals. "i am at your service." "do you read much, mr. webb?" the reiteration of the prefix to his name awakened him to the marvelous fact that for the present he was no longer the machine; she was recognizing the man. "perhaps, for a man in my station, i read too much, miss killigrew." kitty's scarlet lips stirred ever so slightly. it was the first time he had added the name to the prefix: he in his turn was recognizing the woman. and this rather pleased her, for she liked to be recognized. "may i ask what it is you are reading?" he offered the book to her. _morte d'arthur_. kitty's eyebrows, a hundred years or more ago, would have stirred to tender lyrics the quills of prior and lovelace and suckling: arched when interested, a funny little twist to the inner points when angered, and when laughter possessed her. . . . let thomas indite the sonnet! just now they were widely arched. "i am very fond of the book," explained thomas diffidently. "i love the pompous gallantry of these fairy chaps. how politely they used to hack each other into pieces!" "are you by chance a university man?" "no. i am self-educated, if one may call it that. my father was a fellow at trinity. for myself, i have always had to work." "do you like your present occupation?" "it was the best i could find." how he would have liked to throw discretion to the winds and tell her the whole miserable story! "are you good at accounting?" "fairly." what was all this about? he began to riffle the leaves of the book, restively. "could you tell an honest man from a dishonest one?" "i believe so." thomas had eyebrows, too, but he did not know how to use them properly. tell an honest man from a dishonest one, forsooth! kitty found the situation less easy than she had anticipated. the more questions she asked, the more embarrassed she grew; and it angered her because there was no clear reason why she should become embarrassed. and she also remarked his uneasiness. however, she went on determinedly. "have you ever had any contact with real poverty?" "yes,"--close-lipped. "pardon me, miss killigrew, but . . ." "just a moment, mr. webb," she interrupted. "i dare say my questions seem impertinent, but they have a purpose back of them. my mother and i are looking for a private secretary for a charitable concern which we are going to organize shortly. we desire some one who is educated, who will be capable of guarding us from persons not worthy of benefactions, who will make recommendations, seek into the affairs of those considered worthy. we shall, of course, expect to find room for you. it will not be a chatter-tea-drinking affair. you will have the evenings to yourself and all of sundays. the salary will be two hundred a month." "pounds?" gasped thomas. "oh, no; dollars. i do not expect your answer at this moment. you must have time to think it over." "it is not necessary, miss killigrew." "you decline?" "on the contrary, i accept with a good deal of gratitude. on condition," he added gravely. "and that?" "you will ask me no questions regarding my past." kitty looked squarely into his eyes and he returned the glance steadily and calmly. "very well; i accept the condition," thomas was mightily surprised. chapter viii he had put forward this condition, perfectly sure that she would refuse to accept it. he could not understand. "you accept that condition?" "yes." having gone thus far with her plot, kitty would have died rather than retreated; irish temperament. thomas was moved to a burst of confidence. "i know that i am poor, and to the best of my belief, honest. moreover, perhaps i should be compelled by the exigencies of circumstance to leave you after a few months. i am not a rich man, masquerading for the sport of it; i am really poor and grateful for any work. it is only fair that i should tell you this much, that i am running away from no one. beyond the fact that i am the son of a very great but unknown scholar, a farmer of mediocre talents who lost his farm because he dreamed of humanity instead of cabbages, i have nothing to say." he said it gravely, without pride or veiled hauteur. "that is frank enough," replied kitty, curiously stirred. "you will not find us hard task-masters. be here this afternoon at three. my father will wish to talk to you. and be as frank with him as you have been with me." she smiled and nodded brightly, and turned away. he had a glimpse of a tan shoe and a slim tan-silk ankle, which poised birdlike above the high doorsill; and then she vanished into the black shadow of the companionway. she afterward confessed to me that her sensation must have been akin to that of a boy who had stolen an apple and beaten the farmer in the race to the road. we all make the mistake of searching for our drama, forgetting that it arrives sooner or later, unsolicited. bewitched. thomas should have been the happiest man alive, but the devil had recruited him for his miserables. her piquant face no longer confronting and bewildering him, he saw this second net into which he had permitted himself to be drawn. as if the first had not been colossal enough! where would it all end? private secretary and two hundred the month--forty pounds--this was a godsend. but to take her orders day by day, to see her, to be near her. . . . poverty-stricken wretch that he was, he should have declined. now he could not; being a simple englishman, he had given his word and meant to abide by it. there was one glimmer of hope; her father. he was a practical merchant and would not permit a man without a past (often worse than a man with one) to enter his establishment. thomas was not in love with kitty. (indeed, this isn't a love story at all.) stewards, three days out, are not in the habit of falling in love with their charges (maundering and drool notwithstanding). he was afraid of her; she vaguely alarmed him; that was all. for seven years he had dwelt in his "third floor back"; had breakfasted and dined with two old maids, their scrawny niece, and a muscular young stenographer who shouted militant suffrage and was not above throwing a brickbat whenever the occasion arrived. there was a barmaid or two at the pub where he lunched at noon; but chaff was the alpha and omega of this acquaintance. thus, thomas knew little or nothing of the sex. the women with whom he conversed, played the gallant, the hero, the lover (we none of us fancy ourselves as rogues!) were those who peopled his waking dreams. she was la belle isoude, elaine, beatrice, constance; it all depended upon what book he had previously been reading. it is when we men are confronted with the living picture of some one of our dreams of them that women cease to dwell in the abstract and become issues, to be met with more or less trepidation. back among some of his idle dreams there had been a kitty, blue-eyed, black-haired, slender and elfish. kitty sat down in her chair. "well," she said, "i have found him." "found whom?" asked mrs. crawford. "the private secretary." "what?" killigrew swung his feet to the deck. "what the dickens have you been doing now? who is it?" "webb." "the steward?" "yes." "well, if that . . ." began killigrew belligerently. "dad, either mother and i act as we please, or you may attend to the home-bureau yourself. mother, it was agreed and understood that i should select any employee we might happen to need." "it was, my dear." "very good. i want some one who will attend to the affairs honestly and painstakingly. there must be no idler about the house; and any young man . . ." "wouldn't an old one do?" suggested killigrew. "whose set ideas would clash constantly with ours. and any young man we know would idle and look on the whole affair as a fine joke. i've had a talk with webb. he's not a university man, but he's educated. i found him reading _morte d'arthur_." "ah!"--from crawford. "he became a steward because he could find nothing else to do at the present time. he has been poor, and i dare say he has known the pinch of poverty. you said only this morning, dad, that he was the most attentive steward you had ever met on shipboard. besides, there is a case in point. our butler was a steward before you engaged him, six years ago." killigrew began to smile. "how much have you offered him as a salary?" "two hundred a month, to be paid out of the funds." "janet," said crawford, "it's a good thing i'm married, or i'd apply for the post myself." "all right," agreed killigrew; "a bargain's a bargain." "a wager's a wager," thought kitty. "if you wake up some fine morning and find the funds gone . . ." "mother and i will attend to all checks, such as they are." "kitty, any day you say i'll take you into the firm as chief counsel. but before i approve of your selection, i'd like to have a talk with our friend webb." "he expects it. you are to see him on the main-deck at three this afternoon." "molly, how long have we been married?" "thirty years, daniel." "how old is kitty?" "mother!" "twenty-two," answered mrs. killigrew relentlessly. "well, i was going to say that i've learned more about the killigrew family in these four months of travel than in all those years together." "something more than ornaments," suggested kitty dryly. "yes, indeed," replied her father amiably. and when he returned to the boat-deck that afternoon for tea (which, by the way, he never drank, being a thorough-going coffee merchant), he said to kitty: "you win on points. if webb doesn't pan out, why, we can discharge him. i'll take a chance at a man who isn't afraid to look you squarely in the eyes." at the precise time when kitty retired and thomas went aft for his good night pipe--eleven o'clock at sea and nine in new york--haggerty found himself staring across the street at an old-fashioned house. like the fisherman who always returns to the spot where he lost the big one, the detective felt himself drawn toward this particular dwelling. crawford did not live there any more; since his marriage he had converted it into a private museum. it was filled with mummies and cartonnages, ancient pottery and trinkets. what a game it had been! a hundred thousand in precious gems, all neatly packed away in the heels of crawford's old shoes! and where was that man mason? would he ever return? oh, well; he, haggerty, had got his seven thousand in rewards; he was living now like a nabob up in the bronx. he had no real cause to regret mason's advent or his escape. yet, deep in his heart burned the chagrin of defeat: his man had got away, and half the game (if you're a true hunter) was in putting your hand on a man's shoulder and telling him to "come along." he crossed the street and entered the, alley and gazed up at the fire-escape down which mason had made his escape. what impelled the detective to leap up and catch the lower bars of the ground-ladder he could not have told you. he pulled himself up and climbed to the window. open! haggerty had nerves like steel wires, but a slight shiver ran down his spine. open, and crawford yet on the high seas. he waited, listening intently. not a sound of any sort came to his ears. he stepped inside courageously and slipped with his back to the wall, where he waited, holding his breath. click! it seemed to come from his right. "come out o' that!" he snarled. "no monkey-business, or i'll shoot." he flashed his pocket-lamp toward the sound, and aimed. a blow on the side of the head sent the detective crashing against a cartonnage, and together the quick and the dead rolled to the floor. instinctively haggerty turned on his back, aimed at the window and fired. too late! chapter ix when the constellation, which was not included among the accepted theories of copernicus, passed away, haggerty sat up and rubbed the swelling over his ear, tenderly yet grimly. next, he felt about the floor for his pocket-lamp. a strange spicy dust drifted into his nose and throat, making him sneeze and cough. a mummy had reposed in the overturned cartonnage and the brittle bindings had crumbled into powder. he soon found the lamp, and sent its point of vivid white light here and there about the large room. pursuit of his assailant was out of the question. haggerty was not only hard of head but shrewd. so he set about the accomplishment of the second best course, that of minute and particular investigation. some one had entered this deserted house: for what? this, haggerty must find out. he was fairly confident that the intruder did not know who had challenged him; on the other hand, there might be lying around some clue to the stranger's identity. was there light in the house, fluid in the wires? if so he would be saved the annoyance of exploring the house by the rather futile aid of the pocket-lamp, which stood in need of a fresh battery. he searched for the light-button and pressed it, hopefully. the room, with all its brilliantly decorated antiquities, older than rome, older than greece, blinded haggerty for a space. "ain't that like these book chaps?" haggerty murmured. "t' go away without turning off th' meter!" the first thing haggerty did was to scrutinize the desk which stood near the center of the room. a film of dust lay upon it. not a mark anywhere. in fact, a quarter of an hour's examination proved to haggerty's mind that nothing in this room had been disturbed except the poor old mummy. he concluded to leave that gruesome object where it lay. nobody but crawford would know how to put him back in his box, poor devil. haggerty wondered if, after a thousand years, some one would dig him up! through all the rooms on this floor he prowled, but found nothing. he then turned his attention to the flight of stairs which led to the servants' quarters. upon the newel-post lay the fresh imprint of a hand. haggerty went up the stairs in bounds. there were nine rooms on this floor, two connecting with baths. in one of these latter rooms he saw a trunk, opened, its contents carelessly scattered about the floor. one by one he examined the garments, his heart beating quickly. not a particle of dust on them; plenty of finger-prints on the trunk. it had been opened this very night--by one familiar, either at first-hand or by instruction. he had come for something in that trunk. what? from garret to cellar, thirty rooms in all; nothing but the hand-print on the newel-post and the opened trunk. haggerty returned to the museum, turned out all the lights except that on the desk, and sat down on a rug so as not to disturb the dust on the chairs. the man might return. it was certain that he, haggerty, would come back on the morrow. he was anxious to compare the thumb-print with the one he had in his collection. for what had the man come? keep-sakes? haggerty dearly wanted to believe that the intruder was the one man he desired in his net; but he refused to listen to the insidious whisperings; he must have proof, positive, absolute, incontestable. if it was crawford's man mason, it was almost too good to be true; and he did not care to court ultimate disappointment. proof, proof; but where? why had the man not returned the clothes to the trunk and shut it? what had alarmed him? everything else indicated the utmost caution. . . . a glint of light flashing and winking from steel. haggerty rose and went over to the window. he picked up a bunch of keys, thirty or forty in all, on a ring, weighing a good pound. the detective touched the throbbing bump and sensed a moisture; blood. so this was the weapon? he weighed the keys on his palm. a long time since he had seen a finer collection of skeleton keys, thin and flat and thick and short, smooth and notched, each a gem of its kind. three or four ordinary keys were sandwiched in between, and haggerty inspected these curiously. "h'm. mebbe it's a hunch. anyhow, i'll try it. can't lose anything trying." he turned out the desk light and went down to the lower hall, his pocket-lamp serving as guide. he unlatched the heavy door-chains, opened the doors and closed them behind him. he inserted one of the ordinary keys. it refused to work. he tried another. the door swung open, easily. "now, then, come down out o' that!" growled a voice at the foot of the steps. "thought y'd be comin' out by-'n-by. no foolin' now, 'r i blow a hole through ye!" haggerty wheeled quickly. "'s that you, dorgan? come up." "haggerty?" said the astonished patrolman. "an' mitchell an' i've been watchin' these lights fer an hour!" "some one's been here, though; so y' weren't wasting your time. i climbed up th' fire-escape in th' alley an' got a nice biff on th' coco for me pains. see any one running before y' saw th' lights?" "why, yes!" "ha! it's hard work t' get it int' your heads that when y' see a man running at this time o' night, in a quiet side-street it's up t' you t' ask him questions." "thought he was chasin' a cab." "well, listen here. till th' owner comes back, keep your eyes peeled on this place. an' any one y' see prowling around, nab him an' send for me. on your way!" haggerty departed in a hurry. he had already made up his mind as to what he was going to do. he hunted up a taxicab and told the chauffeur where to go, advising him to "hit it up." his destination was the studio-apartment of j. mortimer forbes, the artist. it was late, but this fact did not trouble haggerty. forbes never went to bed until there was positively nothing else to do. the elevator-boy informed haggerty that mr. forbes had just returned from the theater. alone? yes. haggerty pushed the bell-button. a dog bayed. "why, haggerty, what's up? come on in. be still, fritz!" the dachel's growl ended in a friendly snuffle, and he began to dance upon haggerty's broad-toed shoes. "bottle of beer? cigar? take that easy chair. what's on your mind tonight?" forbes rattled away. "why, man, there's a cut on the side of your head!" "uhuh. got any witch-hazel?" the detective sat down, stretched out his legs, and pulled the dachel's ears. forbes ran into the bathroom to fetch the witch-hazel. haggerty poured a little into his palm and dabbled the wound with it. "now, spin it out; tell me what's happened," said forbes, filling his calabash and pushing the cigars across the table. for a year and a half these two men, the antitheses of each other, had been intimate friends. this liking was genuine, based on secret admiration, as yet to be confessed openly. forbes had always been drawn toward this man-hunting business; he yearned to rescue the innocent and punish the guilty. whenever a great crime was committed he instantly overflowed with theories as to what the criminal was likely to do afterward. haggerty enjoyed listening to his patter; and often there were illuminating flashes which obtained results for the detective, who never applied his energies in the direction of logical deduction. besides, the chairs in the studio were comfortable, the imported beer not too cold, and the cigars beyond criticism. haggerty accepted a cigar, lighted it, and amusedly watched the eager handsome face of the artist. "any poker lately?" "no; cut it out for six months. come on, now; don't keep me waiting any longer." "mum's th' word?"--tantalizingly. "you ought to know that by this time"--aggrieved. haggerty tossed the bunch of keys on the table. "ha! good specimens, these," forbes declared, handling them. "here's a window-opener." "good boy!" said haggerty, as a teacher would have commended a bright pupil. "and a door-chain lifter. nothing lacking. did he hit you with these?" "ye-up." "what are these regular keys for?" "one o' them unlocks a door." haggerty smoked luxuriously. forbes eyed the ordinary keys with more interest than the burglarious ones. haggerty was presently astonished to see the artist produce his own key-ring. "what now?" "when crawford went abroad he left a key with me. i am making some drawings for an egyptian romance and wanted to get some atmosphere." "uhuh." "which key is it that unlocks a door?" asked forbes, his eyes sparkling. "never'll get that out o' your head, will you?" "which key?" "th' round-headed one." forbes drew the key aside and laid it evenly against the one crawford had left in his keeping. "by george!" "what's th' matter?" "he's come back!"--in a whisper. "you're a keen one! ye-up; crawford's valet mason is visiting in town." chapter x there are many threads and many knots in a net; these can not be thrown together haphazard, lest the big fish slip through. at the bottom of the net is a small steel ring, and here the many threads and the many knots finally meet. forbes and haggerty (who, by the way, thinks i'm a huge joke as a novelist) and the young man named webb recounted this tale to me by threads and knots. the ring was of kitty killigrew, for kitty killigrew, by kitty killigrew, to paraphrase a famous line. at one of the quieter hotels--much patronized by touring englishmen--there was registered james thornden and man. every afternoon mr. thornden and his man rode about town in a rented touring car. the man would bundle his master's knees in a rug and take the seat at the chauffeur's side, and from there direct the journey. generally they drove through the park, up and down riverside, and back to the hotel in time for tea. mr. thornden drank tea for breakfast along with his bacon and eggs, and at luncheon with his lamb or mutton chops, and at five o'clock with especially baked muffins and apple-tarts. mr. thornden never gave orders personally; his man always attended to that. the master would, early each morning, outline the day's work, and the man would see to it that these instructions were fulfilled to the letter. he was an excellent servant, by the way, light of foot, low of voice, serious of face, with a pair of eyes which i may liken to nothing so well as to a set of acetylene blow-pipes--bored right through you. the master was middle-aged, about the same height and weight as his valet. he wore a full dark beard, something after the style of the early eighties of last century. his was also a serious countenance, tanned, dignified too; but his eyes were no match for his valet's; too dreamy, introspective. screwed in his left eye was a monocle down from which flowed a broad ribbon. in public he always wore it; no one about the hotel had as yet seen him without it, and he had been a guest there for more than a fortnight. he drank nothing in the way of liquor, though his man occasionally wandered into the bar and ordered a stout or an ale. after dinner the valet's time appeared to be his own; for he went out nearly every night. he seemed very much interested in shop-windows, especially those which were filled with curios. mr. thornden frequently went to the theater, but invariably alone. thus, they attracted little or no attention among the clerks and bell boys and waiters who had, in the course of the year, waited upon the wants of a royal duke and a grand duke, to say nothing of a maharajah, who was still at the hotel. an ordinary touring englishman was, then, nothing more than that. until one day a newspaper reporter glanced carelessly through the hotel register. the only thing which escapes the newspaper man is the art of saving; otherwise he is omnipotent. he sees things, anticipates events, and often prearranges them; smells war if the secretary of the navy is seen to run for a street-car, is intimately acquainted with "the official in the position to know" and "the man higher up," "the gentleman on the inside," and other anonymous but famous individuals. he is tireless, impervious to rebuff, also relentless; as an investigator of crime he is the keenest hound of them all; often he does more than expose, he prevents. he is the warwick of modern times; he makes and unmakes kings, sceptral and financial. this particular reporter sent his card up to mr. thornden and was, after half an hour's delay, admitted to the suite. mr. thornden laid aside his tea-cup. "i am a newspaper man, mr. thornden," said the young man, his eye roving about the room, visualizing everything, from the slices of lemon to the brilliant eyes of the valet. "ah! a pressman. what will you be wanting to see me about, sir?"--neither hostile nor friendly. "do you intend to remain long in america--incog?" "incog!" mr. thorndon leaned forward in his chair and drew down his eyebrow tightly against the rim of his monocle. "yes, sir. i take it that you are lord henry monckton, ninth baron of dimbledon." master and man exchanged a rapid glance. "tibbets," said the master coldly, "you registered." "yes, sir." "what did you register?" "oh," interposed the reporter, "it was the name dimbledon caught my eye, sir. you see, there was a paragraph in one of our london exchanges that you had sailed for america. i'm what we call a hotel reporter; hunt up prominent and interesting people for interviews. i'm sure yours is a very interesting story, sir." the reporter was a pleasant, affable young man, and that was why he was so particularly efficient in his chosen line of work. "i was not prepared to disclose my identity so soon," said lord monckton ruefully. "but since you have stumbled upon the truth, it is far better that i give you the facts as they are. interviewing is a novel experience. what do you wish to know, sir?" and thus it was that, next morning, new york--and the continent as well--learned that lord henry monckton, ninth baron of dimbledon, had arrived in america on a pleasure trip. the story read more like the scenario of a romantic novel than a page from life. for years the eighth baron of dimbledon had lived in seclusion, practically forgotten. in india he had a bachelor brother, a son and a grandson. one day he was notified of the death (by bubonic plague) of these three male members of his family, the baron himself collapsed and died shortly after. the title and estate went to another branch of the family. a hundred years before, a daughter of the house had run away with the head-gardener and been disowned. the great-great-grand-son of this woman became the ninth baron. the present baron's life was recounted in full; and an adventurous life it had been, if the reporter was to be relied upon. the interview appeared in a london journal, with the single comment--"how those american reporters misrepresent things!" it made capital reading, however; and in servants' halls the newspaper became very popular. it gave rise to a satirical leader on the editorial page: "what's the matter with us republicans? liberty, fraternity and equality; we flaunt that flag as much as we ever did. yet, what a howdy-do when a title comes along! what a craning of necks, what a kotowing! how many earldoms and dukedoms are not based upon some detestable action, some despicable service rendered some orgiastic sovereign! the most honorable thing about the so-called nobility is generally the box-hedge which surrounds the manse. kotow; pour our millions into the bottomless purses of spendthrifts; give them our most beautiful women. there is no remedy for human nature." it was this editorial which interested killigrew far more than the story which had given birth to it. "that's the way to shout." "does it do any good?" asked kitty. "if we had a lord for breakfast--i mean, at breakfast--would you feel at ease? wouldn't you be watching and wondering what it was that made him your social superior?" "social superior? bah!" "that's no argument. as this editor wisely says, there's no remedy for human nature. when i was a silly schoolgirl i often wondered if there wasn't a duke in the family, or even a knight. how do you account for that feeling?" "you were probably reading bertha m. clay," retorted her father, only too glad of such an opening. "what is your opinion of titles, mr. webb?" she asked calmly. "mr. webb is an englishman, kitty," reminded her mother. "all the more reason for wishing his point of view," was the reply. "a title, if managed well, is a fine business asset." thomas stared gravely at his egg-cup. "a humorist!" cried killigrew, as if he had discovered a dodo. "really, no. i am typically english, sir." but thomas was smiling this time; and when he smiled kitty found him very attractive. she was leaning on her elbows, her folded hands propping her chin; and in his soul thomas knew that she was looking at him with those boring critical blue eyes of hers. why was she always looking at him like that? "it is notorious that we english are dull and stupid," he said. "now you are making fun of us," said kitty seriously. "i beg your pardon!" she dropped her hands from under her chin and laughed. "do you really wish to know the real secret of our antagonism, mr. webb?" "i should be very glad." "well, then, we each of us wear a chip on our shoulder, simply because we've never taken the trouble to know each other well. most english we americans meet are stupid and caddish and uninteresting; and most of the americans you see are boastful, loud-talking and money-mad. our mutual impressions are wholly wrong to begin with." "i have no chip on my shoulder," thomas refuted eagerly. "neither have i." "but i have," laughed her father. "i eat englishmen for breakfast; fe-fo-fum style." how democratic indeed these kindly, unpretentious people were! thought thomas. a multimillionaire as amiable as a clerk; a daughter who would have graced any court in europe with her charm and elfin beauty. up to a month ago he had held all americans in tolerant contempt. it was as kitty said: the real englishman and the real american seldom met. he did not realize as yet that his position in this house was unique. in england all great merchants and statesmen and nobles had one or more private secretaries about. he believed it to be a matter of course that americans followed the same custom. he would have been wonderfully astonished to learn that in all this mighty throbbing city of millions--people and money--there might be less than a baker's dozen who occupied simultaneously the positions of private secretary and friend of the family. mr. killigrew had his private secretary, but this gentleman rarely saw the inside of the killigrew home; it wasn't at all necessary that he should. killigrew was a sensible man; his business hours began when he left home and ended when he entered it. "do you know any earls or dukes?" asked killigrew, folding his napkin. "really, no. i have moved in a very different orbit. i know many of them by sight, however." he did not think it vital to add that he had often sold them collars and suspenders. the butler and the second man pulled back the ladies' chairs. killigrew hurried away to his offices; kitty and her mother went up-stairs; and thomas returned to his desk in the library. he was being watched by kitty; nothing overt, nothing tangible, yet he sensed it: from the first day he had entered this house. it oppressed him, like a presage of disaster. back of his chair was a fireplace, above this, a mirror. once--it was but yesterday--while with his back to his desk, day-dreaming, he had seen her in the mirror. she stood in the doorway, a hand resting lightly against the portiere. there was no smile on her face. the moment he stirred, she vanished. watched. why? chapter xi the home-bureau of charities was a success from the start; but beyond the fact that it served to establish thomas webb as private secretary in the killigrew family, i was not deeply interested. i know that thomas ran about a good deal, delving into tenements and pedigrees, judging candidates, passing or condemning, and that he earned his salary, munificent as it appeared to him. forbes told me that he wouldn't have done the work for a thousand a week; and forbes, like panurge, had ten ways of making money and twelve ways of spending it. the amazing characteristic about thomas was his unaffected modesty, his naturalness, his eagerness to learn, his willingness to accept suggestions, no matter from what source. haberdashers' clerks--at least, those i have known--are superior persons; they know it all, you can not tell them a single thing. i can call to witness dozens of neckties and shirts i shall never dare wear in public. but perhaps seven years among a clientele of earls and dukes, who were set in their ideas, had something to do with thomas' attitude. killigrew was very well satisfied with the venture. he had had some doubts at the beginning: a man whose past ended at pier did not look like a wise speculation, especially in a household. but quite unconsciously thomas himself had taken these doubts out of killigrew's mind and--mislaid them. the subscriptions to all the suffragette weeklies and monthlies were dropped; and there were no more banners reading "votes for women" tacked over the doorways. besides this, the merchant had a man to talk to, after dinner, he with his cigar and thomas with his pipe, this privilege being insisted upon by the women folk, who had tact to leave the two men to themselves. thomas amused the millionaire. here was a young man of a species with whom he had not come into contact in many years: a boy who did not know the first thing about poker, or bridge, or pinochle, who played outrageous billiards and who did not know who the latest reigning theatrical beauty was, and moreover, did not care a rap; who could understand a joke within reasonable time if he couldn't tell one; who was neither a nincompoop nor a mollycoddle. thomas interested killigrew more and more as the days went past. happily, the voice of conscience is heard by no ears but one's own. after luncheons thomas had a good deal of time on his hands; and, to occupy this time he returned to his old love, composition. he began to rewrite his romance; and one day kitty discovered him pegging away at it. he rose from his chair instantly. "will you be wanting me, miss killigrew?" "only to say that father will be detained down-town to-night and that you will be expected to take mother and me to the theater. it is one of your english musical comedies; and very good, they say." thomas had been dreading such a situation. as yet there had been no entertaining at the killigrew home; nearly all their friends were out of town for the summer; thus far he had escaped. "i am sorry, miss killigrew, but i have no suitable clothes." which was plain unvarnished truth. "and i do not possess an opera-hat." and never did. kitty laughed pleasantly. "we are very democratic in this house, as by this time you will have observed. in the summer we do not dress; we take our amusements comfortably. ordinarily we would be at our summer home on long island; but delayed repairs will not let us into it till august. then we shall all take a vacation. you will join us as you are; that is, of course, if you are not too busy with your own affairs." "never too busy to be of service to you, miss killigrew. i'm only scribbling." "a book?"--interestedly. "bally rot, possibly. would you like to read it?"--one of the best inspirations he had ever had. he was not one of those silly individuals who hem and haw when some one discovers they have the itch for writing, whose sole aim is to have the secret dragged out of them, with hypocritical reluctance. "may i?" her friendly aloofness fell away from her as if touched by magic. "i am an inveterate reader. besides, i know several famous editors, and perhaps i could help you." "that would be jolly." "and you are writing a story, and never told us about it!" "it never occurred to me to tell you. i shall be very glad to go to the theater with you and mrs. killigrew." kitty tucked the romance under her arm and flew to her room with it. this thomas was as full of surprises as a christmas-box. he eyed the empty doorway speculatively. he rather preferred the friendly aloofness; otherwise some fatal nonsense might enter his head. he resumed his chair and transferred his gaze to the blotter. he added a few pothooks by the way: numerals in addition and subtraction (for he was of scotch descent), a name which he scratched out and scrawled again and again scratched out. he examined the contents of his wallet. how many pounds did a dress-suit cost in this hurly-burly country? this question could be answered only in one way. he hastened out into the hall, put on his hat, made for the subway, and got out directly opposite the offices of killigrew and company, sugar, coffee and spices. london-bred, it did not take him long to find his way about. the racket disturbed him; that was all. the building in which killigrew and company had its offices belonged to killigrew personally. it had cost him a round million to build, but the office-rentals were making it a fine investment. these ornate office-buildings caused thomas to marvel unceasingly. in london cubby-holes were sufficient. if merchants like killigrew, generally these were along the water-front; creaky, old, dim-windowed. in this bewildering country a man conducted his business as from a palace. the warehouses were distinct establishments. thomas entered the portals, stepped cautiously into one of the express-elevators (so they insisted upon calling them here), and was shot up to the fourteenth floor, all of which was occupied by killigrew and company. it was thomas' first venture in this district. and he learned the amazing fact that it was ordinarily as easy to see mr. killigrew as it was to see king george. office-boys, minor clerks, head clerks, managers; they quizzed and buffeted him hither and thither. he never thought to state at the outset that he was mrs. killigrew's private secretary; he merely said that it was very important that he should see mr. killigrew at once. "mr. killigrew is busy," he was informed by the assistant manager, at whose desk thomas finally arrived. "if you will give me your card i'll have it sent in to him." thomas confessed that he had no card. the assistant manager grew distinctly chilling. "if you will be so kind as to inform mr. killigrew that mr. webb, mrs. killigrew's private secretary . . ." "why didn't you say that at once, mr. webb? here, boy; tell mr. killigrew that mr. webb wishes to see him. you might just as well follow the boy." killigrew was smoking, and perusing the baseball edition of his favorite evening paper. all this red-tape to approach a man who wasn't doing anything more vital than that! thomas smiled. it was a wonderful people. "why, hello, webb! what's the matter? anything wrong at the house?"--anxiously. "no, mr. killigrew. i came to see you on a personal matter." killigrew dropped the newspaper on his desk, a little frown between his eyes. he made no inquiry. "miss killigrew tells me that you will not be home this evening, and that i am to take her and mrs. killigrew to the theater." "anything in the way to prevent you?" killigrew appeared vastly relieved for some reason. "as a matter of fact, sir, i haven't the proper clothes; and i thought you might advise me where to go to obtain them." killigrew laughed until the tears started. the very heartiness of it robbed it of all rudeness. "good lord! and i was worrying my head off. webb, you're all right. do you need any funds?" "i believe i have enough." thomas appeared to be disturbed not in the least by the older man's hilarity. it was not infectious, because he did not understand it. "glad you came to me. always come to me when you're in doubt about anything. i'm no authority on clothes, but my secretary is. i'll have him take you to a tailor where you can rent a suit for to-night. he'll take your measure, and by the end of the week . . ." he did not finish the sentence, but pressed one of the many buttons on his desk. "clark, this is mr. webb, mrs. killigrew's secretary. he wants some clothes. take him along with you." alone again, killigrew smiled broadly. the humor of the situation did not blind him to the salient fact that this webb was a man of no small courage. he recognized in this courage a commendable shrewdness also: webb wanted the right thing, honest clothes for honest dollars. a man like that would be well worth watching. and for a moment he had thought that webb had fallen in love with kitty and wanted to marry her! he chuckled. clothes! what a boy kitty would have made! what an infallible eye she had for measuring a person! no servant-question ever dangled its hot interrogation point before his eyes. kitty saw to that. she was the real manager of the household affairs, for all that he paid the bills. some day she would marry a proper man; but heaven keep that day as far off as possible. what would he do without kitty? always ready to perch on his knee, to smooth the day-cares from his forehead, to fend off trouble, to make laughter in the house. he was not going to love the man who eventually carried her off. he was always dreading that day; young men about the house, the yacht and the summer home worried him. the whole lot of them were not worthy to tie the laces of her shoes, much as they might yearn to do so. and all webb wanted was a tailor! he would give a hundred for the right to tell this scare to the boys at the club, but webb's ingenuous confidence did not merit betrayal. still, nothing should prevent him from telling kitty, who knew how to keep a secret. he picked up the newspaper and resumed his computation of averages (batting), chuckling audibly from time to time. clothes! at quarter to six thomas returned to the house, laden with fat bundles which he hurried secretly to his room. he had never worn a dress-suit. he had often guilelessly dreamed of possessing one: between paragraphs, as another young man might have dreamed of vanquishing a rival. it was inborn that we should wish to appear well in public; to better one's condition, or, next best, to make the public believe one has. thomas was deeply observant and quickly adaptive. between the man who goes to school _with_ books and the man who goes to school _in_ books there is wide difference. what we are forced to learn seldom lifts us above the ordinary; what we learn by inclination plows our fields and reaps our harvests. it is as natural as breathing that we should like our tonics, mental as well as physical, sugar-coated. thomas had never worn a dress-suit; but in the matter of collars and cravats and shirts he knew the last word. but why should he wish to wear that mournfully conventional suit in which we are supposed to enjoy ourselves? she had told him not to bother about dress. was it that very nonsense he dreaded, insidiously attacking the redoubts of his common sense? that evening at dinner kitty nor her mother appeared to notice the change. this gratified him; he knew that outwardly there was nothing left to desire or attain. kitty began to talk about the romance immediately. she had found the beginning very exciting; it was out of the usual run of stories; and if it was all as good as the first part, there would be some editors glad to get hold of it. so much for the confidence of youth. _the black veil_, as i have reason to know, lies at the bottom of thomas' ancient trunk. long as he lived he would never forget the enjoyment of that night. the electric signs along broadway interested him intensely; he babbled about them boyishly. theater outside and theater within; a great drama of light and shadow, of comedy and tragedy; for he gazed upon the scene with all his poet's eyes. he enjoyed the opera, the color and music, the propinquity of kitty. sometimes their shoulders touched; the indefinable perfume of her hair thrilled him. kitty had seen all these things so many times that she no longer experienced enthusiasm; but his was so genuine, so un-english, that she found it impossible to escape the contagion. she did not bubble over, however; on the contrary, she sat through the performance strangely subdued, dimly alarmed over what she had done. as they were leaving the lobby of the theater, a man bumped against thomas, quite accidentally. "i beg your pardon!" said the stranger, politely raising his hat and passing on. [illustration: "i beg your pardon!" said the stranger.] thomas' hand went clumsily to his own hat, which he fumbled and dropped and ran after frantically across the mosaic flooring. a ghost; yes, sir, thomas had seen a ghost. chapter xii i left thomas scrambling about the mosaic lobby of the theater for his opera-hat. when he recovered it, it resembled one of those accordions upon which vaudeville artists play mendelssohn's wedding march and the latest ragtime (by request). some one had stepped on it. among the unanswerable questions stands prominently: why do we laugh when a man loses his hat? thomas burned with a mixture of rage and shame; shame that kitty should witness his discomfiture and rage that, by the time he had retrieved the hat, the ghost had disappeared. however, thomas acted as a polished man of the world, as if eight-dollar opera-hats were mere nothings. he held it out for kitty to inspect, smiling. then he crushed it under his arm (where the broken spring behaved like an unlatched jack-in-the-box) and led the way to the killigrew limousine. "i am sorry, mr. webb," said kitty, biting her lips. "now, now! honestly, don't you know, i hated the thing. i knew something would happen. i never realized till this moment that it is an art all by itself to wear a high hat without feeling and looking like a silly ass." he laughed, honestly and heartily; and kitty laughed, and so did her mother. subtle barriers were swept away, and all three of them became what they had not yet been, friends. it was worth many opera-hats. "kitty, i'm beginning to like thomas," said her mother, later. "he was very nice about the hat. most men would have been in a frightful temper over it." "i'm beginning to like him, too, mother. it was cruel, but i wanted to shout with laughter as he dodged in and out of the throng. did you notice how he smiled when he showed it to me? a woman stepped on it. when she screamed i thought there was going to be a riot." "he's the most guileless young man i ever saw." "he really and truly is," assented kitty. "i like him because he isn't afraid to climb up five flights of tenement stairs, or to shake hands with the tenants themselves. i was afraid at first." "afraid of what?" "that you might have made a mistake in selecting him so casually for our secretary." "perhaps i have," murmured kitty, under her breath. alone in her bedroom the smile left kitty's face. a brooding frown wrinkled the smooth forehead. it was there when celeste came in; it remained there after celeste departed; and it vanished only under the soft, dispelling fingers of sleep. there was a frown on thomas' forehead, too; bitten deep. he tried to read, he tried to smoke, he tried to sleep; futilely. in the middle of the banquet, as it were, like a certain assyrian king in babylon, thomas saw the chaldaic characters on the wall: wherever he looked, written in fire--thou fool! chapter xiii two mornings later the newspapers announced the important facts that miss kitty killigrew had gone to bar harbor for the week, and that the famous uncut emeralds of the maharajah of something-or-other-apur had been stolen; nothing co-relative in the departure of kitty and the green stones, coincidence only. the indian prince was known the world over as gem-mad. he had thousands in unset gems which he neither sold, wore, nor gave away. his various hosts and hostesses lived in mortal terror during a sojourn of his; for he carried his jewels with him always; and often, whenever the fancy seized him, he would go abruptly to his room, spread a square of cobalt-blue velvet on the floor, squat in his native fashion beside it, and empty his bags of diamonds and rubies and pearls and sapphires and emeralds and turquoises. to him they were beautiful toys. whenever he was angry, they soothed him; whenever he was happy, they rounded out this happiness; they were his variant moods. he played a magnificent game. round the diamonds he would make a circle of the palest turquoises. upon this pyramid of brilliants he would place some great ruby, sapphire, or emerald. then his servants were commanded to raise and lower the window-curtains alternately. these shifting contra-lights put a strange life into the gems; they not only scintillated, they breathed. or, perhaps the pyramid would be of emeralds; and he would peer into their cool green depths as he might have peered into the sea. he kept these treasures in an ornamented iron-chest, old, battered, of simple mechanism. it had been his father's and his father's father's; it had been in the family since the days of the peacock throne, and most of the jewels besides. night and day the chest was guarded. it lay upon an ancient ispahan rug, in the center of the bedroom, which no hotel servant was permitted to enter. his five servants saw to it that all his wants were properly attended to, that no indignity to his high caste might be offered: as having his food prepared by pariah hands in the hotel kitchens, foul hands to make his bed. he was thoroughly religious; the gods of his fathers were his in all their ramifications; he wore the brahmin thread about his neck. he was unique among indian princes. an oxford graduate, he persistently and consistently clung to the elaborate costumes of his native state. and when he condescended to visit any one, it was invariably stipulated that he should be permitted to bring along his habits, his costumes and his retinue. in his suite or apartments he was the barbarian; in the drawing-room, in the ballroom, in the dining-room (where he ate nothing), he was the suave, the courteous, the educated oriental. he drank no wines, made his own cigarettes, and never offered his hand to any one, not even to the handsome women who admired his beautiful skin and his magnificent ropes of pearls. some one had entered the bedroom, overpowered the guard, and looted the bag containing the emeralds. the prince, the lightest of sleepers, had slept through it all. he had awakened with a violent headache, as had four of his servants. the big rajput who had stood watch was in the hospital, still unconscious. all the way from san francisco the police had been waiting for such a catastrophe. the newspapers had taken up and published broadcast the story of the prince's pastime. naturally enough, there was not a crook in all america who was not waiting for a possible chance. ten emeralds, weighing from six to ten carats each; a fortune, even if broken up. haggerty laid aside the newspaper and gravely finished his ham and eggs. "i'll take a peek int' this, milly," he said to his wife. "we've been waiting for this t' happen. a million dollars in jools in a chest y' could open with a can-opener. queer ginks, these hindus. we see lots o' fakers, but this one is the real article. mebbe a reward. all right; little ol' haggerty can use th' money. i may not be home t' supper." "anything more about mr. crawford's valet?" haggerty scowled. "not a line. i've been living in gambling joints, but no sign of him. he gambled in th' ol' days; some time 'r other he'll wander in somewhere an' try t' copper th' king. no sign of him round crawford's ol' place. but i'll get him; it's a hunch. by-by!" later, the detective was conducted into the maharajah's reception-room. the prince, in his soft drawling english (far more erudite and polished than haggerty's, if not so direct), explained the situation, omitting no detail. he would give two thousand five hundred for the recovery of the stones. "at what are they valued?" "by your customs appraisers, forty thousand. to me they are priceless." "six t' ten carats? why, they're worth more than that." the prince smiled. "that was for the public." "i'll take a look int' your bedroom," said haggerty, rising. "oh, no; that is not at all necessary," protested the prince. "how d' you suppose i'm going t' find out who done it, or how it was done, then?" demanded haggerty, bewildered. a swift oriental gesture. the hotel manager soothed haggerty by explaining that the prince's caste would not permit an alien to touch anything in the bedroom while it contained the prince's belongings. "well, wouldn't that get your goat!" exploded haggerty. "that lets me out. you'll have to get a clairyvoint." the prince suggested that he be given another suite. his servants would remove his belongings. he promised that nothing else should be touched. "how long'll it take you?" "an hour." "all right," assented haggerty. "who's got th' suite across th' hall?" he asked of the manager, as they left the prince. "lord monckton. he and his valet left this morning for bar harbor. back tuesday. a house-party of fifth avenue people." "uhuh." haggerty tugged at his mustache. "i might look around in there while i'm waiting for his majesty t' change. did y'ever hear th' likes? bug-house." "but he pays a hundred the day, haggerty. i'll let you privately into lord monckton's suite. but you'll waste your time." "sure he left this morning?" "i'll phone the office and make sure. . . . lord monckton left shortly after midnight. his man followed early this morning. lord monckton went by his host's yacht. but the man followed by rail." "what's his man look like?" "slim and very dark, and very quiet." "well, i'll take a look." the manager was right. haggerty had his trouble for nothing. there was no clue whatever in lord monckton's suite. there was no paper in the waste-baskets, in the fireplace; the blotters on the writing-desk were spotless. some clothes were hanging in the closets, but these revealed only their fashionable maker's name. in the reception-room, on a table, a pack of cards lay spread out in an unfinished game of solitaire. all the small baggage had been taken for the journey. truth to tell, haggerty had not expected to find anything; he had not cared to sit idly twiddling his thumbs while the maharajah vacated his rooms. in the bathroom (lord monckton's) he found two objects which aroused his silent derision: a bottle of brilliantine and an ointment made of walnut-juice. probably this lord monckton was a la-de-dah chap. bah! once in the prince's vacated bedroom haggerty went to work with classic thoroughness. not a square foot of the room escaped his vigilant eye. the thief had not entered by the windows; he had come into the room by the door which gave to the corridor. he stood on a chair and examined the transom sill. the dust was undisturbed. he inspected the keyhole; sniffed; stood up, bent and sniffed again. it was an odor totally unknown to him. he stuffed the corner of his fresh handkerchief into the keyhole, drew it out and sniffed that. barely perceptible. he wrapped the corner into the heart of the handkerchief, and put it back into his pocket. some powerful narcotic had been forced into the room through the keyhole. this would account for the prince's headache. these orientals were as bad as the dutch; they never opened their windows for fresh air. beyond this faint, mysterious odor there was nothing else. the first step would be to ascertain whether this narcotic was occidental or oriental. "nothing doing yet," he confessed to the anxious manager. "but there ain't any cause for you t' worry. you're not responsible for jools not left in th' office." "that isn't the idea. it's having the thing happen in this hotel. we'll add another five hundred if you succeed. not in ten years has there been so much as a spoon missing. what do you think about it?" "big case. i'll be back in a little while. don't tell th' reporters anything." haggerty was on his way to a near-by chemist whom he knew, when he espied crawford in his electric, stalled in a jam at forty-second and broadway. he had not seen the archeologist since his return from europe. "hey, mr. crawford!" haggerty bawled, putting his head into the window. "why, haggerty, how are you? can i give you a lift?" "if it won't trouble you." "not at all. pretty hot weather." "for my business. wish i could run off t' th' seashore like you folks. heard o' th' maharajah's emeralds?" "yes. you're on that case?" "trying t' get on it. looks blank jus' now. clever bit o' work; something new. but i've got news for you, though. your man mason is back here again. i thought i wouldn't say nothing t' you till i put my hand on his shoulder." "i'm sorry. i had hoped that the unfortunate devil would have had sense to remain abroad." "then you knew he was over there?"--quickly. "see him?" "no. i shall never feel anything but sorry for him. you can not live with a man as i did, for ten years, and not regret his misstep." "oh, i understand your side. but that man was a born crook, an' th' cleverest i ever run up against. for all you know, he may have been back of a lot o' tricks central never got hold of. i'll bet that each time that you went over with him, he took loot an' disposed of it. i may be pig-headed sometimes, but i'm dead sure o' this. wait some day an' see. say, take a whiff o' this an' tell me what y' think it is." haggerty produced the handkerchief. "i don't smell anything," said crawford. haggerty seized the handkerchief and sniffed, gently, then violently. all he could smell was reminiscent of washtubs. the mysterious odor was gone. chapter xiv this is not a story of the maharajah's emeralds; only a knot in the landing-net of which i have already spoken. i may add with equal frankness that haggerty, upon his own initiative, never proceeded an inch beyond the keyhole episode. it was one of his many failures; for, unlike the great fictional detectives who never fail, haggerty was human, and did. it is only fair to add, however, that when he failed only rarely did any one else succeed. if ever criminal investigation was a man's calling, it was haggerty's. he had infinite patience, the heart of a lion and the strength of a gorilla. had he been highly educated, as a detective he would have been a fizzle; his mind would have been concerned with variant lofty thoughts, and the sordid would have repelled him: and all crimes are painted on a background of sordidness. in one thing haggerty stood among his peers and topped many of them; in his long record there was not one instance of his arresting an innocent man. so haggerty had his failures; there are geniuses on both sides of the law; and the pariah-dog is always just a bit quicker mentally than the thoroughbred hound who hunts him; indeed, to save his hide he has to be. nearly every great fact is like a well-balanced kite; it has for its tail a whimsy. haggerty, on a certain day, received twenty-five hundred dollars from the hindu prince and five hundred more from the hotel management. the detective bore up under the strain with stoic complacency. "the blind madonna of the pagan--chance" always had her hand upon his shoulder. kitty went to bar harbor, her mother to visit friends in orange. thomas walked with a straight spine always; but it stiffened to think that, without knowing a solitary item about his past, they trusted him with the run of the house. the first day there was work to do; the second day, a little less; the third, nothing at all. so he moped about the great house, lonesome as a forgotten dog. he wrote a sonnet on being lonesome, tore it up and flung the scraps into the waste-basket. once, he seated himself at the piano and picked out with clumsy forefinger _walking down the old kent road_. kitty could play. often in the mornings, while at his desk, he had heard her; and oddly enough, he seemed to sense her moods by what she played. (that's the poet.) when she played chopin or chaminade she went about gaily all the day; when she played beethoven, grieg or bach, thomas felt the presence of shadows. there was a magnificent library, mostly editions de luxe. thomas smiled over the many uncut volumes. true, dickens, dumas and stevenson were tolerably well-thumbed; but the host of thinkers and poets and dramatists and theologians, in their hand-tooled levant . . . ! away in an obscure corner (because of its cheap binding) he came across a set of lamb. he took out a volume at random and glanced at the fly-leaf--"kitty killigrew, smith college." then he went into the body of the book. it was copiously marked and annotated. there was something so intimate in the touch of the book that he felt he was committing a sacrilege, looking as it were into kitty's soul. most men would have gone through the set. thomas put the book away. thou fool, indeed! what a hash he had made of his affairs! he saw killigrew at breakfast only. the merchant preferred his club in the absence of his family. early in the afternoon of the fourth day, thomas received a telephone call from killigrew. "hello! that you, webb?" "yes. who is it?" "killigrew. got anything to do to-night?" "no, mr. killigrew." "you know where my club is, don't you?" "yes." "well, be there at seven for dinner. tell the butler and the housekeeper. mr. crawford has a box to the fight to-night, and he thought perhaps you'd like to go along with us." "a boxing-match?" "ten rounds, light-weights; and fast boys, too. both irish." "really, i shall be glad to go." "webb?" "yes." "never use that word 'really' to me. it's un-irish." thomas heard a chuckle before the receiver at the other end clicked on the hook. what a father this hearty, kindly, humorous irishman would have made for a son! in london thomas' amusements had been divided into three classes. during the season he went to the opera twice, to the music-halls once a month, to a boxing-match whenever he could spare the shillings. he belonged to a workingmen's club not far from where he lived; an empty warehouse, converted into a hall, with a platform in the center, from which the fervid (and often misinformed) socialists harangued; and in one corner was a fair gymnasium. every fortnight, for the sum of a crown a head, three or four amateur bouts were arranged. thomas rarely missed these exhibitions; he seriously considered it a part of his self-acquired education. what englishman lives who does not? brains and brawn make a man (or a country) invincible. at seven promptly thomas called at the club and asked for mr. killigrew. he was shown into the grill, where he was pleasantly greeted by his host and crawford and introduced to a young man about his own age, a mr. forbes. thomas, dressed in his new stag-coat, felt that he was getting along famously. he had some doubt in regard to his straw hat, however, till, after dinner, he saw that his companions were wearing their panamas. forbes, the artist, had reached that blasé period when, only upon rare occasions, did he feel disposed to enlarge his acquaintance. but this fresh-skinned young britisher went to his heart at once, a kindred soul, and he adopted him forthwith. he and thomas paired off and talked "fight" all the way to the boxing club. there was a great crowd pressing about the entrance. there were eddies of turbulent spirits. a crowd in america is unlike any other. it is full of meanness, rowdyism, petty malice. a big fellow, smelling of bad whisky, shouldered killigrew aside, roughly. killigrew's irish blood flamed. "here! look where you're going!" he cried. the man reached back and jammed killigrew's hat down over his eyes. killigrew stumbled and fell, and crawford and forbes surged to his rescue from the trampling feet. thomas, however, caught the ruffian's right wrist, jammed it scientifically against the man's chest, took him by the throat and bore him back, savagely and relentlessly. the crowd, packed as it was, gave ground. with an oath the man struck. thomas struck back, accurately. instantly the circle widened. a fight outside was always more interesting than one inside the ropes. a blow ripped open thomas' shirt. it became a slam-bang affair. thomas knocked his man down just as a burly policeman arrived. naturally, he caught hold of thomas and called for assistance. the wrong man first is the invariable rule of the new york police. "milligan!" shouted killigrew, as he sighted one of the club's promoters. milligan recognized his millionaire patron and pushed to his side. after due explanations, thomas was liberated and the real culprit was forced swearing through the press toward the patrol-wagon, always near on such nights. eventually the four gained crawford's box. aside from a cut lip and a torn shirt, thomas was uninjured. if his fairy-godmother had prearranged this fisticuff, she could not have done anything better so far as killigrew was concerned. "thomas," he said, as the main bout was being staged, the chairs and water-pails and paraphernalia changed to fresh corners, "i'll remember that turn. if you're not irish, it's no fault of yours. i wish you knew something about coffee." "i enjoy drinking it," thomas replied, smiling humorously. ever after the merchant-prince treated thomas like a son; the kind of a boy he had always wanted and could not have. and only once again did he doubt; and he longed to throttle the man who brought into light what appeared to be the most damnable evidence of thomas' perfidy. chapter xv we chaps who write have magic carpets. whiz! a marble balcony, overlooking the sea, which shimmered under the light of the summer moon. lord henry monckton and kitty leaned over the baluster and silently watched the rush of the rollers landward and the slink of them back to the sea. for three days kitty had wondered whether she liked or disliked lord monckton. the fact that he was the man who had bumped into thomas that night at the theater may have had something to do with her doddering. he might at least have helped thomas in recovering his hat. dark, full-bearded, slender, with hands like a woman's, quiet of manner yet affable, he was the most picturesque person at the cottage. but there was always something smoldering in those sleepy eyes of his that suggested to kitty a mockery. it was not that recognizable mockery of all those visiting englishmen who held themselves complacently superior to their generous american hosts. it was as though he were silently laughing at all he saw, at all which happened about him, as if he stood in the midst of some huge joke which he alone was capable of understanding: so kitty weighed him. he did not seem to care particularly for women; he never hovered about them, offering little favors and courtesies; rather, he let them come to him. nor did he care for dancing. but he was always ready to make up a table at bridge; and a shrewd capable player he was, too. the music in the ballroom stopped. "will you be so good, miss killigrew, as to tell me why you americans call a palace like this--a cottage?" lord monckton's voice was pleasing, with only a slight accent. "i'm sure i do not know. if it were mine, i'd call it a villa." "quite properly." "do you like americans?" "i have no preference for any people. i prefer individuals. i had much rather talk to an enlightened chinaman than to an unenlightened white man." "i am afraid you are what they call blasé." "perhaps i am not quite at ease yet. i was buffeted about a deal in the old days." lord monckton dropped back into the wicker chair, in the deep shadow. kitty did not move. she wondered what thomas was doing. (thomas was rubbing ointment on his raw knuckles.) "i am very fond of the sea," remarked lord monckton. "i have seen some odd parts of it. every man has his odyssey, his aeneid." aeneid. it seemed to kitty that her body had turned that instant into marble as cold as that under her palms. the coal of the man's cigar glowed intermittently. she could see nothing else. aeneid--enid. chapter xvi thomas slammed the ball with a force which carried it far over the wire backstop. "you must not drive them so hard, mr. webb; at least, not up. drive them down. try it again." tennis looked so easy from the sidelines that thomas believed all he had to do was to hit the ball whenever he saw it within reach; but after a few experiments he accepted the fact that every game required a certain talent, quite as distinct as that needed to sell green neckties (old stock) when the prevailing fashion was polka-dot blue. how he loathed thomas webb. how he loathed the impulse which had catapulted him into this mad whirligig! why had not fate left him in peace; if not satisfied with his lot, at least resigned? and now must come this confrontation, the inevitable! no poor rat in a trap could have felt more harassed. mentally, he went round and round in circles, but he could find no exit. there is no file to saw the bars of circumstance. that the lithe young figure on the other side of the net, here, there, backward and forward, alert, accurate, bubbling with energy . . . once, a mad rollicking impulse seized and urged him to vault the net and take her in his arms and hold her still for a moment. but he knew. she was using him as an athlete uses a trainer before a real contest. there was something more behind his stroke than mere awkwardness. it was downright savagery. generally when a man is in anger or despair he longs to smash things; and these inoffensive tennis-balls were to thomas a gift of the gods. each time one sailed away over the backstop, it was like the pop of a safety-valve; it averted an explosion. "that will be enough!" cried kitty, as the last of a dozen balls sailed toward the distant stables. the tennis-courts were sunken and round them ran a parapet of lawn, crisp and green, with marble benches opposite the posts, generally used as judges' stands. upon one of these kitty sat down and began to fan herself. thomas walked over and sat down beside her. the slight gesture of her hand had been a command. it was early morning, before breakfast; still and warm and breathless, a forerunner of a long hot summer day. a few hundred yards to the south lay the sea, shimmering as it sprawled lazily upon the tawny sands. the propinquity of a pretty girl and a lonely young man has founded more than one story. "you'll be enjoying the game, once you learn it." "do you think i ever will?" asked thomas. he bent forward and began tapping the clay with his racket. how to run away! kitty, as she looked down at his head, knew that there were a dozen absurd wishes in her heart, none of which could possibly ever become facts. he was so different from the self-assertive young men she knew, with their silly flirtations, their inane small-talk, their capacity for scotch whisky and long hours. for days she had studied him as through microscopic lenses; his guilelessness was real. it just simply could not be; her ears had deceived her that memorable foggy night in london. and yet, always in the dark his voice was that of one of the two men who had talked near her cab. who was he? not a single corner of the veil had he yet lifted, and here it was, the middle of august; and except for the week at bar harbor she had been with him day by day, laid she knew not how many traps, over which he had stepped serenely, warily or unconsciously she could not tell which. it made her heart ache; for, manly and simple as he appeared, honest as he seemed, he was either a rogue or the dupe of one, which was almost as bad. but to-day she was determined to learn which he was. "what have you done with the romance?" "i have put it away in the bottom of my trunk. the seventh rejection convinces me that i am not a story-teller." he had a desperate longing to tell her all, then and there. it was too late. he would be arrested as a smuggler, turned out of the house as an impostor. "don't give up so easily. there are still ninety-three other editors waiting to read it." "i have my doubts. still, it was a pleasant pastime." he sat back and stared at the sea. he must go this day; he must invent some way of leaving. then came the machiavellian way; only, he managed as usual to execute it in his blundering english style. without warning he dropped his racket, caught kitty in his arms tightly and roughly, kissed her cheek, rose, and strode swiftly across the courts, into the villa. it was done. he could go now; he knew very well he had to go. his subsequent actions were methodical enough; a shower, a thorough rub-down, and then into his workaday clothes. he packed his trunk and hand-luggage, overlooked nothing that was his, and went down into the living-room where he knew he would find killigrew with the morning papers. he felt oddly light-headed; but he had no time to analyze the cause. "good morning, thomas," greeted the master of the house cordially. "i am leaving, mr. killigrew. will you be kind enough to let me have the use of the motor to the station?" "leaving! what's happened? what's the matter? young man, what the devil's this about?" "i am sorry, sir, but i have insulted miss killigrew." "insulted kitty?" killigrew sprang up. "just a moment, sir," warned thomas. the tense, short but powerful figure of kitty's father was not at that moment an agreeable thing to look at; and thomas knew that those knotted hands were rising toward his throat. "do not misinterpret me, sir. i took miss kitty in my arms and kissed her." "you--kissed--kitty?" killigrew fell back into his chair, limp. for a moment there had been black murder in his heart; now he wondered whether to weep or laugh. the reaction was too sudden to admit of coherent thought. "you kissed kitty?" he repeated mechanically. "yes, sir." "what did she do?" "i did not wait to learn, sir." killigrew got up and walked the length of the room several times, his chin in his collar, his hands clasped behind his back, under his coat-tails. the fifth passage carried him out on to the veranda. he kept on going and disappeared among the lilac hedges. thomas thought he understood this action, that his inference was perfectly logical; killigrew, rather than strike the man who had so gratuitously insulted his daughter, had preferred to run away. (i know; for a long time i, too, believed thomas the most colossal ass since dobson.) thomas gazed mournfully about the room. it was all over. he had burned his bridges. it had been so pleasant, so homelike; and he had begun to love these unpretentious people as if they had been his very own. except that which had been expended on clothes, thomas had most of his salary. it would carry him along till he found something else to do. to get away, immediately, was the main idea; he had found a door to the trap. (the chamois-bag lay in his trunk, forgotten.) "your breakfast is ready, sir," announced the grave butler. so thomas ate his chops and potatoes and toast and drank his tea, alone. and killigrew, blinking tears, leaned against the stout branches of the lilacs and buried his teeth in his coat-sleeve. he was as near apoplexy as he was ever to come. chapter xvii meantime kitty sat on the bench, stunned. never before in all her life had such a thing happened. true, young men had at times attempted to kiss her, but not in this fashion. a rough embrace, a kiss on her cheek, and he had gone. not a word, not a sign of apology. she could not have been more astounded had a thunder-bolt struck at her feet, nor more bereft of action. she must have sat there fully ten minutes without movement. from thomas, the guileless, this! what did it mean? she could not understand. had he instantly begged forgiveness, had he made protestations of sentiment, a glimmering would have been hers. nothing; he had kissed her and walked away: as he might have kissed celeste, and had, for all she knew! when the numbing sense of astonishment passed away, it left her cold with anger. kitty was a dignified young lady, and she would not tolerate such an affront from any man alive. it was more than an affront; it was a dire catastrophe. what should she do now? what would become of all her wonderfully maneuvered plans? she went directly to her room and flung herself upon the bed, bewildered and unhappy. and there killigrew found her. he was a wise old man, deeply versed in humanity, having passed his way up through all sorts and conditions of it to his present peaceful state. "kittibudget, what the deuce is all this about? . . . you've been crying!" "supposing i have?"--came muffled from the pillows. "what have you been doing to thomas?" "i?" she shot back, sitting up, her eyes blazing. "he kissed me, dad, as he probably kisses his english barmaids." "kitty, girl, you're as pretty as a primrose. i don't think thomas was really accountable." "are you defending him?"--blankly. "no. the strange part of it is, i don't think thomas wants to be defended. a few minutes ago he came to me and told me what he had done. he is leaving." the anger went out of her eyes, snuffed--candle-wise. "leaving?" "leaving. he asked me for the motor to the station." "leaving! well, that's about the only possible thing he could do, under the circumstances. he has a good excuse." excuse! kitty's nimble mind reached out and touched thomas' machiavellian inspiration. "hang it, kitty, i had to run out into the lilacs to laugh! can't this be smoothed over some way? i like that boy; i don't care if he is a britisher and sometimes as simple as a fool. when i think of the other light-headed duffers who call themselves gentlemen . . . pah! they drink my whiskies, smoke my cigars, and dub me an old mick behind my back. they run around with silly chorus-girls and play poker till sun-up, and never do an honest day's work. it takes a brave man to come to me and frankly say that he has insulted my daughter." "he said that?" behind her lips kitty was already smiling. "you are acting very strangely, dad." "i know. ordinarily i'd have taken him by the collar and hustled him into the road. and if it had been one of those young bachelors who are coming down to-night, i'd have done it. i like thomas; and i don't think he kissed you either to affront or to insult you." "indeed!"--icily. "i dare say i stole a kiss or two in my day." "does mother know it?" "back in the old country, when i was a lad. it's a normal impulse. there isn't a young man alive who can look upon a pretty girl's face without wishing to kiss it. i don't believe thomas will repeat the offense. the trouble, girl, is this--you've been living in a false atmosphere, where people hide all their generous impulses because to be natural is not fashionable." "i marvel at you more and more. is it generous, then, to kiss a girl without so much as by your leave? if he had been sorry, if he had apologized, i might overlook the deed. but he kissed me and walked away. do you realize what such an action means to any young woman with pride? very well, if he apologizes he may stay; but no longer on the basis of friendship. it must be purely business. when my guests arrive i shall not consider it necessary to ask him to join any of our amusements." "poor devil! he'll have to pay for that kiss." "next, i suppose you'll be wanting me to marry him!" kitty volleyed. but she wasn't half so angry as she pretended. "what? thomas?" "ah, that's different, isn't it? there, there; i've promised to overlook the offense on condition that he apologize and keep his place. i have always said that you'd rather have a man about than me." "well, perhaps i could understand a man better." "go down to breakfast. i hear mother moving about. i'll ring for what i need. i must bathe and dress. some of the people will motor in for lunch." killigrew, subdued and mystified, went in search of thomas and discovered him in almost the exact spot he had left him; for thomas, having breakfasted, had returned to the living-room to await the motor. "thomas, when kitty comes down, apologize. and remember this, that you can't kiss a pretty girl just because you happen to want to." "but, mr. killigrew, i didn't want to!" said thomas. "well, i'll be tinker-dammed!" "i mean . . . really, sir, it is better that i should return at once to the city. i'm a rotter." "don't be a fool! take your grips back to your room, and don't let's have any more nonsense. finish up that report from brazil; and if you handle it right, i'll take you into the office where you'll be away from the women folks." thomas' heart went down in despair. "mrs. killigrew can find another secretary for the bureau. i shan't say a word to her, and i'll see that kitty doesn't. you've had your breakfast. go and finish up that report. williams," killigrew called to the second man, "take mr. webb's grips up to his rooms. i'll see you later, thomas," and killigrew made off for the breakfast-room, where he chuckled at odd times, much to his wife's curiosity. but he shook his head when she quizzed him. "you agree with me, molly, don't you, that kitty shall marry when and where she pleases?" "certainly, daniel. i don't believe in ready-made matches." "no more do i. molly, old girl, i've slathers of money. i could quit now; but i'm healthy and can't play all day. got to work some of the time. every one around here shall do as they please. and,"--slyly--"if kitty should want to marry thomas . . ." "thomas?" "anything against the idea?" "but thomas couldn't take care of kitty." "h'm." "and kitty wouldn't marry a man who couldn't." "some truth in that. at present thomas couldn't support an idea. but there's makings in the boy, give a man time and nothing else to do. there's one thing, though; thomas seems to have the gift of picking out the chaff when it comes to men. a man who can spot a man is worth something to somebody. where thomas' niche is, however, i can't tell to date. he'll never get on socially; he has too much regard for other people's feelings." "and no tact." "a poor man needs a good deal of that." killigrew began paring his fourth chop-bone. he hadn't enjoyed himself so much in months. thomas had kissed kitty and hadn't wanted to! it would take a philosopher to dig up the reason for that; or rather a clairvoyant, since philosophers dealt only with logical sequences, and there was nothing logical to killigrew's mind in thomas kissing kitty when he hadn't wanted to! chapter xviii sugar, coffee and spices. thomas dipped his pen into the inkwell and went to work. were all american fathers mad? to condone an affront like this! he could not understand these americans. he had approached killigrew with far more courage than the latter suspected. thomas had read that here men still shot each other on slight provocation. sugar, coffee and spices. . . . sao paulo and valorization committee . . . , , bags. what should he do? whither should he turn? to have offered that affront . . . for nothing! kitty, whom he revered above all women save one, his mother! . . . sugar, coffee and spices. rio number seven, / to / cents. leaks in the roasting business. . . . apologize? on his knees, if need be. caught like a rat in a trap; done for; at the end of his rope. why hadn't he taken to his heels when he had had the chance? gone at once to new york and sent for his belongings? . . . sugar, coffee and spices. . . . the pen slipped from his fingers, and he laid his head on his arms. monumental ass! up suddenly, alert eyed. there was a telephone-booth in the hall. this he sought noiselessly. he remained hidden in the booth for as long as twenty minutes. then he emerged, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. for the time being he was saved. but he was very miserable. sugar, coffee and spices again. doggedly he recommenced the transcription, adding, deducting, comparing. he heard a slight noise by the portière, and raised his eyes. kitty stood there like a picture in a frame; pale, calm of eye. he was on his feet quickly. "miss killigrew, i apologize for my unwarranted rudeness. i did not mean it as you thought i did"--which would have made any other woman furious. "i know it," said kitty to herself. "you wanted an excuse to run away. all my conjectures are true. i believe i have you, mr. thomas, right in the hollow of my hand." to thomas, however, she was a presentiment of cold and silent indignation. he blundered on. "you have all been so kind to me . . . i am sorry. i am also quite ready to stay or go, whichever you say." "we shall say no more about it," she replied coldly; turned on her trim little heels and went out into the rose gardens, where she found fault with the head gardener; and on to the stables, where she rated the head groom for not exercising her favorite mount; and back to the villa, where she upset the cook by ordering a hearty breakfast which she could not eat; and all the time striving to smother her generous impulses and the queer little thrills which stirred in her heart. guests began to arrive a little before luncheon. a handsome yacht joined killigrew's in the offing. laughter and music began to be heard about the villa. thomas took his documents and retired to his room, hoping they would forget all about him. he had luncheon there. about four o'clock he looked out of the window toward the beach. they were in bathing; half a dozen young men and women. the diving-raft bobbed up and down. only yesterday she had tried to teach him how to swim. after all, he was only a bally haberdasher's clerk; he would never be anything more than that. more guests for dinner, which thomas also had in his room, despite killigrew's protests. the villa would be filled for a whole week, and a merry dance he would have to avoid the guests. at nine, just as he was on the point of going to bed, the second man knocked for admittance. "miss killigrew wishes you to come aboard the visiting yacht at ten, sir." "offer miss killigrew my excuses. i am very tired." "miss killigrew was decided, sir. her father's orders. he wishes you to meet his resident partner in rio janeiro. mr. killigrew and mr. savage will be in the smoke-room forward, sir." "very well. tell miss killigrew that i shall come aboard." "thank you, sir. the motor-boat will be at the jetty at nine-thirty, sir." the servants about the killigrew home understood thomas' position. they had known young honorables who had served as private secretaries. a formal command. there was no way of avoiding it. resignedly thomas got into his evening clothes. they might smile at his pumps, the hang of his coat, but there would be no question over the correctness of his collar and cravat. he was very bitter against the world, and more especially against thomas webb, late of hodman, pelt and company, "haberdashers to h. h. the duke of" and so forth and so on. all the way down to the motor-boat his new pumps sang "fool-fool! rotter-rotter!" he climbed the yacht's ladder and ran into kitty and her guests, exactly as she had arranged he should. "mr. webb," she said; and immediately began introducing him, leaving lord henry monckton until the last. a cluster of lights made the spot as bright as day. thomas bowed politely and lord monckton smiled amiably. "mr. killigrew is in the smoking-room?" thomas inquired. "yes." thomas bowed again, indirectly toward the guests and walked away. lord monckton commented on the beauty of the night. and kitty caught the gasp between her teeth, lest it should be heard. fog! chapter xix "rather hot for this time of day," volunteered lord monckton, sliding into the morris chair at the side of thomas' desk and dangling his legs over the arm. "yes, it is," agreed thomas, folding a sheet of paper and placing the little ivory elephant paper-weight upon it. "rippin' doubles this morning. you ought to go into the game. do you a lot of good." "i didn't know you played." "don't. watch." thomas' gaze was level and steady. lord monckton laughed easily and sought his monocle. he fumbled about the front of his coat and shirt. "by jove! lost my glass; wonder i can see anything." outside, on the veranda, the two men could see the cluster of women of which kitty was the most animated flower. voices carried easily. "ah--what do you think of these--ah--americans?" asked lord monckton, as one compatriot to another, leaning toward the desk. "i think them very kindly, very generous people; at least, those i have met. have you not found them so?" "quite so. i am enjoying myself immensely." lord monckton swung about in the chair, his back to the veranda. thomas loosened his negligee linen-collar. "ah, really!" drifted into the room. lord monckton sleepily eying thomas, only heard the voice; he did not see, as thomas did, the action and gesture which accompanied the phrase. kitty had put something into her eye, squinted, and twisted an imaginary something a few inches below her dimpled chin. it was a hoydenish trick, but kitty had enacted it for lord monckton's benefit. the women shouted with laughter. lord monckton turned in time to see them troop into the gardens. he turned again to thomas, to find a grin upon that gentleman's face. [illustration: it was a hoydenish trick.] "miss killigrew is rather an unusual young person," was his comment. "uncommon," replied thomas, scrutinizing the point of his pen. "for my part, i prefer 'em clinging." lord monckton rose. "rotter!" breathed thomas. he rearranged his papers, crackling them suggestively. "picnic this afternoon; going along?" asked lord monckton, pausing by the portières. "really, i am not a guest here; i am only private secretary to mrs. killigrew. if they treat me as a human being it is because they believe that charity should not play in grooves." "ah! we are all open to a little charity." "that's true enough. good morning." "beggar!" murmured lord monckton as he let the portières fall behind him. "blighter!" muttered thomas, staring malevolently at the empty doorway. he would be glad when mr. and mrs. crawford and the artist came down. forbes was a chap you could get along with anywhere, under any conditions. some time later kitty came in. she crossed immediately to the desk. as thomas looked up, she smiled at him. it was the first smile of the kind he had witnessed, coming in his direction, since before that blunder on the tennis-courts. "i found lord monckton's monocle, mr. webb. will you be so kind as to give it to him?" "yes, miss killigrew." absently he raised the monocle and squinted through it. "why, it's plain glass!" he exclaimed. "so it is," replied kitty, with a crooked smile. "and i dare say so are most of the monocles we see. a silly affectation, don't you think so?" he was instantly up in arms. the monocle was a british institution, and he would as soon have denied the divine right of kings as question an englishman's right to wear what he pleased in his eye. "it was originally designed for a man whose left eye was weaker than the right. besides, we don't notice them over there." "i have often wondered what the wearers do when their noses itch." "doubtless they scratch them." kitty's laughter bubbled. it subsided instantly. her hand reached out, then dropped. she had almost said: "thomas, what have you done with my sapphires?" urgent as the impulse was, she crushed it back. for deep in her heart she wanted to believe in thomas; wanted to believe that it was only a mad wager such as englishmen propose, accept and see to the end. there was not the slightest doubt in her mind that thomas and lord monckton were the two men who had stood on the curb that foggy night in london. one had taken the necklace and the other had wagered he would carry it six months in america before returning it to its owner. the nana sahib's ruby she attributed to a real thief, who had known crawford in former days and, conscience-stricken, had returned it. great britain was an empire of wagerers she knew; they wagered for and against every conceivable thing which had its dependence on chance. that first night on board the celtic, when thomas came to her cabin in the dark, she had recognized his voice. in the light the activity of the eye had dulled the keenness of the ear; but in the dark the ear had found the chord. for days she had been subconsciously waiting to hear one or the other of those voices; and thomas' had come with a shock. the words "aeneid" and "enid" had so little variation in sound between them that kitty had found her second man in lord monckton. sooner or later she would trap them. "would you like to go to the picnic this afternoon?"--with a spirit which was wholly kind. "very much indeed; but i can't"--indicating the stack of papers on his desk. "oh," listlessly. "i am very poor, miss killigrew, and perhaps i am ambitious." her lips parted expectantly. "your father has promised to give me a chance on his coffee plantations in brazil this autumn, and i wish to show him that i know how to grind. plug, isn't that the american for it?" he smiled across the desk. "i wish to prove to you all that i am grateful. your father, who knows something of men, says there is one hidden away in me somewhere, if only i'll take the trouble to dig it out. i should like to be with you and your guests all the time. i like play, and i have been very lonely all my life." he fingered the papers irresolutely. "my place is here, not with your guests; there's the width of the poles between us. i ought not to know anything about the pleasures of idleness till the day comes when i can afford to." "perhaps you are right," she admitted. what an agreeable voice he had! perhaps neither of them was a rogue; only a wild pair of englishmen embarked on a dangerous frolic. "don't forget to give lord monckton his monocle." "i shan't." kitty departed, smiling. her thought was: he had kissed her and hadn't wanted to! (ah, but he had; and not till long hours after did he realize that there had been as much thomas as machiavelli in that futile inspiration!) report , on the difference between the shipments to europe and america. very dry, very dull; what with the glorious sunshine outside and the chance to play, report was damnable. a bird-like peck at the inkwell, and the pen began to scratch-scratch-scratch. he was twenty-four; by the time he was thirty he ought to . . . "beg pardon, sir!" lord monckton's valet stood before the desk. thomas did not like this man, with his soundless approaches, his thin nervous fingers, his brilliant roving eyes. where had he been picked up? a perfect servant, yes; but it seemed to thomas that the man was always expecting some one to come up behind him. those quick cat-like glances over his shoulder were not reassuring. dark, swarthy; and yet that odd white scar in the scalp above his ear. that ought to have been dark, logically. "what is it?" "lord monckton has dropped his glass somewhere, sir, and he sent me to inquire, sir." "oh, here it is. and tell your master to be very careful of it. some one might step on it." "thank you, sir." the valet departed as noiselessly as he had entered. "really," mused thomas, "there's a rum chap. i don't like him around. he gives me the what-d'-y'-call-it." they needed an extra man at the table that night, so thomas came down. he found himself between two jolly young women, opposite kitty who divided her time between lord monckton and a young millionaire who, rumor bruited it, was very attentive to killigrew's daughter. still, thomas enjoyed himself. nobody seemed to mind that he was only a clerk in the house. the simpleton did not realize that he was a personage to these people; an english private secretary, quite a social stroke on the part of the killigrews. he gathered odd bits of news of what was going on among the summer colonists. the lady next to killigrew, a mrs. wilberforce, had had a strange adventure the night before. she and her maid had been mysteriously overpowered by some strange fume, and later discovered that her pearls were gone. she had notified the town police. this brought the conversation around to the maharajah's emeralds. hadn't he and his attendants been overcome in the same manner? thomas thought of the sapphires. since nobody knew he had them, he stood in no danger. but there was kitty's great fire-opal, glowing like a coal on her breast, seeming to breathe as she breathed. it was almost as large as a crown-piece. during lulls thomas dreamed. he was going to give himself until thirty to make his fortune; and he was going to make it down there in the wilds of south america. but invariably the sleepy mocking eyes of lord monckton brought him back to earth, jarringly. once, kitty caught thomas gazing malevolently at lord monckton. no love lost between them, evidently. it was the ancient story: to wager, to borrow, to lend, to lose a friend. long after midnight kitty awoke. she awoke hungry. so she put on her slippers and peignoir and stole down-stairs. the grills on each side of the entrance to the main hall were open; that is, the casement windows were thrown back. she heard voices and naturally paused to learn whose they were. she would have known them anywhere in the world. "tut, tut, tommy; don't be a bally ass and lose your temper." "temper? lose my temper? i'm not losing it, but i'm jolly well tired of this rotten business." "it was you who suggested the wager; i only accepted it." "i know it." "and once booked, no englishman will welch, if he isn't a cad." "i'm not thinking of welching. but i don't see what you get out of it." "sport. and a good hand at bridge." "remarkably good." "i say, you don't mean to insinuate . . ." "i'm not insinuating. i'm just damnably tired. why the devil did you take up that monocle business? you never wore one; and miss killigrew found out this morning that it was an ordinary glass." "she did?" lord monckton chuckled. "and she laughed over it, too." "keen of her. but, what the devil! stick a monocle in your eye, and you don't need any letters of introduction. lucky idea, your telephoning me that you were here. what a frolic, all around!" so that was why her coup had fallen flat? thought kitty. "i'll tell you this much," said thomas. (kitty heard him tap his pipe against the veranda railing.) "play fair or, by the lord, i'll smash you! i'm going to stick to my end of the bargain, and see that you walk straight with yours." "i see what's worrying you. clear your mind. i would not marry the richest, handsomest woman in all the world, thomas. there's a dead heart inside of me." "there's another thing. i'd get rid of that valet." "why?"--quickly. "he's too bally soft on his feet to my liking. i don't like him." "neither do i, thomas!" murmured kitty, forgetting all about her hunger. not a word about her sapphires, though. did she see but the surface of things? was there something deeper? she stole back up-stairs. as she reached the upper landing, some one brushed past her, swiftly, noiselessly. with the rush of air which followed the prowler's wake came a peculiar sickish odor. she waited for a while. but there was no sound in all the great house. chapter xx "the carew cottage was entered last night," said killigrew, "and twenty thousand in diamonds are gone. getting uncomfortably close. you and your mother, kitty, had better let me take your jewels into town to-day." "we have nothing out here but trinkets." "trinkets! do you call that fire-opal a trinket? better let me take it into town, anyway. i'm irish enough to be superstitious about opals." "that's nonsense." "maybe." "oh, well; if the thought of having it around makes you nervous, i'll give it to you. the crawfords and mr. forbes are coming down this afternoon. you must be home again before dinner. here's the opal." she took it from around her neck. "crawfords? fine!" killigrew slipped the gem into his wallet. "i'll bring them back on the yacht if you'll take the trouble to phone them to meet me at the club pier." "i'll do so at once. good-by! mind the street-crossing," she added, mimicking her mother's voice. "i'll be careful," he laughed, stepping into the launch which immediately swung away toward the beautiful yacht, dazzling white in the early morning sunshine. kitty waved her handkerchief, turned and walked slowly back to the villa. who had passed her in the upper hall? and on what errand? neither thomas nor lord monckton, for she had left them on the veranda. perhaps she was worrying unnecessarily. it might have been one of her guests, going down to the library for a book to read. she met lord monckton coming out. "fine morning!" he greeted. he made a gesture, palm upward. a slight shiver touched the nape of kitty's neck. she had never noticed before how frightfully scarred his thumbs and finger-tips were. he saw the glance. "ah! you notice my fingers? not at all sensitive about them, really. hunting a few years ago and clumsily fell on the camp-stove. scar on my shoulder where i struck as i rolled off. stupid. tripped over a case of canned corn. i have fingers now as sensitive as a blind man's." "i am sorry," she said perfunctorily. "you must tell me of your adventures." "had a raft of 'em. mr. killigrew gone to new york?" "for a part of the day. had your breakfast?" "no. nothing to do; thought i'd wait for the rest of them. read a little. swim this morning, just about dawn. refreshing." "then i'll see you at breakfast." he smiled and stepped aside for her to pass. she proved rather a puzzle to him. kitty spent several minutes in the telephone booth. she began to realize that the solution of the webb-monckton wager was as far away as ever. lord monckton was leaving on the morrow. she must play her cards quickly or throw them away. the fact that neither had in any way referred to the character of the wager left her in a haze. sometime during the day or evening she must maneuver to get them together and tell them frankly that she knew everything. she wanted her sapphires; more, she wanted the incubus removed from thomas' shoulders. mad as march hares, both of them; for they had not the least idea that the sapphires were hers! later, she stole to the library door and peered in. thomas was at his desk. for a long time she watched him. he appeared restless, uneasy. he nibbled the penholder, rumpled his hair, picked up the ivory elephant and balanced it, plunged furiously into work again, paused, stared at the persian carpet, turned the inkwell around, worked, paused, sighed. thomas was very unhappy. this state of mind was quite evident to kitty. kissed her and hadn't wanted to. he was unlike any young man she knew. presently he began to scribble aimlessly on the blotter. all at once he flung down the pen, rose and walked out through the casement-doors, down toward the sea. kitty's curiosity was irresistible. she ran over to the blotter. fool! blighter! rotter! double-dyed ass! blockhead! kitty killigrew--(scratched out)! nincompoop! haberdasher! ass! all of which indicated to the investigator that thomas for the present had not a high opinion of himself. an ordinary young woman would have laughed herself into hysterics. kitty tore off the scribbles, not the least sign of laughter in her eyes, and sought the window-seat in the living-room. there was one word which stood out strangely alien: haberdasher. why that word? was it a corner of the curtain she had been striving to look behind? had thomas been a haberdasher prior to his stewardship? and was he ashamed of the fact? haberdasher. what's the matter with that word? if it irked thomas it irked kitty no less. it is a part of youth to crave for high-sounding names and occupations. it is in the mother's milk they feed on. mothers dream of their babes growing up into presidents or at least ambassadors, if sons; titles and brilliant literary salons, if daughters. what living mother would harbor a dream of a clerkship in a haberdasher's shop? perish the thought! myself for years was told that i had as good a chance as anybody of being president of the united states; a far better chance than many, being as i was _my_ mother's son. irish blood and romance will always be mysteriously intertwined. haberdasher did not fit in anywhere with kitty's projects; it was off-key, a jarring note. whoever heard of a haberdasher's clerk reading _morte d'arthur_ and writing sonnets? she was reasonably certain that while thomas had jotted it down in scornful self-flagellation, it occupied a place somewhere in his past. "they turne out ther trashe and shew ther haberdashe, ther pylde pedlarye." there's no romance in collars and cuffs and ties and suspenders. chapter xxi meanwhile killigrew arrived in new york, went to the bank and deposited kitty's opal, and sought his office. "there's a mr. haggerty in your office, mr. killigrew. i told him to wait." "haggerty, the detective?" "yes. he said you'd be glad to see him. has news of some sort." killigrew hurried into his private office. "hello, haggerty! what's the trouble this morning?" "got some news for you." haggerty accepted a cigar. "i've a hunch that i can find miss killigrew's sapphires." "no! i thought they had been sold over the other side." "seems not." "got your man?" "nope. funny kind of a job, though. fooled th' customs inspectors. sapphires 'r here in new york, somewheres." "a thousand to you, haggerty, if you recover them." "a row between two stewards on th' _celtic_ gave me th' clue." "why, that's the boat i came over on." "sure thing." "and the thief was on board all the time?" "don't think he was when you crossed. i've got t' wait till th' boat docks before i can get particulars. it's like this. th' chap who took th' sapphires engaged passage as a steward. his cabin-mate saw him lookin' over th' stones. he'd taken 'em out o' their settings. this man jameson pinches 'em, but his mate follows him up an' has it out with him in a waterfront groggery. got 'em back. cool customer. i went on board th' next morning an' quizzed him. an' say, he done me up brown. as unblinkin' a liar 's i ever met. took me t' his cabin an' showed me what he professed jameson had swiped. nothing but a pearl an' coral brooch. he did it so natural that i swallowed th' bull, horns an' hoofs. i've had every pawnshop in new york looked over, but they ain't there. i've been busy on the maharajah's emeralds. there's a case. cleverest ever. some drug, atomized through a keyhole, which puts y' t' by-by." "a drug? why, say, two of my neighbors have been robbed within the past three days, and they all complained of violent headaches." "well, what y' know about that! say, mr. killigrew, any place where i could hang out down there for a couple o' days?" "come as my guest, haggerty. i can tell the folks that you're from the office." "fumes! i'll bet a hat it's my maharajah's man. when do you go back?" "about half-past two, on my yacht. you'll find it at the new york yacht club pier. some old friends of yours will be on board. crawford, his wife, and forbes, the artist." "fine an' dandy! forbes is clever at guessing, an' we'll work t'gether. all right i'll hike up t' bronx an' get some duds. tell th' chef that corn-beef an' cabbage is my speed-limit," jested the detective as he reached the door. "by the way, what's the name of that steward who took my daughter's sapphires?" "his monacker is webb," said haggerty; "thomas webb, esquire; an' believe me, he's some smooth guy. thomas webb." chapter xxii for a moment killigrew sat stiffly upright in his chair; then gradually his body grew limp, his chin sank, his shoulders drooped. "webb?" he said dully. "are you sure, haggerty?" "no question about it. y' see, this jameson chap writes me a sassy letter from liverpool. spite. thomas webb was th' name. what's th' matter?" "haggerty, the very devil is the matter. thomas webb, recently a steward on the _celtic_, has been my wife's private secretary for nearly two months." "say that again!" gasped haggerty, bracing himself against the jamb of the door. "but i'll wager my right hand that there's some mistake." "of all th' gall i ever heard of! private secretary, an' miss killigrew's sapphires stowed away in his trunk, if he ain't sold 'em outside th' pawnshops! will y' gimme a free hand, mr. killigrew?" "i suppose i'll have to." "all right. on board you draw me a map o' th' rooms an' where thomas webb holds out. i shan't come t' th' house an' meet anybody. while you folks 'r at supper i'll sneak up t' his room an' see what's in his trunk. if i don't find 'em, why, i'll come back t' town an' start a news stand, forty-second an' broadway. i'll be on th' yacht at half-past two. i'm on m' way." the door behind him closed with a bang. it startled every clerk on the huge floor. the door to the boss' office did not bang more than once a year, and that was immediately after the annual meeting of the directors of the combined brazilian coffees. who was this potentate who dared desecrate the honored quiet of this loft? haggerty's news hit killigrew hard. thomas. there must be a mistake. he had not studied men all these years without learning to read young and old with creditable accuracy. thomas was as easy to read as an amateur's scorecard; runs were runs, hits were hits, outs were outs. why, thomas wouldn't have stolen an apple from a farmer's orchard--without permission. what, enter a carriage in a fog, steal a necklace, and carry it around with him for months? never in this world. and private secretary to the very person he had robbed? of all the fool situations, this was the cap! imbecility was written all over the face of it. it was simply a coincidence in the matter of names. yet, steward on the _celtic_; there was no getting away from that. there could not have been two thomas webbs on board. i'm afraid killigrew swore; distant thunder, off behind the hills there. he struck the desk with his balled fist. he knew it; it was that infernal opal of kitty's getting in its deadly work. and what would kitty say? what would she do? he stood up and pulled down the roller-top violently. the crash of it sent every clerk, bookkeeper and stenographer huddling over his or her work. two bangs all in one morning? what had happened to the coffee market? as a matter of fact, coffee fell off a quarter point between then and closing; which goes to prove that the stock-market depends upon its business less in the matter of supply and demand than in "signs." on board the yacht killigrew laid the affair before crawford. "what do you believe?" "i've reached the point," said crawford, "where i believe in nothing except this young lady," and he laid his hand over his wife's. "for ten years i had a valet named mason. i would have staked my life on his integrity, his honesty. he turned out to be an accomplished rogue. went with me into the wilds of africa and persia, through deserts, swamps, over mountains; tireless, resourceful, dependable; and saved my life twice. its knocked a hole in my faith in mankind." "listen here," said haggerty. "without your knowing it, he always carried a bunch o' first-class skeleton keys. i'm dead sure he was working his game all th' time. he came back for them keys, but he didn't get 'em. he's in new york somewheres. d' y' think y' could recognize him if y' saw him?" "instantly." "a man can change his looks in two years," said forbes. "remember file number ?" "this is real life, mort; not a detective story." "how would you recognise him?" "that i'm unable to explain. it's what haggerty here calls a hunch." haggerty nodded. "an' if y' depend on 'em y' generally land. i've made some mistakes in my time, not believing in my hunches. this webb business goes t' show. i had a hunch that something was wrong, but your webb had such a kid face, th' hunch pulled for him. well, if y' ever see mason again, what'll y' do?" "i don't know. it's a tough proposition. somehow or other, i want to be quits with mason. i want to wipe out those obligations. if i could do that, the next time i saw him i'd hand him over." "you're a sentimental duffer, crawffy," said the artist, smiling. "and i shouldn't love him at all if he wasn't," the wife defended. "but this webb affair doesn't add up right," said killigrew morosely. "there's th' hull game," declared haggerty. "it's nothing but adding an' subtracting, this gum-shoe work. y've got t' keep at it till it adds right. y' don't realize, mr. crawford, how many times i almost put my hand on your shoulder; but y' didn't add up right. i shan't go at webb like a load o' bricks. i'll nose around first. take a peek int' his belongings while you folks keep him busy downstairs. no sapphires, no thomas; i'll let it go at that. but how was this man jameson t' know anything about sapphires if they wasn't any?" "i've known kitty killigrew ever since she was born," said killigrew dryly. "i've yet to see her make a mistake in sizing up a man. she picks 'em out the way i do, right off the bat. the minute you dodder about a man or a woman, there's sure to be something' to dodder about. good lord! you don't suppose he had a hand in these other burglaries?" "can't say 's i do," answered haggerty, reaching for his lemonade. "you wait. i'll have it all cleared up by midnight, 'r they'll be a shake-up at central t'-morrow. something's going t' happen; feel it like a sailor feels a storm when they ain't a cloud anywheres. now, let's see what y' know about auction pinochle, mr. killigrew. no use moping." the yacht dropped anchor off shore at five. the beach was deserted. doubtless the guests were catnapping or reading. at the killigrew villa one did as one pleased. mr. and mrs. crawford were shown to their rooms at once, and haggerty prowled about the stables and garage. kitty knocked at mrs. crawford's door half an hour later. introductions were made at dinner. the crawfords knew most of kitty's guests and so did forbes, who was very much interested in lord monckton. here was a romance, if there was any truth at all in the newspapers. what adventures here and there across the world before the title fell to him! he looked like one of r. caton woodville's drawings of indian mutiny officers, with that flowing black beard; very conspicuous among all these smooth chins. forbes determined to sketch him. he was rather sorry not to see thomas at the table. was haggerty after him with the third degree? poor devil! it did not seem possible; yet all the evidence pointed to thomas. why should jameson say that he had seen sapphires if he had not? still, the thing that did not add up was the position with which thomas had allied himself to the killigrews. hang it, there was a figure missing. haggerty was right. a man with any sympathy had no business man-hunting. after dinner crawford sought forbes. "have you any fire-arms with you, mort?" he whispered. "a pair of automatics. why . . ." "sh! please hustle and get them and ask no questions. hurry!" chapter xxiii "mr. killigrew," whispered haggerty, "will you get miss kitty an' thomas int' th' study-end o' th' library?" "found anything?" "th' sapphires were in his trunk, all right. tucked away in th' toes of a pair o' shoes. webb is in th' library now. jus' get miss kitty." "very well," replied killigrew, leaden-hearted. thomas had been busy all day. he was growing very tired, and often now the point of his pen sputtered. the second man had brought in his dinner and set it on a small stand which stood at the right of the desk. it was growing cold on the tray. a sound. he glanced up wearily. he saw kitty and killigrew, and behind them the sardonic visage of haggerty. thomas got up slowly. "take it easy, mr. webb," warned haggerty. "go on, miss killigrew, an' we'll see first if you've hit it." thomas stared, wide-eyed, from face to face. what in heaven's name had happened? what was this blighter of a detective doing at the villa? and why was kitty so white? "mr. webb," began kitty, striving hard to maintain even tones, "on the night of may , you and lord henry monckton stood on the curb outside my carriage, near the garden, where i was blockaded in the fog. i heard your voices. there was talk about a wager. the time imposed upon the fulfilment of this wager was six months. shortly after, lord monckton entered my carriage under the pretense of getting into his own and took my necklace of sapphires. he did it very cleverly. then they were turned over to you. you were to carry them for six months, find out to whom they belonged, and return them." "thousands of miles away," said haggerty confidently. "nothing ever happened like that." "is it not true?" asked kitty, ignoring haggerty's interpolation. "miss killigrew, either i'm dreaming or you are. i haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about." thomas was now whiter than kitty. "the talk about a wager is true; but i never knew you had lost any sapphires." "how about this little chamois-bag which i found in your trunk, mr. webb?" asked haggerty ironically. he tossed the bag on the desk. the bag hypnotized thomas. suddenly he came to life. he snatched up the bag and thrust it into his pocket. "those are mine," he said quite calmly. "mine, by every legal and moral right in the world. mine!" kitty breathed hard and closed her eyes. "some brass!" jeered haggerty, stepping forward. "can you prove it, thomas?" asked killigrew, hoping against hope. "yes, mr. killigrew, to your satisfaction, to miss killigrew's, and even to mr. haggerty's." tableau. broken by the entrance of crawford and forbes, who were also pale and disturbed. crawford flung a packet of papers on the desk. "webb, i fancy that these papers are yours," said crawford, smiling. one glance was enough for thomas. "tell them the truth," went on crawford; "tell them who you are." "i have wagered . . ." "never mind about the wager," put in forbes. "crawford and i have just canceled it." "what has happened?" asked thomas. the whole world seemed tumbling about his unhappy head. "tell mr. killigrew here how you have imposed on him and his family," urged crawford, serious now. "tell them your name, your full name." thomas hesitated a moment. "my name is henry thomas webb-monckton." "ninth baron of dimbledon," added forbes, "and as crazy as a loon!" chapter xxiv meanwhile the whirligig had gone about violently after this fashion. forbes, wondering mightily, procured his automatics and gave one to his impatient friend. "what's the row, crawffy?" "be as silent as you can," said crawford. "follow me. we may be too late." "anywhere you say." "the door will be locked. we'll creep around the upper veranda and enter by opposite windows. you keep your eye on the valet. don't be afraid to shoot if it's necessary." "what the deuce . . . !" "come!" "but where?" "lord monckton's room." blindly and confidently forbes went out the rear window of the corridor, while crawford made for the front. they crept soundlessly forward. lord monckton? what was up? shoot the valet if necessary! all right; crawford knew what he was doing. he generally did. through his window forbes saw two men packing suit-cases furiously. the moment crawford entered the room, forbes did likewise, without the least idea what it was all about. "put up your hands!" said crawford quietly. master and man came about face. "h'm! the dyed beard and stained skin might fool any one but me, mason." mason! forbes' hand shook violently. "i have seen you with a beard before, in the days when we hadn't time for razors. i knew you the instant i laid eyes on you. now, then, a few words. i do not care to stand in your debt. haggerty is down-stairs. upon two occasions you saved my life . . . keep your eye on your man, forbes! . . . twice you saved my life. i'm going to give you a chance in return. an hour's start, perhaps. forbes, come over to me. that's it. give me the automatic. there. now, go through their pockets carefully, and put everything in your own. leave the money. mason, a boat leaves to-morrow noon for liverpool. i'll ship your trunks and grips to the american express company there. do you understand? if i ever see you again, i shan't lift a finger to save you." the late lord henry monckton shrugged. he had not lived intimately with this quiet-voiced man for ten years without having acquired the knowledge that he never wasted words. "you're a dangerously clever man, mason. i noted at dinner that in some manner you had destroyed haggerty's photograph of your finger-tips. but i recognize you, and know you--your gestures, the turn of your head, every little mannerism. and if you do not do as i bid, i'll take my oath in court as to your identity. besides,"--with a nod toward the suitcases--"if you're not the man, why this hurry? an hour. i see, fortunately, you have already changed your clothes. be off!" "all right. i'm mason. i knew the game was up the moment i saw you. any one but you, mr. crawford, would pay for this interruption, pistol or no pistol. an hour. so be it. you might tell that fool down-stairs and give him the papers you find in my grip. miss killigrew's sapphires, i regret to say, are no more. the mistake i made in london was in returning the nana sahib's ruby." "there is always one mistake," replied crawford sternly. he felt sad, too. "off with you, tibbets! we can make the train for new york if we hustle." the man-servant's brilliant eyes flashed evilly. "will you make it an hour and a half, sir?" asked mason, as his valet slid over the window-sill. it sounded strange to forbes. mason had unconsciously fallen into the old tone and mode of address, and he himself recognized him now. "till nine-thirty, then. at that time i shall notify haggerty." "the boat?" "oh, no. i'm giving you that chance without conditions. it's up to haggerty to find you. there's one question i should like to ask you. were you in this sort of business while you were serving me?" mason laughed. the real man shone in his eyes and smile. "i was. it was very exciting. it was very amusing, too. i valeted you during the day-time and went about my own peculiar business at night. i entered your service to rob you and remained to serve you; ten years. i want you always to remember this: to you i was loyal, that i stood between you and death because you were the only being i was fond of. you are the one bit of sentiment that ever entered my life. well, i must be off. but i've had a jolly time of it, masquerading as a titled gentleman. what a comedy! how the fools kotowed and simpered while i looked over their jewels and speculated upon how much i could get for them! but i had my code. i never pilfered in the houses of my hosts. i set a fine trap for that simple young man down-stairs, and he fell into it, head-first. trust an englishman of his sort to see nothing beyond his nose. i'm off. good-by, mr. crawford. i'm grateful." the man stepped out of the window and vanished into the night. crawford glanced at his watch; it was eight-ten. "do you hope he'll get away?" asked forbes breathlessly. "i don't know what i hope, mort. i'm rather dazed with the unexpectedness of all this. let's see what you took from their pockets." a large diamond brooch, a string of fine pearls, and a bag of wonderful polished emeralds. "mort, the man couldn't help it. why, here's a fortune for a prince; and yet he remained here for more. well, he's gone; poor beggar." they burrowed into the suit-cases and trunks. a dark green bottle came to light, forbes took out the cork and carelessly sniffed. a great black wave of dizziness swept over him, and he would have fallen but for crawford. the bottle fell. crawford put forbes out into the hall and ran back for the bottle, sensing a slight dizziness himself. he recognized the odor. it was persian. he and mason had run across it unpleasantly, once upon a time, in teheran. he was not familiar with the chemistry of the concoction. he corked the bottle tightly. forbes came in groggily. "well! did you ever see such an ass, crawford? to open a strange bottle like that and sniff at it!" "here's an atomizer. they must have used that. never touched their victims." "it evaporates quickly, though. but the effect on a sleeping person would be long. now, who the deuce is this chap webb? a confederate?" "still dizzy, eh? no; thomas is a dupe. don't you get it? he's lord monckton. come on; we'll go down and straighten out the kinks." so they went down-stairs. and forbes tells me that when thomas acknowledged his identity, kitty did not fall on his neck. instead, she walked up to him, burning with fury: so pretty that forbes almost fell in love with her, then and there. "so! you pretended to be poor, and entered my home to make play behind our backs! despicable! we took you in without question, generously, kindly, and treated you as one of us; and all the while you were laughing in your sleeve!" "kitty!" remonstrated killigrew, who felt twenty years gone from his shoulders. "let me be! i wish him to know exactly what i think of his conduct." she whirled upon the luckless erstwhile haberdasher's clerk; but he held out his hand for silence. he was angry, too. "miss killigrew, i entered your employ honestly. i was poor. i am poor. i have had to work for my bread every day of my life. for seven years i was a clerk in a haberdasher's shop in london. and one day the solicitors came and notified me that i had fallen into the title, two hundred and twenty pounds, and those sapphires. the estate was so small and so heavily mortgaged that i knew i could not live on it. the rents merely paid the interest. i was no better off than before. the cash was all that was saved out of an annuity." from his inner waistcoat pocket he produced a document and dropped it on the desk. "there is the solicitor's statement, relative to the whole transaction. and now i'll tell you the rest of it. i've been a fool. i was always more or less alone. i met this man cavenaugh, or whatever he calls himself, in a concert-hall about a year ago. we became friendly. he came to me and bought his collars and ties and suspenders." kitty found herself retreating from a fury which far outmatched her own; and as he gained in force, hers dwindled correspondingly. thomas continued. "he was well-read, traveled; he interested me. when the title came, he was first to congratulate me. gave me my first real dinner. naturally i was grateful for this attention. well, the upshot of it was, we gambled; and i lost. there was wine. i suggested in the spirit of madness that i play the use of my title for six months against the money i had lost. he agreed. and here i am." his fury evaporated. he sank back into his chair and rested his head in his hands. "i ain't a detective," murmured haggerty, breaking in on the silence which ensued. "i'm only fit t' chase dagos selling bananas without licenses. but i'm aching t' see this other chap. i kinda see through his game. he's going t' interest me a hull lot." crawford consulted his watch again. nine. "haggerty, suppose you and i knock the billiard balls around for half an hour?" "huh?" "half an hour." "i got t' see that chap, mr. crawford." "it's a matter of four or five thousand. do you want to risk it?" "come on, haggerty!" cried forbes, with good understanding. he caught the detective by the arm and pulled him toward the door. but haggerty hung back sturdily. "is this straight, mr. crawford?" "half an hour; otherwise not a penny." "all well an' good; but i'll hold you responsible if anything goes wrong. i'm not seeing things clear." "you will presently." "four thousand for half an hour?" "to a penny." "you're on!" the three of them marched off to the billiard-room. killigrew touched kitty's arm and motioned her to follow. she was rather glad to go. she was on the verge of most undignified tears. when she had gone in search of mrs. crawford, killigrew walked over to thomas and laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. "thomas, will you go to brazil the first week in september?" "god knows, i'll be glad to," said thomas, lifting his head. his young face was colorless and haggard. "but you are putting your trust in a double-dyed ass." "i'll take a chance at that. now, thomas, as no doubt you're aware, we are all irish in this family. hot-tempered, quick to take affront, but also quick to forgive or admit a wrong. you leave kitty alone till to-morrow." "i believe it best for me to leave to-night, sir." "nothing of the sort. come out into the cooler, and we'll have a peg. it won't hurt either of us, after all this racket." * * * * * * half after nine. crawford laid down his cue. from his pocket he took a bottle and gravely handed it to haggerty. "smell of the cork, carefully," crawford advised. haggerty did so. "th' stuff they put th' maharajah t' sleep with!" then forbes emptied his pockets. "th' emeralds!" shouted haggerty. suddenly he stiffened. "i'm wise. i know. it's your man mason, an' you've bunked me int' letting him have all this time for his get-away!" chapter xxv "that is true, haggerty. i had a debt to pay." crawford spun a billiard ball down the table. "mr. crawford, i'm going t' show you that i'm a good sport. you've challenged me. all right. i want that man, an' by th' lord harry, i'm going t' get him. i'm going t' put my hand on his shoulder an' say 'come along!' cash ain't everything, even in my business. i want t' show it's th' game, too. i don't want money in my pockets for winking my eye." "you'll have hard work." "how?" "he has burned the pads of his fingers and thumbs," blurted out forbes. crawford made an angry gesture. a homeric laugh from haggerty. "i don't want his fingers now; this bottle an' these emeralds are enough for me." he stuffed the jewels away. "where's th' phone?" "in the hall, under the stairs." "good night." the nights of poe and the grim realities of balzac would not serve to describe that chase. the magnificent vitality of that man haggerty yet fills me with wonder. he borrowed a roadster from killigrew's garage, and hummed away toward new york. on the way he laid his plans of battle, winnowed the chaff from the grain. he understood the necessity of thinking and acting quickly. a sporting proposition, that was it. he wanted just then not so much the criminal as the joy of finding him against odds and laying his hand on his shoulder: just to show them all that he wasn't a has-been. his telephone message had thrown a cordon of argus-eyed men around new york. now, then, what would he, haggerty, do if he were in mason's shoes? make for railroads or boats; for mason did not belong to new york's underworld, and he would therefore find no haven in the city. boat or train, then; and of the two, the boat would offer the better security. once on board, mason would find it easy to lose his identity, despite the wireless. and it all hung by a hair: would mason watch? if he hid himself and stayed hidden he was saved. "chauffeur, what's your name?" asked haggerty of killigrew's man, as the car rolled quietly on to brooklyn bridge. "harrigan,"--promptly. "that's good enough for me,"--jovially. "fill up th' gas-tank. i'm going t' keep y' busy for twenty-four hours, mebbe. an' if i win, a hundred for yours. all y' got t' do is t' act as i say. let 'er go. th' great white way first, where th' hotels hang out." lord monckton had not returned to the hotel. good. more telephoning. yes, the great railroad terminals had ten men each. a black-bearded man with scarred fingers. haggerty was really a fine general; he directed his army with shrewdness and little or no waste. the jersey side was watched, east and north rivers. the big ships haggerty himself undertook. from half after nine that night till noon the next day, without sleep or rest or food, excepting a cup of coffee and a sandwich, which, to a man of haggerty's build, wasn't food at all, he searched. each time he left the motor-car, the chauffeur fell asleep. haggerty reasoned in this wise: there were really but two points of departure for a man in mason's position, london or south america. ten men, vigilant and keen-eyed, were watching all fruiters and tramps which sailed for the caribbean. it came to the last boat. haggerty, in each case, had not gone aboard by way of the passengers' gangplank; not he. he got aboard secretly and worked his way up from hold to boat-deck. his chance lay in mason's curiosity. it would be almost impossible for the man not to watch for his ancient enemy. at two minutes to twelve, as the whistle boomed its warning to visitors to go ashore, haggerty put his hard-palmed hand on mason's shoulder. the man, intent on watching the gangplank, turned quickly, sagged, and fell back against the rail. "come along," said haggerty, not unkindly. mason sighed. "one question. did mr. crawford advise you where to look for me?" "no. i found you myself, mr. mason; all alone. it was a sporting proposition; an' you'd have won out if y' hadn't been human like everybody else, an' watched for me. come along!" chapter xxvi it remains for me, then, to relate how thomas escaped that arm of the law equally as relentless as that of the police--the customs. perfectly innocent of intent, he was none the less a smuggler. killigrew took him before the collector of the port, laid the matter before him frankly, paid the duty, and took the gems over to tiffany's expert, who informed him that these sapphires were the originals from which his daughter's had been copied, and were far more valuable. twenty-five thousand would not purchase such a string of sapphires these days. all like a nice, calm fairy-story for children. immediately upon being informed of his wealth, thomas became filled with a truly magnanimous idea. but of that, later. a week later, to be exact. around and upon the terrace of the killigrew villa, with its cool white marble and fresh green strip of lawn, illumined at each end by scarlet poppy-beds, lay the bright beauty of the morning. the sea below was still, the air between, and the heavens above, since no cloud moved up or down the misty blue horizons. leaning over the baluster was a young woman. she too was still; and her eyes, directed toward the sea, contemplative apparently but introspective in truth, divided in their deeps the blue of the heavens and the green of the sea. presently a sound broke the hush. it came from a neat little brown shoe. tap-tap, tap-tap. to the observer of infinite details, a foot is often more expressive than lips or eyes. moods must find some outlet. one can nearly perfectly control the face and hands; the foot is least guarded. the young man by the nearest poppy-bed plucked a great scarlet flower. luckily for him the head gardener was not about. then slowly he walked over to the young woman. the little foot became still. "i am sailing day after to-morrow for rio janeiro," he said. he laid on the broad marble top of the baluster a little chamois-bag. "will you have these reset and wear them for me?" "the sapphires? why, you mustn't let them go out of the family. they are wonderful heirlooms." "i do not intend to let them go out of the family," he replied quietly. kitty stirred the bag with her fingers. she did not raise her eyes from it. in fact, she would have found it difficult to look elsewhere just then. "will you wear them?" "yes." "and some day will you call me thomas?" "yes . . . when you return." somewhere back i spoke of magic carpets we writer chaps have. a thing of flimsy dreams and fancies! but i forgot the millionaire's. his is real, made of legal-tenders woven intricately, wonderfully. does he wish a palace, a yacht, a rare jewel? whiz! there you are, sir. no flowery flourishes; the cold, hard, beautiful facts of reality. killigrew had his magic carpet, and he spread it out and stood on it as he and mrs. killigrew viewed the pair out on the terrace. (the millionaire can sometimes wish happiness with his carpet.) "molly, i'm going to send thomas down to rio. he'll be worth exactly fifteen hundred the year . . . for years. but i'm going to give him five thousand the first year, ten thousand the next, and twenty thereafter . . . if he sticks. and i think he will. he'll never be any the wiser." he paused tantalizingly. "well?" demanded mrs. killigrew, smiling. "well, neither will kitty." the craig kennedy series the dream doctor by arthur b. reeve frontispiece by will foster contents chapter i the dream doctor ii the soul analysis iii the sybarite iv the beauty shop v the phantom circuit vi the detectaphone vii the green curse viii the mummy case ix the elixir of life x the toxin of death xi the opium joint xii the "dope trust" xiii the kleptomaniac xiv the crimeometer xv the vampire xvi the blood test xvii the bomb maker xviii the "coke" fiend xix the submarine mystery xx the wireless detector xxi the ghouls xxii the x-ray "movies" xxiii the death house xxiv the final day the dream doctor i the dream doctor "jameson, i want you to get the real story about that friend of yours, professor kennedy," announced the managing editor of the star, early one afternoon when i had been summoned into the sanctum. from a batch of letters that had accumulated in the litter on the top of his desk, he selected one and glanced over it hurriedly. "for instance," he went on reflectively, "here's a letter from a constant reader who asks, 'is this professor craig kennedy really all that you say he is, and, if so, how can i find out about his new scientific detective method?'" he paused and tipped back his chair. "now, i don't want to file these letters in the waste basket. when people write letters to a newspaper, it means something. i might reply, in this case, that he is as real as science, as real as the fight of society against the criminal. but i want to do more than that." the editor had risen, as if shaking himself momentarily loose from the ordinary routine of the office. "you get me?" he went on, enthusiastically, "in other words, your assignment, jameson, for the next month is to do nothing except follow your friend kennedy. start in right now, on the first, and cross-section out of his life just one month, an average month. take things just as they come, set them down just as they happen, and when you get through give me an intimate picture of the man and his work." he picked up the schedule for the day and i knew that the interview was at an end. i was to "get" kennedy. often i had written snatches of craig's adventures, but never before anything as ambitious as this assignment, for a whole month. at first it staggered me. but the more i thought about it, the better i liked it. i hastened uptown to the apartment on the heights which kennedy and i had occupied for some time. i say we occupied it. we did so during those hours when he was not at his laboratory at the chemistry building on the university campus, or working on one of those cases which fascinated him. fortunately, he happened to be there as i burst in upon him. "well?" he queried absently, looking up from a book, one of the latest untranslated treatises on the new psychology from the pen of the eminent scientist, dr. freud of vienna, "what brings you uptown so early?" briefly as i could, i explained to him what it was that i proposed to do. he listened without comment and i rattled on, determined not to allow him to negative it. "and," i added, warming up to the subject, "i think i owe a debt of gratitude to the managing editor. he has crystallised in my mind an idea that has long been latent. why, craig," i went on, "that is exactly what you want--to show people how they can never hope to beat the modern scientific detective, to show that the crime-hunters have gone ahead faster even than--" the telephone tinkled insistently. without a word, kennedy motioned to me to "listen in" on the extension on my desk, which he had placed there as a precaution so that i could corroborate any conversation that took place over our wire. his action was quite enough to indicate to me that, at least, he had no objection to the plan. "this is dr. leslie--the coroner. can you come to the municipal hospital--right away?" "right away, doctor," answered craig, hanging up the receiver. "walter, you'll come, too?" a quarter of an hour later we were in the courtyard of the city's largest hospital. in the balmy sunshine the convalescing patients were sitting on benches or slowly trying their strength, walking over the grass, clad in faded hospital bathrobes. we entered the office and quickly were conducted by an orderly to a little laboratory in a distant wing. "what's the matter?" asked craig, as we hurried along. "i don't know exactly," replied the man, "except that it seems that price maitland, the broker, you know, was picked up on the street and brought here dying. he died before the doctors could relieve him." dr. leslie was waiting impatiently for us. "what do you make of that, professor kennedy?" the coroner spread out on the table before us a folded half-sheet of typewriting and searched craig's face eagerly to see what impression it made on him. "we found it stuffed in maitland's outside coat pocket," he explained. it was dateless and brief: dearest madeline: may god in his mercy forgive me for what i am about to do. i have just seen dr. ross. he has told me the nature of your illness. i cannot bear to think that i am the cause, so i am going simply to drop out of your life. i cannot live with you, and i cannot live without you. do not blame me. always think the best you can of me, even if you could not give me all. good-bye. your distracted husband, price. at once the idea flashed over me that maitland had found himself suffering from some incurable disease and had taken the quickest means of settling his dilemma. kennedy looked up suddenly from the note. "do you think it was a suicide?" asked the coroner. "suicide?" craig repeated. "suicides don't usually write on typewriters. a hasty note scrawled on a sheet of paper in trembling pen or pencil, that is what they usually leave. no, some one tried to escape the handwriting experts this way." "exactly my idea," agreed dr. leslie, with evident satisfaction. "now listen. maitland was conscious almost up to the last moment, and yet the hospital doctors tell me they could not get a syllable of an ante-mortem statement from him." "you mean he refused to talk?" i asked. "no," he replied; "it was more perplexing than that even if the police had not made the usual blunder of arresting him for intoxication instead of sending him immediately to the hospital, it would have made no difference. the doctors simply could not have saved him, apparently. for the truth is, professor kennedy, we don't even know what was the matter with him." dr. leslie seemed much excited by the case, as well he might be. "maitland was found reeling and staggering on broadway this morning," continued the coroner. "perhaps the policeman was not really at fault at first for arresting him, but before the wagon came maitland was speechless and absolutely unable to move a muscle." dr. leslie paused as he recited the strange facts, then resumed: "his eyes reacted, all right. he seemed to want to speak, to write, but couldn't. a frothy saliva dribbled from his mouth, but he could not frame a word. he was paralysed, and his breathing was peculiar. they then hurried him to the hospital as soon as they could. but it was of no use." kennedy was regarding the doctor keenly as he proceeded. dr. leslie paused again to emphasise what he was about to say. "here is another strange thing. it may or may not be of importance, but it is strange, nevertheless. before maitland died they sent for his wife. he was still conscious when she reached the hospital, could recognise her, seemed to want to speak, but could neither talk nor move. it was pathetic. she was grief-stricken, of course. but she did not faint. she is not of the fainting kind. it was what she said that impressed everyone. 'i knew it--i knew it,' she cried. she had dropped on her knees by the side of the bed. 'i felt it. only the other night i had the horrible dream. i saw him in a terrific struggle. i could not see what it was--it seemed to be an invisible thing. i ran to him--then the scene shifted. i saw a funeral procession, and in the casket i could see through the wood--his face--oh, it was a warning! it has come true. i feared it, even though i knew it was only a dream. often i have had the dream of that funeral procession and always i saw the same face, his face. oh, it is horrible--terrible!'" it was evident that dr. leslie at least was impressed by the dream. "what have you done since?" asked craig. "i have turned loose everyone i could find available," replied dr. leslie, handing over a sheaf of reports. kennedy glanced keenly over them as they lay spread out on the table. "i should like to see the body," he said, at length. it was lying in the next room, awaiting dr. leslie's permission to be removed. "at first," explained the doctor, leading the way, "we thought it might be a case of knock-out drops, chloral, you know--or perhaps chloral and whiskey, a combination which might unite to make chloroform in the blood. but no. we have tested for everything we can think of. in fact there seems to be no trace of a drug present. it is inexplicable. if maitland really committed suicide, he must have taken something--and as far as we can find out there is no trace of anything. as far as we have gone we have always been forced back to the original idea that it was a natural death--perhaps due to shock of some kind, or organic weakness." kennedy had thoughtfully raised one of the lifeless hands and was examining it. "not that," he corrected. "even if the autopsy shows nothing, it doesn't prove that it was a natural death. look!" on the back of the hand was a tiny, red, swollen mark. dr. leslie regarded it with pursed-up lips as though not knowing whether it was significant or not. "the tissues seemed to be thickly infiltrated with a reddish serum and the blood-vessels congested," he remarked slowly. "there was a frothy mucus in the bronchial tubes. the blood was liquid, dark, and didn't clot. the fact of the matter is that the autopsical research revealed absolutely nothing but a general disorganisation of the blood-corpuscles, a most peculiar thing, but one the significance of which none of us here can fathom. if it was poison that he took or that had been given to him, it was the most subtle, intangible, elusive, that ever came to my knowledge. why, there is absolutely no trace or clue--" "nor any use in looking for one in that way," broke in kennedy decisively. "if we are to make any progress in this case, we must look elsewhere than to an autopsy. there is no clue beyond what you have found, if i am right. and i think i am right. it was the venom of the cobra." "cobra venom?" repeated the coroner, glancing up at a row of technical works. "yes. no, it's no use trying to look it up. there is no way of verifying a case of cobra poisoning except by the symptoms. it is not like any other poisoning in the world." dr. leslie and i looked at each other, aghast at the thought of a poison so subtle that it defied detection. "you think he was bitten by a snake?" i blurted out, half incredulous. "oh, walter, on broadway? no, of course not. but cobra venom has a medicinal value. it is sent here in small quantities for various medicinal purposes. then, too, it would be easy to use it. a scratch on the hand in the passing crowd, a quick shoving of the letter into the pocket of the victim--and the murderer would probably think to go undetected." we stood dismayed at the horror of such a scientific murder and the meagreness of the materials to work on in tracing it out. "that dream was indeed peculiar," ruminated craig, before we had really grasped the import of his quick revelation. "you don't mean to say that you attach any importance to a dream?" i asked hurriedly, trying to follow him. kennedy merely shrugged his shoulders, but i could see plainly enough that he did. "you haven't given this letter out to the press?" he asked. "not yet," answered dr. leslie. "then don't, until i say to do so. i shall need to keep it." the cab in which we had come to the hospital was still waiting. "we must see mrs. maitland first," said kennedy, as we left the nonplused coroner and his assistants. the maitlands lived, we soon found, in a large old-fashioned brownstone house just off fifth avenue. kennedy's card with the message that it was very urgent brought us in as far as the library, where we sat for a moment looking around at the quiet refinement of a more than well-to-do home. on a desk at one end of the long room was a typewriter. kennedy rose. there was not a sound of any one in either the hallway or the adjoining rooms. a moment later he was bending quietly over the typewriter in the corner, running off a series of characters on a sheet of paper. a sound of a closing door upstairs, and he quickly jammed the paper into his pocket, retraced his steps, and was sitting quietly opposite me again. mrs. maitland was a tall, perfectly formed woman of baffling age, but with the impression of both youth and maturity which was very fascinating. she was calmer now, and although she seemed to be of anything but a hysterical nature, it was quite evident that her nervousness was due to much more than the shock of the recent tragic event, great as that must have been. it may have been that i recalled the words of the note, "dr. ross has told me the nature of your illness," but i fancied that she had been suffering from some nervous trouble. "there is no use prolonging our introduction, mrs. maitland," began kennedy. "we have called because the authorities are not yet fully convinced that mr. maitland committed suicide." it was evident that she had seen the note, at least. "not a suicide?" she repeated, looking from one to the other of us. "mr. masterson on the wire, ma'am," whispered a maid. "do you wish to speak to him? he begged to say that he did not wish to intrude, but he felt that if there--" "yes, i will talk to him--in my room," she interrupted. i thought that there was just a trace of well-concealed confusion, as she excused herself. we rose. kennedy did not resume his seat immediately. without a word or look he completed his work at the typewriter by abstracting several blank sheets of paper from the desk. a few moments later mrs. maitland returned, calmer. "in his note," resumed kennedy, "he spoke of dr. ross and--" "oh," she cried, "can't you see dr. ross about it? really i--i oughtn't to be--questioned in this way--not now, so soon after what i've had to go through." it seemed that her nerves were getting unstrung again. kennedy rose to go. "later, come to see me," she pleaded. "but now--you must realise--it is too much. i cannot talk--i cannot." "mr. maitland had no enemies that you know of?" asked kennedy, determined to learn something now, at least. "no, no. none that would--do that." "you had had no quarrel?" he added. "no--we never quarrelled. oh, price--why did you? how could you?" her feelings were apparently rapidly getting the better of her. kennedy bowed, and we withdrew silently. he had learned one thing. she believed or wanted others to believe in the note. at a public telephone, a few minutes later, kennedy was running over the names in the telephone book. "let me see--here's an arnold masterson," he considered. then turning the pages he went on, "now we must find this dr. ross. there--dr. sheldon ross--specialist in nerve diseases--that must be the one. he lives only a few blocks further uptown." handsome, well built, tall, dignified, in fact distinguished, dr. ross proved to be a man whose very face and manner were magnetic, as should be those of one who had chosen his branch of the profession. "you have heard, i suppose, of the strange death of price maitland?" began kennedy when we were seated in the doctor's office. "yes, about an hour ago." it was evident that he was studying us. "mrs. maitland, i believe, is a patient of yours?" "yes, mrs. maitland is one of my patients," he admitted interrogatively. then, as if considering that kennedy's manner was not to be mollified by anything short of a show of confidence, he added: "she came to me several months ago. i have had her under treatment for nervous trouble since then, without a marked improvement." "and mr. maitland," asked kennedy, "was he a patient, too?" "mr. maitland," admitted the doctor with some reticence, "had called on me this morning, but no, he was not a patient." "did you notice anything unusual?" "he seemed to be much worried," dr. ross replied guardedly. kennedy took the suicide note from his pocket and handed it to him. "i suppose you have heard of this?" asked craig. the doctor read it hastily, then looked up, as if measuring from kennedy's manner just how much he knew. "as nearly as i could make out," he said slowly, his reticence to outward appearance gone, "maitland seemed to have something on his mind. he came inquiring as to the real cause of his wife's nervousness. before i had talked to him long i gathered that he had a haunting fear that she did not love him any more, if ever. i fancied that he even doubted her fidelity." i wondered why the doctor was talking so freely, now, in contrast with his former secretiveness. "do you think he was right?" shot out kennedy quickly, eying dr. ross keenly. "no, emphatically, no; he was not right," replied the doctor, meeting craig's scrutiny without flinching. "mrs. maitland," he went on more slowly as if carefully weighing every word, "belongs to a large and growing class of women in whom, to speak frankly, sex seems to be suppressed. she is a very handsome and attractive woman--you have seen her? yes? you must have noticed, though, that she is really frigid, cold, intellectual." the doctor was so sharp and positive about his first statement and so careful in phrasing the second that i, at least, jumped to the conclusion that maitland might have been right, after all. i imagined that kennedy, too, had his suspicions of the doctor. "have you ever heard of or used cobra venom in any of your medical work?" he asked casually. dr. ross wheeled in his chair, surprised. "why, yes," he replied quickly. "you know that it is a test for blood diseases, one of the most recently discovered and used parallel to the old tests. it is known as the weil cobra-venom test." "do you use it often?" "n--no," he replied. "my practice ordinarily does not lie in that direction. i used it not long ago, once, though. i have a patient under my care, a well-known club-man. he came to me originally--" "arnold masterson?" asked craig. "yes--how did you know his name?" "guessed it," replied craig laconically, as if he knew much more than he cared to tell. "he was a friend of mrs. maitland's, was he not?" "i should say not," replied dr. ross, without hesitation. he was quite ready to talk without being urged. "ordinarily," he explained confidentially, "professional ethics seals my lips, but in this instance, since you seem to know so much, i may as well tell more." i hardly knew whether to take him at his face value or not. still he went on: "mrs. maitland is, as i have hinted at, what we specialists would call a consciously frigid but unconsciously passionate woman. as an intellectual woman she suppresses nature. but nature does and will assert herself, we believe. often you will find an intellectual woman attracted unreasonably to a purely physical man--i mean, speaking generally, not in particular cases. you have read ellen key, i presume? well, she expresses it well in some of the things she has written about affinities. now, don't misunderstand me," he cautioned. "i am speaking generally, not of this individual case." i was following dr. ross closely. when he talked so, he was a most fascinating man. "mrs. maitland," he resumed, "has been much troubled by her dreams, as you have heard, doubtless. the other day she told me of another dream. in it she seemed to be attacked by a bull, which suddenly changed into a serpent. i may say that i had asked her to make a record of her dreams, as well as other data, which i thought might be of use in the study and treatment of her nervous troubles. i readily surmised that not the dream, but something else, perhaps some recollection which it recalled, worried her. by careful questioning i discovered that it was--a broken engagement." "yes," prompted kennedy. "the bull-serpent, she admitted, had a half-human face--the face of arnold masterson!" was dr. ross desperately shifting suspicion from himself? i asked. "very strange--very," ruminated kennedy. "that reminds me again. i wonder if you could let me have a sample of this cobra venom?" "surely. excuse me; i'll get you some." the doctor had scarcely shut the door when kennedy began prowling around quietly. in the waiting-room, which was now deserted, stood a typewriter. quickly craig ran over the keys of the machine until he had a sample of every character. then he reached into drawer of the desk and hastily stuffed several blank sheets of paper into his pocket. "of course i need hardly caution you in handling this," remarked dr. ross, as he returned. "you are as well acquainted as i am with the danger attending its careless and unscientific uses." "i am, and i thank you very much," said kennedy. we were standing in the waiting-room. "you will keep me advised of any progress you make in the case?" the doctor asked. "it complicates, as you can well imagine, my treatment of mrs. maitland." "i shall be glad to do so," replied kennedy, as we departed. an hour later found us in a handsomely appointed bachelor apartment in a fashionable hotel overlooking the lower entrance to the park. "mr. masterson, i believe?" inquired kennedy, as a slim, debonair, youngish-old man entered the room in which we had been waiting. "i am that same," he smiled. "to what am i indebted for this pleasure?" we had been gazing at the various curios with which he had made the room a veritable den of the connoisseur. "you have evidently travelled considerably," remarked kennedy, avoiding the question for the time. "yes, i have been back in this country only a few weeks," masterson replied, awaiting the answer to the first question. "i called," proceeded kennedy, "in the hope that you, mr. masterson, might be able to shed some light on the rather peculiar case of mr. maitland, of whose death, i suppose, you have already heard." "i?" "you have known mrs. maitland a long time?" ignored kennedy. "we went to school together." "and were engaged, were you not?" masterson looked at kennedy in ill-concealed surprise. "yes. but how did you know that? it was a secret--only between us two--i thought. she broke it off--not i." "she broke off the engagement?" prompted kennedy. "yes--a story about an escapade of mine and all that sort of thing, you know--but, by jove! i like your nerve, sir." masterson frowned, then added: "i prefer not to talk of that. there are some incidents in a man's life, particularly where a woman is concerned, that are forbidden." "oh, i beg pardon," hastened kennedy, "but, by the way, you would have no objection to making a statement regarding your trip abroad and your recent return to this country--subsequent to--ah--the incident which we will not refer to?" "none whatever. i left new york in , disgusted with everything in general, and life here in particular--" "would you object to jotting it down so that i can get it straight?" asked kennedy. "just a brief resume, you know." "no. have you a pen or a pencil?" "i think you might as well dictate it; it will take only a minute to run it off on the typewriter." masterson rang the bell. a young man appeared noiselessly. "wix," he said, "take this: 'i left new york in , travelling on the continent, mostly in paris, vienna, and rome. latterly i have lived in london, until six weeks ago, when i returned to new york.' will that serve?" "yes, perfectly," said kennedy, as he folded up the sheet of paper which the young secretary handed to him. "thank you. i trust you won't consider it an impertinence if i ask you whether you were aware that dr. ross was mrs. maitland's physician?" "of course i knew it," masterson replied frankly. "i have given him up for that reason, although he does not know it yet. i most strenuously object to being the subject of--what shall i call it?--his mental vivisection." "do you think he oversteps his position in trying to learn of the mental life of his patients?" queried craig. "i would rather say nothing further on that, either," replied masterson. "i was talking over the wire to mrs. maitland a few moments ago, giving her my condolences and asking if there was anything i could do for her immediately, just as i would have done in the old days--only then, of course, i should have gone to her directly. the reason i did not go, but telephoned, was because this ross seems to have put some ridiculous notions into her head about me. now, look here; i don't want to discuss this. i've told you more than i intended, anyway." masterson had risen. his suavity masked a final determination to say no more. ii the soul analysis the day was far advanced after this series of very unsatisfactory interviews. i looked at kennedy blankly. we seemed to have uncovered so little that was tangible that i was much surprised to find that apparently he was well contented with what had happened in the case so far. "i shall be busy for a few hours in the laboratory, walter," he remarked, as we parted at the subway. "i think, if you have nothing better to do, that you might employ the time in looking up some of the gossip about mrs. maitland and masterson, to say nothing of dr. ross," he emphasised. "drop in after dinner." there was not much that i could find. of mrs. maitland there was practically nothing that i already did not know from having seen her name in the papers. she was a leader in a certain set which was devoting its activities to various social and moral propaganda. masterson's early escapades were notorious even in the younger smart set in which he had moved, but his years abroad had mellowed the recollection of them. he had not distinguished himself in any way since his return to set gossip afloat, nor had any tales of his doings abroad filtered through to new york clubland. dr. ross, i found to my surprise, was rather better known than i had supposed, both as a specialist and as a man about town. he seemed to have risen rapidly in his profession as physician to the ills of society's nerves. i was amazed after dinner to find kennedy doing nothing at all. "what's the matter?" i asked. "have you struck a snag?" "no," he replied slowly, "i was only waiting. i told them to be here between half-past eight and nine." "who?" i queried. "dr. leslie," he answered. "he has the authority to compel the attendance of mrs. maitland, dr. ross, and masterson." the quickness with which he had worked out a case which was, to me, one of the most inexplicable he had had for a long time, left me standing speechless. one by one they dropped in during the next half-hour, and, as usual, it fell to me to receive them and smooth over the rough edges which always obtruded at these little enforced parties in the laboratory. dr. leslie and dr. ross were the first to arrive. they had not come together, but had met at the door. i fancied i saw a touch of professional jealousy in their manner, at least on the part of dr. ross. masterson came, as usual ignoring the seriousness of the matter and accusing us all of conspiring to keep him from the first night of a light opera which was opening. mrs. maitland followed, the unaccustomed pallor of her face heightened by the plain black dress. i felt most uncomfortable, as indeed i think the rest did. she merely inclined her head to masterson, seemed almost to avoid the eye of dr. ross, glared at dr. leslie, and absolutely ignored me. craig had been standing aloof at his laboratory table, beyond a nod of recognition paying little attention to anything. he seemed to be in no hurry to begin. "great as science is," he commenced, at length, "it is yet far removed from perfection. there are, for instance, substances so mysterious, subtle, and dangerous as to set the most delicate tests and powerful lenses at naught, while they carry death most horrible in their train." he could scarcely have chosen his opening words with more effect. "chief among them," he proceeded, "are those from nature's own laboratory. there are some sixty species of serpents, for example, with deadly venom. among these, as you doubtless have all heard, none has brought greater terror to mankind than the cobra-di-capello, the naja tripudians of india. it is unnecessary for me to describe the cobra or to say anything about the countless thousands who have yielded up their lives to it. i have here a small quantity of the venom"--he indicated it in a glass beaker. "it was obtained in new york, and i have tested it on guinea-pigs. it has lost none of its potency." i fancied that there was a feeling of relief when kennedy by his actions indicated that he was not going to repeat the test. "this venom," he continued, "dries in the air into a substance like small scales, soluble in water but not in alcohol. it has only a slightly acrid taste and odour, and, strange to say, is inoffensive on the tongue or mucous surfaces, even in considerable quantities. all we know about it is that in an open wound it is deadly swift in action." it was difficult to sit unmoved at the thought that before us, in only a few grains of the stuff, was enough to kill us all if it were introduced into a scratch of our skin. "until recently chemistry was powerless to solve the enigma, the microscope to detect its presence, or pathology to explain the reason for its deadly effect. and even now, about all we know is that autopsical research reveals absolutely nothing but the general disorganisation of the blood corpuscles. in fact, such poisoning is best known by the peculiar symptoms--the vertigo, weak legs, and falling jaw. the victim is unable to speak or swallow, but is fully sensible. he has nausea, paralysis, an accelerated pulse at first followed rapidly by a weakening, with breath slow and laboured. the pupils are contracted, but react to the last, and he dies in convulsions like asphyxia. it is both a blood and a nerve poison." as kennedy proceeded, mrs. maitland never took her large eyes from his face. kennedy now drew from a large envelope in which he protected it, the typewritten note which had been found on maitland. he said nothing about the "suicide" as he quietly began a new line of accumulating evidence. "there is an increasing use of the typewriting machine for the production of spurious papers," he began, rattling the note significantly. "it is partly due to the great increase in the use of the typewriter generally, but more than all is it due to the erroneous idea that fraudulent typewriting cannot be detected. the fact is that the typewriter is perhaps a worse means of concealing identity than is disguised handwriting. it does not afford the effective protection to the criminal that is supposed. on the contrary, the typewriting of a fraudulent document may be the direct means by which it can be traced to its source. first we have to determine what kind of machine a certain piece of writing was done with, then what particular machine." he paused and indicated a number of little instruments on the table. "for example," he resumed, "the lovibond tintometer tells me its story of the colour of the ink used in the ribbon of the machine that wrote this note as well as several standard specimens which i have been able to obtain from three machines on which it might have been written. "that leads me to speak of the quality of the paper in this half-sheet that was found on mr. maitland. sometimes such a half-sheet may be mated with the other half from which it was torn as accurately as if the act were performed before your eyes. there was no such good fortune in this case, but by measurements made by the vernier micrometer caliper i have found the precise thickness of several samples of paper as compared to that of the suicide note. i need hardly add that in thickness and quality, as well as in the tint of the ribbon, the note points to person as the author." no one moved. "and there are other proofs--unescapable," kennedy hurried on. "for instance, i have counted the number of threads to the inch in the ribbon, as shown by the letters of this note. that also corresponds to the number in one of the three ribbons." kennedy laid down a glass plate peculiarly ruled in little squares. "this," he explained, "is an alignment test plate, through which can be studied accurately the spacing and alignment of typewritten characters. there are in this pica type ten to the inch horizontally and six to the inch vertically. that is usual. perhaps you are not acquainted with the fact that typewritten characters are in line both ways, horizontally and vertically. there are nine possible positions for each character which may be assumed with reference to one of these little standard squares of the test plate. you cannot fail to appreciate what an immense impossibility there is that one machine should duplicate the variations out of the true which the microscope detects for several characters on another. "not only that, but the faces of many letters inevitably become broken, worn, battered, as well as out of alignment, or slightly shifted in their position on the type bar. the type faces are not flat, but a little concave to conform to the roller. there are thousands of possible divergences, scars, and deformities in each machine. "such being the case," he concluded, "typewriting has an individuality like that of the bertillon system, finger-prints, or the portrait parle." he paused, then added quickly: "what machine was it in this case? i have samples here from that of dr. boss, from a machine used by mr. masterson's secretary, and from a machine which was accessible to both mr. and mrs. maitland." kennedy stopped, but he was not yet prepared to relieve the suspense of two of those whom his investigation would absolve. "just one other point," he resumed mercilessly, "a point which a few years ago would have been inexplicable--if not positively misleading and productive of actual mistake. i refer to the dreams of mrs. maitland." i had been expecting it, yet the words startled me. what must they have done to her? but she kept admirable control of herself. "dreams used to be treated very seriously by the ancients, but until recently modern scientists, rejecting the ideas of the dark ages, have scouted dreams. to-day, however, we study them scientifically, for we believe that whatever is, has a reason. dr. ross, i think, is acquainted with the new and remarkable theories of dr. sigmund freud, of vienna?" dr. ross nodded. "i dissent vigorously from some of freud's conclusions," he hastened. "let me state them first," resumed craig. "dreams, says freud, are very important. they give us the most reliable information concerning the individual. but that is only possible"--kennedy emphasised the point--"if the patient is in entire rapport with the doctor. "now, the dream is not an absurd and senseless jumble, but a perfect mechanism and has a definite meaning in penetrating the mind. it is as though we had two streams of thought, one of which we allow to flow freely, the other of which we are constantly repressing, pushing back into the subconscious, or unconscious. this matter of the evolution of our individual mental life is too long a story to bore you with at such a critical moment. "but the resistances, the psychic censors of our ideas, are always active, except in sleep. then the repressed material comes to the surface. but the resistances never entirely lose their power, and the dream shows the material distorted. seldom does one recognise his own repressed thoughts or unattained wishes. the dream really is the guardian of sleep to satisfy the activity of the unconscious and repressed mental processes that would otherwise disturb sleep by keeping the censor busy. in the case of a nightmare the watchman or censor is aroused, finds himself overpowered, so to speak, and calls on consciousness for help. "there are three kinds of dreams--those which represent an unrepressed wish as fulfilled, those that represent the realisation of a repressed wish in an entirely concealed form, and those that represent the realisation of a repressed wish in a form insufficiently or only partially concealed. "dreams are not of the future, but of the past, except as they show striving for unfulfilled wishes. whatever may be denied in reality we nevertheless can realise in another way--in our dreams. and probably more of our daily life, conduct, moods, beliefs than we think, could be traced to preceding dreams." dr. ross was listening attentively, as craig turned to him. "this is perhaps the part of freud's theory from which you dissent most strongly. freud says that as soon as you enter the intimate life of a patient you begin to find sex in some form. in fact, the best indication of abnormality would be its absence. sex is one of the strongest of human impulses, yet the one subjected to the greatest repression. for that reason it is the weakest point in our cultural development. in a normal life, he says, there are no neuroses. let me proceed now with what the freudists call the psychanalysis, the soul analysis, of mrs. maitland." it was startling in the extreme to consider the possibilities to which this new science might lead, as he proceeded to illustrate it. "mrs. maitland," he continued, "your dream of fear was a dream of what we call the fulfilment of a suppressed wish. moreover, fear always denotes a sexual idea underlying the dream. in fact, morbid anxiety means surely unsatisfied love. the old greeks knew it. the gods of fear were born of the goddess of love. consciously you feared the death of your husband because unconsciously you wished it." it was startling, dramatic, cruel, perhaps, merciless--this dissecting of the soul of the handsome woman before us; but it had come to a point where it was necessary to get at the truth. mrs. maitland, hitherto pale, was now flushed and indignant. yet the very manner of her indignation showed the truth of the new psychology of dreams, for, as i learned afterward, people often become indignant when the freudists strike what is called the "main complex." "there are other motives just as important," protested dr. boss. "here in america the money motive, ambition--" "let me finish," interposed kennedy. "i want to consider the other dream also. fear is equivalent to a wish in this sort of dream. it also, as i have said, denotes sex. in dreams animals are usually symbols. now, in this second dream we find both the bull and the serpent, from time immemorial, symbols of the continuing of the life-force. dreams are always based on experiences or thoughts of the day preceding the dreams. you, mrs. maitland, dreamed of a man's face on these beasts. there was every chance of having him suggested to you. you think you hate him. consciously you reject him; unconsciously you accept him. any of the new psychologists who knows the intimate connection between love and hate, would understand how that is possible. love does not extinguish hate; or hate, love. they repress each other. the opposite sentiment may very easily grow." the situation was growing more tense as he proceeded. was not kennedy actually taxing her with loving another? "the dreamer," he proceeded remorselessly, "is always the principal actor in a dream, or the dream centres about the dreamer most intimately. dreams are personal. we never dream about matters that really concern others, but ourselves. "years ago," he continued, "you suffered what the new psychologists call a 'psychic trauma'--a soul-wound. you were engaged, but your censored consciousness rejected the manner of life of your fiance. in pique you married price maitland. but you never lost your real, subconscious love for another." he stopped, then added in a low tone that was almost inaudible, yet which did not call for an answer, "could you--be honest with yourself, for you need say not a word aloud--could you always be sure of yourself in the face of any situation?" she looked startled. her ordinarily inscrutable face betrayed everything, though it was averted from the rest of us and could be seen only by kennedy. she knew the truth that she strove to repress; she was afraid of herself. "it is dangerous," she murmured, "to be with a person who pays attention to such little things. if every one were like you, i would no longer breathe a syllable of my dreams." she was sobbing now. what was back of it all? i had heard of the so-called resolution dreams. i had heard of dreams that kill, of unconscious murder, of the terrible acts of the subconscious somnambulist of which the actor has no recollection in the waking state until put under hypnotism. was it that which kennedy was driving at disclosing? dr. ross moved nearer to mrs. maitland as if to reassure her. craig was studying attentively the effect of his revelation both on her and on the other faces before him. mrs. maitland, her shoulders bent with the outpouring of the long-suppressed emotion of the evening and of the tragic day, called for sympathy which, i could see, craig would readily give when he had reached the climax he had planned. "kennedy," exclaimed masterson, pushing aside dr. ross, as he bounded to the side of mrs. maitland, unable to restrain himself longer, "kennedy, you are a faker--nothing but a damned dream doctor--in scientific disguise." "perhaps," replied craig, with a quiet curl of the lip. "but the threads of the typewriter ribbon, the alignment of the letters, the paper, all the 'fingerprints' of that type-written note of suicide were those of the machine belonging to the man who caused the soul-wound, who knew madeline maitland's inmost heart better than herself--because he had heard of freud undoubtedly, when he was in vienna--who knew that he held her real love still, who posed as a patient of dr. ross to learn her secrets as well as to secure the subtle poison of the cobra. that man, perhaps, merely brushed against price maitland in the crowd, enough to scratch his hand with the needle, shove the false note into his pocket--anything to win the woman who he knew loved him, and whom he could win. masterson, you are that man!" the next half hour was crowded kaleidoscopically with events--the call by dr. leslie for the police, the departure of the coroner with masterson in custody, and the efforts of dr. ross to calm his now almost hysterical patient, mrs. maitland. then a calm seemed to settle down over the old laboratory which had so often been the scene of such events, tense with human interest. i could scarcely conceal my amazement, as i watched kennedy quietly restoring to their places the pieces of apparatus he had used. "what's the matter?" he asked, catching my eye as he paused with the tintometer in his hand. "why," i exclaimed, "that's a fine way to start a month! here's just one day gone and you've caught your man. are you going to keep that up? if you are--i'll quit and skip to february. i'll choose the shortest month, if that's the pace!" "any month you please," he smiled grimly, as he reluctantly placed the tintometer in its cabinet. there was no use. i knew that any other month would have been just the same. "well," i replied weakly, "all i can hope is that every day won't be as strenuous as this has been. i hope, at least, you will give me time to make some notes before you start off again." "can't say," he answered, still busy returning paraphernalia to its accustomed place. "i have no control over the cases as they come to me--except that i fan turn down those that don't interest me." "then," i sighed wearily, "turn down the next one. i must have rest. i'm going home to sleep." "very well," he said, making no move to follow me. i shook my head doubtfully. it was impossible to force a card on kennedy. instead of showing any disposition to switch off the laboratory lights, he appeared to be regarding a row of half-filled test-tubes with the abstraction of a man who has been interrupted in the midst of an absorbing occupation. "good night," i said at length. "good night," he echoed mechanically. i know that he slept that night--at least his bed had been slept in when i awoke in the morning. but he was gone. but then, it was not unusual for him, when the fever for work was on him, to consider even five or fewer hours a night's rest. it made no difference when i argued with him. the fact that he thrived on it himself and could justify it by pointing to other scientists was refutation enough. slowly i dressed, breakfasted, and began transcribing what i could from the hastily jotted down notes of the day before. i knew that the work, whatever it was, in which he was now engaged must be in the nature of research, dear to his heart. otherwise, he would have left word for me. no word came from him, however, all day, and i had not only caught up in my notes, but, my appetite whetted by our first case, had become hungry for more. in fact i had begun to get a little worried at the continued silence. a hand on the knob of the door or a ring of the telephone would hare been a welcome relief. i was gradually becoming aware of the fact that i liked the excitement of the life as much as kennedy did. i knew it when the sudden sharp tinkle of the telephone set my heart throbbing almost as quickly as the little bell hammer buzzed. "jameson, for heaven's sake find kennedy immediately and bring him over here to the novella beauty parlour. we've got the worst case i've been up against in a long time. dr. leslie, the coroner, is here, and says we must not make a move until kennedy arrives." i doubt whether in all our long acquaintance i had ever heard first deputy o'connor more wildly excited and apparently more helpless than he seemed over the telephone that night. "what is it?" i asked. "never mind, never mind. find kennedy," he called back almost brusquely. "it's miss blanche blaisdell, the actress--she's been found dead here. the thing is an absolute mystery. now get him, get him." it was still early in the evening, and kennedy had not come in, nor had he sent any word to our apartment. o'connor had already tried the laboratory. as for myself, i had not the slightest idea where craig was. i knew the case must be urgent if both the deputy and the coroner were waiting for him. still, after half an hour's vigorous telephoning, i was unable to find a trace of kennedy in any of his usual haunts. in desperation i left a message for him with the hall-boy in case he called up, jumped into a cab, and rode over to the laboratory, hoping that some of the care-takers might still be about and might know something of his whereabouts. the janitor was able to enlighten me to the extent of telling me that a big limousine had called for kennedy an hour or so before, and that he had left in great haste. i had given it up as hopeless and had driven back to the apartment to wait for him, when the hall-boy made a rush at me just as i was paying my fare. "mr. kennedy on the wire, sir," he cried as he half dragged me into the hall. "walter," almost shouted kennedy, "i'm over at the washington heights hospital with dr. barron--you remember barron, in our class at college? he has a very peculiar case of a poor girl whom he found wandering on the street and brought here. most unusual thing. he came over to the laboratory after me in his car. yes, i have the message that you left with the hall-boy. come up here and pick me up, and we'll ride right down to the novella. goodbye." i had not stopped to ask questions and prolong the conversation, knowing as i did the fuming impatience of o'connor. it was relief enough to know that kennedy was located at last. he was in the psychopathic ward with barron, as i hurried in. the girl whom he had mentioned over the telephone was then quietly sleeping under the influence of an opiate, and they were discussing the case outside in the hall. "what do you think of it yourself?" barron was asking, nodding to me to join them. then he added for my enlightenment: "i found this girl wandering bareheaded in the street. to tell the truth, i thought at first that she was intoxicated, but a good look showed me better than that. so i hustled the poor thing into my car and brought her here. all the way she kept crying over and over: 'look, don't you see it? she's afire! her lips shine--they shine, they shine.' i think the girl is demented and has had some hallucination." "too vivid for a hallucination," remarked kennedy decisively. "it was too real to her. even the opiate couldn't remove the picture, whatever it was, from her mind until you had given her almost enough to kill her, normally. no, that wasn't any hallucination. now, walter, i'm ready." iii the sybarite we found the novella beauty parlour on the top floor of an office-building just off fifth avenue on a side street not far from forty-second street. a special elevator, elaborately fitted up, wafted us up with express speed. as the door opened we saw a vista of dull-green lattices, little gateways hung with roses, windows of diamond-paned glass get in white wood, rooms with little white enamelled manicure-tables and chairs, amber lights glowing with soft incandescence in deep bowers of fireproof tissue flowers. there was a delightful warmth about the place, and the seductive scents and delicate odours betokened the haunt of the twentieth-century sybarite. both o'connor and leslie, strangely out of place in the enervating luxury of the now deserted beauty-parlour, were still waiting for kennedy with a grim determination. "a most peculiar thing," whispered o'connor, dashing forward the moment the elevator door opened. "we can't seem to find a single cause for her death. the people up here say it was a suicide, but i never accept the theory of suicide unless there are undoubted proofs. so far there have been none in this case. there was no reason for it." seated in one of the large easy-chairs of the reception-room, in a corner with two of o'connor's men standing watchfully near, was a man who was the embodiment of all that was nervous. he was alternately wringing his hands and rumpling his hair. beside him was a middle-sized, middle-aged lady in a most amazing state of preservation, who evidently presided over the cosmetic mysteries beyond the male ken. she was so perfectly groomed that she looked as though her clothes were a mould into which she had literally been poured. "professor and madame millefleur--otherwise miller,"--whispered o'connor, noting kennedy's questioning gaze and taking his arm to hurry him down a long, softly carpeted corridor, flanked on either side by little doors. "they run the shop. they say one of the girls just opened the door and found her dead." near the end, one of the doors stood open, and before it dr. leslie, who had preceded us, paused. he motioned to us to look in. it was a little dressing-room, containing a single white-enamelled bed, a dresser, and a mirror. but it was not the scant though elegant furniture that caused us to start back. there under the dull half-light of the corridor lay a woman, most superbly formed. she was dark, and the thick masses of her hair, ready for the hairdresser, fell in a tangle over her beautifully chiselled features and full, rounded shoulders and neck. a scarlet bathrobe, loosened at the throat, actually accentuated rather than covered the voluptuous lines of her figure, down to the slender ankle which had been the beginning of her fortune as a danseuse. except for the marble pallor of her face it was difficult to believe that she was not sleeping. and yet there she was, the famous blanche blaisdell, dead--dead in the little dressing-room of the novella beauty parlour, surrounded as in life by mystery and luxury. we stood for several moments speechless, stupefied. at last o'connor silently drew a letter from his pocket. it was written on the latest and most delicate of scented stationery. "it was lying sealed on the dresser when we arrived," explained o'connor, holding it so that we could not see the address. "i thought at first she had really committed suicide and that this was a note of explanation. but it is not. listen. it is just a line or two. it reads: 'am feeling better now, though that was a great party last night. thanks for the newspaper puff which i have just read. it was very kind of you to get them to print it. meet me at the same place and same time to-night. your blanche.' the note was not stamped, and was never sent. perhaps she rang for a messenger. at any rate, she must have been dead before she could send it. but it was addressed to--burke collins." "burke collins!" exclaimed kennedy and i together in amazement. he was one of the leading corporation lawyers in the country, director in a score of the largest companies, officer in half a dozen charities and social organisations, patron of art and opera. it seemed impossible, and i at least did not hesitate to say so. for answer o'connor simply laid the letter and envelope down on the dresser. it seemed to take some time to convince kennedy. there it was in black and white, however, in blanche blaisdell's own vertical hand. try to figure it out as i could, there seemed to be only one conclusion, and that was to accept it. what it was that interested him i did not know, but finally he bent down and sniffed, not at the scented letter, but at the covering on the dresser. when he raised his head i saw that he had not been looking at the letter at all, but at a spot on the cover near it. "sn-ff, sn-ff," he sniffed, thoughtfully closing his eyes as if considering something. "yes--oil of turpentine." suddenly he opened his eyes, and the blank look of abstraction that had masked his face was broken through by a gleam of comprehension that i knew flashed the truth to him intuitively. "turn out that light in the corridor," he ordered quickly. dr. leslie found and turned the switch. there we were alone, in the now weird little dressing-room, alone with that horribly lovely thing lying there cold and motionless on the little white bed. kennedy moved forward in the darkness. gently, almost as if she were still the living, pulsing, sentient blanche blaisdell who had entranced thousands, he opened her mouth. a cry from o'connor, who was standing in front of me, followed. "what's that, those little spots on her tongue and throat? they glow. it is the corpse light!" surely enough, there were little luminous spots in her mouth. i had heard somewhere that there is a phosphorescence appearing during decay of organic substances which once gave rise to the ancient superstition of "corpse lights" and the will-o'-the-wisp. it was really due, i knew, to living bacteria. but there surely had been no time for such micro-organisms to develop, even in the almost tropic heat of the novella. could she have been poisoned by these phosphorescent bacilli? what was it--a strange new mouth-malady that had attacked this notorious adventuress and woman of luxury? leslie had flashed up the light again before craig spoke. we were all watching him keenly. "phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoric salve," craig said slowly, looking eagerly about the room as if in search of something that would explain it. he caught sight of the envelope still lying on the dresser. he picked it up, toyed with it, looked at the top where o'connor had slit it, then deliberately tore the flap off the back where it had been glued in sealing the letter. "put the light out again," he asked. where the thin line of gum was on the back of the flap, in the darkness there glowed the same sort of brightness that we had seen in a speck here and there on blanche blaisdell's lips and in her mouth. the truth flashed over me. some one had placed the stuff, whatever it was, on the flap of the envelope, knowing that she must touch her lips to it to seal it she had done so, and the deadly poison had entered her mouth. as the light went up again kennedy added: "oil of turpentine removes traces of phosphorus, phosphoric acid, or phosphoric salve, which are insoluble in anything else except ether and absolute alcohol. some one who knew that tried to eradicate them, but did not wholly succeed. o'connor, see if you can find either phosphorus, the oil, or the salve anywhere in the shop." then as o'connor and leslie hurriedly disappeared he added to me: "another of those strange coincidences, walter. you remember the girl at the hospital? 'look, don't you see it? she's afire. her lips shine--they shine, they shine!'" kennedy was still looking carefully over the room. in a little wicker basket was a newspaper which was open at the page of theatrical news, and as i glanced quickly at it i saw a most laudatory paragraph about her. beneath the paper were some torn scraps. kennedy picked them up and pieced them together. "dearest blanche," they read. "i hope you're feeling better after that dinner last night. can you meet me to-night? write me immediately. collie." he placed the scraps carefully in his wallet. there was nothing more to be done here apparently. as we passed down the corridor we could hear a man apparently raving in good english and bad french. it proved to be millefleur--or miller--and his raving was as overdone as that of a third-rate actor. madame was trying to calm him. "henri, henri, don't go on so," she was saying. "a suicide--in the novella. it will be in all the papers. we shall be ruined. oh--oh!" "here, can that sob stuff," broke in one of o'connor's officers. "you can tell it all when the chief takes you to headquarters, see?" certainly the man made no very favourable impression by his actions. there seemed to be much that was forced about them, that was more incriminating than a stolid silence would have been. between them monsieur and madame made out, however, to repeat to kennedy their version of what had happened. it seemed that a note addressed to miss blaisdell had been left by some one on the desk in the reception-room. no one knew who left it, but one of the girls had picked it up and delivered it to her in her dressing-room. a moment later she rang her bell and called for one of the girls named agnes, who was to dress her hair. agnes was busy, and the actress asked her to get paper, a pen, and ink. at least it seemed that way, for agnes got them for her. a few minutes later her bell rang again, and agnes went down, apparently to tell her that she was now ready to dress her hair. the next thing any one knew was a piercing shriek from the girl. she ran down the corridor, still shrieking, out into the reception-room and rushed into the elevator, which happened to be up at the time. that was the last they had seen of her. the other girls saw miss blaisdell lying dead, and a panic followed. the customers dressed quickly and fled, almost in panic. all was confusion. by that time a policeman had arrived, and soon after o'connor and the coroner had come. there was little use in cross-questioning the couple. they had evidently had time to agree on the story; that is, supposing it were not true. only a scientific third degree could have shaken them, and such a thing was impossible just at that time. from the line of kennedy's questions i could see that he believed that there was a hiatus somewhere in their glib story, at least some point where some one had tried to eradicate the marks of the poison. "here it is. we found it," interrupted o'connor, holding up in his excitement a bottle covered with black cloth to protect it from the light. "it was in the back of a cabinet in the operating-room, and it is marked 'ether phosphore".' another of oil of turpentine was on a shelf in another cabinet. both seem to have been used lately, judging by the wetness of the bottoms of the glass stoppers." "ether phosphore, phosphorated ether," commented kennedy, reading the label to himself. "a remedy from the french codex, composed, if i remember rightly, of one part phosphorus and fifty parts sulphuric ether. phosphorus is often given as a remedy for loss of nerve power, neuralgia, hysteria, and melancholia. in quantities from a fiftieth to a tenth or so of a grain free phosphorus is a renovator of nerve tissue and nerve force, a drug for intense and long-sustained anxiety of mind and protracted emotional excitement--in short, for fast living." he uncorked the bottle, and we tasted the stuff. it was unpleasant and nauseous. "i don't see why it wasn't used in the form of pills. the liquid form of a few drops on gum arabic is hopelessly antiquated." the elevator door opened with a clang, and a well-built, athletic looking man of middle age with an acquired youngish look about his clothes and clean-shaven face stepped out. his face was pale, and his hand shook with emotion that showed that something had unstrung his usually cast-iron nerves. i recognised burke collins at once. in spite of his nervousness he strode forward with the air of a man accustomed to being obeyed, to having everything done for him merely because he, burke collins, could afford to pay for it and it was his right. he seemed to know whom he was seeking, for he immediately singled out o'connor. "this is terrible, terrible," he whispered hoarsely. "no, no, no, i don't want to see her. i can't, not yet. you know i thought the world of that poor little girl. only," and here the innate selfishness of the man cropped out, "only i called to ask you that nothing of my connection with her be given out. you understand? spare nothing to get at the truth. employ the best men you have. get outside help if necessary. i'll pay for anything, anything. perhaps i can use some influence for you some day, too. but, you understand--the scandal, you know. not a word to the newspapers." at another time i feel sure that o'connor would have succumbed. collins was not without a great deal of political influence, and even a first deputy may be "broke" by a man with influence. but now here was kennedy, and he wished to appear in the best light. he looked at craig. "let me introduce professor kennedy," he said. "i've already called him in." "very happy to have the pleasure of meeting you," said collins, grasping kennedy's hand warmly. "i hope you will take me as your client in this case. i'll pay handsomely. i've always had a great admiration for your work, and i've heard a great deal about it." kennedy is, if anything, as impervious to blandishment as a stone, as the blarney stone is itself, for instance. "on one condition," he replied slowly, "and that is that i go ahead exactly as if i were employed by the city itself to get at the truth." collins bit his lip. it was evident that he was not accustomed to being met in this independent spirit. "very well," he answered at last. "o'connor has called you in. work for him and--well, you know, if you need anything just draw on me for it. only if you can, keep me out of it. i'll tell everything i can to help you--but not to the newspapers." he beckoned us outside. "those people in there," he nodded his head back in the direction of the millefleurs, "do you suspect them? by george, it does look badly for them, doesn't it, when you come to think of it? well, now, you see, i'm frank and confidential about my relations with blan--er--miss blaisdell. i was at a big dinner with her last night with a party of friends. i suppose she came here to get straightened out. i hadn't been able to get her on the wire to-day, but at the theatre when i called up they told me what had happened, and i came right over here. now please remember, do everything, anything but create a scandal. you realise what that would mean for me." kennedy said nothing. he simply laid down on the desk, piece by piece, the torn letter which he had picked up from the basket, and beside it he spread out the reply which blanche had written. "what?" gasped collins as he read the torn letter. "i send that? why, man alive, you're crazy. didn't i just tell you i hadn't heard from her until i called up the theatre just now?" i could not make out whether he was lying or not when he said that he had not sent the note. kennedy picked up a pen. "please write the same thing as you read in the note on this sheet of the novella paper. it will be all right. you have plenty of witnesses to that." it must have irked collins even to have his word doubted, but kennedy was no respecter of persons. he took the pen and wrote. "i'll keep your name out of it as much as possible," remarked kennedy, glancing intently at the writing and blotting it. "thank you," said collins simply, for once in his life at a loss for words. once more he whispered to o'connor, then he excused himself. the man was so obviously sincere, i felt, as far as his selfish and sensual limitations would permit, that i would not have blamed kennedy for giving him much more encouragement than he had given. kennedy was not through yet, and now turned quickly again to the cosmetic arcadia which had been so rudely stirred by the tragedy. "who is this girl agnes who discovered miss blaisdell?" he shot out at the millefleurs. the beauty-doctor was now really painful in his excitement. like his establishment, even his feelings were artificial. "agnes?" he repeated. "why, she was one of madame's best hair-dressers. see--my dear--show the gentlemen the book of engagements." it was a large book full of girls' names, each an expert in curls, puffs, "reinforcements," hygienic rolls, transformators, and the numberless other things that made the fearful and wonderful hair-dresses of the day. agnes's dates were full, for a day ahead. kennedy ran his eye over the list of patrons. "mrs. burke collins, : ," he read. "was she a patron, too?" "oh, yes," answered madame. "she used to come here three times a week. it was not vanity. we all knew her, and we all liked her." instantly i could read between the lines, and i felt that i had been too charitable to burke collins. here was the wife slaving to secure that beauty which would win back the man with whom she had worked and toiled in the years before they came to new york and success. the "other woman" came here, too, but for a very different reason. nothing but business seemed to impress millefleur, however. "oh, yes," he volunteered, "we have a fine class. among my own patients i have hugh dayton, the actor, you know, leading man in blanche blaisdell's company. he is having his hair restored. why, i gave him a treatment this afternoon. if ever there is a crazy man, it is he. i believe he would kill mr. collins for the way blanche blaisdell treats him. they were engaged--but, oh, well," he gave a very good imitation of a french shrug, "it is all over now. neither of them will get her, and i--i am ruined. who will come to the novella now?" adjoining millefleur's own room was the writing room from which the poisoned envelope had been taken to miss blaisdell. over the little secretary was the sign, "no woman need be plain who will visit the novella," evidently the motto of the place. the hair-dressing room was next to the little writing-room. there were manicure rooms, steam-rooms, massage-rooms, rooms of all descriptions, all bearing mute testimony to the fundamental instinct, the feminine longing for personal beauty. though it was late when kennedy had finished his investigation, he insisted on going directly to his laboratory. there he pulled out from a corner a sort of little square table on which was fixed a powerful light such as might be used for a stereopticon. "this is a simple little machine," he explained, as be pasted together the torn bits of the letter which he had fished out of the scrap-basket, "which detectives use in studying forgeries. i don't know that it has a name, although it might be called a 'rayograph.' you see, all you have to do is to lay the thing you wish to study flat here, and the system of mirrors and lenses reflects it and enlarges it on a sheet." he had lowered a rolled-up sheet of white at the opposite end of the room, and there, in huge characters, stood forth plainly the writing of the note. "this letter," he resumed, studying the enlargement carefully, "is likely to prove crucial. it's very queer. collins says he didn't write it, and if he did he surely is a wonder at disguising his hand. i doubt if any one could disguise what the rayograph shows. now, for instance, this is very important. do you see how those strokes of the long letters are--well, wobbly? you'd never see that in the original, but when it is enlarged you see how plainly visible the tremors of the hand become? try as you may, you can't conceal them. the fact is that the writer of this note suffered from a form of heart disease. now let us look at the copy that collins made at the novella." he placed the copy on the table of the rayograph. it was quite evident that the two had been written by entirely different persons. "i thought he was telling the truth," commented craig, "by the surprised look on his face the moment i mentioned the note to miss blaisdell. now i know he was. there is no such evidence of heart trouble in his writing as in the other. of course that's all aside from what a study of the handwriting itself might disclose. they are not similar at all. but there is an important clue there. find the writer of that note who has heart trouble, and we either have the murderer or some one close to the murderer." i remembered the tremulousness of the little beauty-doctor, his third-rate artificial acting of fear for the reputation of the novella, and i must confess i agreed with o'connor and collins that it looked black for him. at one time i had suspected collins himself, but now i could see perfectly why he had not concealed his anxiety to hush up his connection with the case, while at the same time his instinct as a lawyer, and i had almost added, lover, told him that justice must be done. i saw at once how, accustomed as he was to weigh evidence, he had immediately seen the justification for o'connor's arrest of the millefleurs. "more than that," added kennedy, after examining the fibres of the paper under a microscope, "all these notes are written on the same kind of paper. that first torn note to miss blaisdell was written right in the novella and left so as to seem to have been sent in from outside." it was early the following morning when kennedy roused me with the remark: "i think i'll go up to the hospital. do you want to come along? we'll stop for barron on the way. there is a little experiment i want to try on that girl up there." when we arrived, the nurse in charge of the ward told us that her patient had passed a fairly good night, but that now that the influence of the drug had worn off she was again restless and still repeating the words that she had said over and over before. nor had she been able to give any clearer account of herself. apparently she had been alone in the city, for although there was a news item about her in the morning papers, so far no relative or friend had called to identify her. kennedy had placed himself directly before her, listening intently to her ravings. suddenly he managed to fix her eye, as if by a sort of hypnotic influence. "agnes!" he called in a sharp tone. the name seemed to arrest her fugitive attention. before she could escape from his mental grasp again he added: "your date-book is full. aren't you going to the novella this morning?" the change in her was something wonderful to see. it was as though she had come out of a trance. she sat up in bed and gazed about blankly. "yes, yes, i must go," she cried as if it were the most natural thing in the world. then she realised the strange surroundings and faces. "where is my hat--wh-where am i? what has happened?" "you are all right," soothed kennedy gently. "now rest. try to forget everything for a little while, and you will be all right. you are among friends." as kennedy led us out she fell back, now physically exhausted, on the pillow. "i told you, barron," he whispered, "that there was more to this case than you imagined. unwittingly you brought me a very important contribution to a case of which the papers are full this morning, the case of the murdered actress, blanche blaisdell." iv the beauty shop it was only after a few hours that kennedy thought it wise to try to question the poor girl at the hospital. her story was simple enough in itself, but it certainly complicated matters considerably without throwing much light on the case. she had been busy because her day was full, and she had yet to dress the hair of miss blaisdell for her play that night. several times she had been interrupted by impatient messages from the actress in her little dressing-booth, and one of the girls had already demolished the previous hair-dressing in order to save time. once agnes had run down for a few seconds to reassure her that she would be through in time. she had found the actress reading a newspaper, and when kennedy questioned her she remembered seeing a note lying on the dresser. "agnes," miss blaisdell had said, "will you go into the writing-room and bring me some paper, a pen, and ink? i don't want to go in there this way. there's a dear good girl." agnes had gone, though it was decidedly no part of her duty as one of the highest paid employes of the novella. but they all envied the popular actress, and were ready to do anything for her. the next thing she remembered was finishing the coiffure she was working on and going to miss blaisdell. there lay the beautiful actress. the light in the corridor had not been lighted yet, and it was dark. her lips and mouth seemed literally to shine. agnes called her, but she did not move; she touched her, but she was cold. then she screamed and fled. that was the last she remembered. "the little writing-room," reasoned kennedy as we left the poor little hair-dresser quite exhausted by her narrative, "was next to the sanctum of millefleur, where they found that bottle of ether phosphore and the oil of turpentine. some one who knew of that note or perhaps wrote it must have reasoned that an answer would be written immediately. that person figured that the note would be the next thing written and that the top envelope of the pile would be used. that person knew of the deadly qualities of too much phosphorised ether, and painted the gummed flap of the envelope with several grains of it. the reasoning held good, for agnes took the top envelope with its poisoned flap to miss blaisdell. no, there was no chance about that. it was all clever, quick reasoning." "but," i objected, "how about the oil of turpentine?" "simply to remove the traces of the poison. i think you will see why that was attempted before we get through." kennedy would say no more, but i was content because i could see that he was now ready to put his theories, whatever they were, to the final test. he spent the rest of the day working at the hospital with dr. barron, adjusting a very delicate piece of apparatus down in a special room, in the basement. i saw it, but i had no idea what it was or what its use might be. close to the wall was a stereopticon which shot a beam of light through a tube to which i heard them refer as a galvanometer, about three feet distant. in front of this beam whirled a five-spindled wheel, governed by a chronometer which erred only a second a day. between the poles of the galvanometer was stretched a slender thread of fused quartz plated with silver, only one one-thousandth of a millimetre in diameter, so tenuous that it could not be seen except in a bright light. it was a thread so slender that it might have been spun by a microscopic spider. three feet farther away was a camera with a moving film of sensitised material, the turning of which was regulated by a little flywheel. the beam of light focused on the thread in the galvanometer passed to the photographic film, intercepted only by the five spindles of the wheel, which turned once a second, thus marking the picture off into exact fifths of a second. the vibrations of the microscopic quartz thread were enormously magnified on the sensitive film by a lens and resulted in producing a long zig-zag, wavy line. the whole was shielded by a wooden hood which permitted no light, except the slender ray, to strike it. the film revolved slowly across the field, its speed regulated by the flywheel, and all moved by an electric motor. i was quite surprised, then, when kennedy told me that the final tests which he was arranging were not to be held at the hospital at all, but in his laboratory, the scene of so many of his scientific triumphs over the cleverest of criminals. while he and dr. barren were still fussing with the machine he despatched me on the rather ticklish errand of gathering together all those who had been at the novella at the time and might possibly prove important in the case. my first visit was to hugh dayton, whom i found in his bachelor apartment on madison avenue, apparently waiting for me. one of o'connor's men had already warned him that any attempt to evade putting in an appearance when he was wanted would be of no avail. he had been shadowed from the moment that it was learned that he was a patient of millefleur's and had been at the novella that fatal afternoon. he seemed to realise that escape was impossible. dayton was one of those typical young fellows, tall, with sloping shoulders and a carefully acquired english manner, whom one sees in scores on fifth avenue late in the afternoon. his face, which on the stage was forceful and attractive, was not prepossessing at close range. indeed it showed too evident marks of excesses, both physical and moral, and his hand was none too steady. still, he was an interesting personality, if not engaging. i was also charged with delivering a note to burke collins at his office. the purport of it was, i knew, a request couched in language that veiled a summons that mrs. collins was of great importance in getting at the truth, and that if he needed an excuse himself for being present it was suggested that he appear as protecting his wife's interests as a lawyer. kennedy had added that i might tell him orally that he would pass over the scandal as lightly as possible and spare the feelings of both as much as he could. i was rather relieved when this mission was accomplished, for i had expected collins to demur violently. those who gathered that night, sitting expectantly in the little armchairs which kennedy's students used during his lectures, included nearly every one who could cast any light on what had happened at the novella. professor and madame millefleur were brought up from the house of detention, to which both o'connor and dr. leslie had insisted that they be sent. millefleur was still bewailing the fate of the novella, and madame had begun to show evidences of lack of the constant beautification which she was always preaching as of the utmost importance to her patrons. agnes was so far recovered as to be able to be present, though i noticed that she avoided the millefleurs and sat as far from them as possible. burke collins and mrs. collins arrived together. i had expected that there would be an icy coolness if not positive enmity between them. they were not exactly cordial, though somehow i seemed to feel that now that the cause of estrangement was removed a tactful mutual friend might have brought about a reconciliation. hugh dayton swaggered in, his nervousness gone or at least controlled. i passed behind him once, and the odour that smote my olfactory sense told me too plainly that he had fortified himself with a stimulant on his way from the apartment to the laboratory. of course o'connor and dr. leslie were there, though in the background. it was a silent gathering, and kennedy did not attempt to relieve the tension even by small talk as he wrapped the forearms of each of us with cloths steeped in a solution of salt. upon these cloths he placed little plates of german silver to which were attached wires which led back of a screen. at last he was ready to begin. "the long history of science," he began as he emerged from behind the screen, "is filled with instances of phenomena, noted at first only for their beauty or mystery, which have been later proved to be of great practical value to mankind. a new example is the striking phenomenon of luminescence. phosphorus, discovered centuries ago, was first merely a curiosity. now it is used for many practical things, and one of the latest uses is as a medicine. it is a constituent of the body, and many doctors believe that the lack of it causes, and that its presence will cure, many ills. but it is a virulent and toxic drug, and no physician except one who knows his business thoroughly should presume to handle it. whoever made a practice of using it at the novella did not know his business, or he would have used it in pills instead of in the nauseous liquid. it is not with phosphorised ether as a medicine that we have to deal in this case. it is with the stuff as a poison, a poison administered by a demon." craig shot the word out so that it had its full effect on his little audience. then he paused, lowered his voice, and resumed on a new subject. "up in the washington heights hospital," he went on, "is an apparatus which records the secrets of the human heart. that is no figure of speech, but a cold scientific fact. this machine records every variation of the pulsations of the heart with such exquisite accuracy that it gives dr. barron, who is up there now, not merely a diagram of the throbbing organ of each of you seated here in my laboratory a mile away, but a sort of moving-picture of the emotions by which each heart here is swayed. not only can dr. barron diagnose disease, but he can detect love, hate, fear, joy, anger, and remorse. this machine is known as the einthoven 'string galvanometer,' invented by that famous dutch physiologist of leyden." there was a perceptible movement in our little audience at the thought that the little wires that ran back of the screen from the arms of each were connected with this uncanny instrument so far away. "it is all done by the electric current that the heart itself generates," pursued kennedy, hammering home the new and startling idea. "that current is one of the feeblest known to science, for the dynamo that generates it is no ponderous thing of copper wire and steel castings. it is just the heart itself. the heart sends over the wire its own telltale record to the machine which registers it. the thing takes us all the way back to galvani, who was the first to observe and study animal electricity. the heart makes only one three-thousandth of a volt of electricity at each beat. it would take over two hundred thousand men to light one of these incandescent lamps, two million or more to run a trolley-car. yet just that slight little current is enough to sway the gossamer strand of quartz fibre up there at what we call the 'heart station.' so fine is this machine that the pulse-tracings produced by the sphygmograph, which i have used in other cases up to this time, are clumsy and inexact." again he paused as if to let the fear of discovery sink deep into the minds of all of us. "this current, as i have said, passes from each one of you in turn over a wire and vibrates a fine quartz fibre up there in unison with each heart here. it is one of the most delicate bits of mechanism ever made, beside which the hairspring of a watch is coarse. each of you in turn, is being subjected to this test. more than that, the record up there shows not only the beats of the heart but the successive waves of emotion that vary the form of those beats. every normal individual gives what we call an 'electro-cardiogram,' which follows a certain type. the photographic film on which this is being recorded is ruled so that at the heart station dr. barron can read it. there are five waves to each heart-beat, which he letters p, q, r, s, and t, two below and three above a base line on the film. they have all been found to represent a contraction of a certain portion of the heart. any change of the height, width, or time of any one of those lines shows that there is some defect or change in the contraction of that part of the heart. thus dr. barron, who has studied this thing carefully, can tell infallibly not only disease but emotion." it seemed as if no one dared look at his neighbour, as if all were trying vainly to control the beating of their own hearts. "now," concluded kennedy solemnly as if to force the last secret from the wildly beating heart of some one in the room, "it is my belief that the person who had access to the operating-room of the novella was a person whose nerves were run down, and in addition to any other treatment that person was familiar with the ether phosphore. this person knew miss blaisdell well, saw her there, knew she was there for the purpose of frustrating that person's own dearest hopes. that person wrote her the note, and knowing that she would ask for paper and an envelope in order to answer it, poisoned the flap of the envelope. phosphorus is a remedy for hysteria, vexatious emotions, want of sympathy, disappointed and concealed affections--but not in the quantities that this person lavished on that flap. whoever it was, not life, but death, and a ghastly death, was uppermost in that person's thoughts." agnes screamed. "i saw him take something and rub it on her lips, and the brightness went away. i--i didn't mean to tell, but, god help me, i must." "saw whom?" demanded kennedy, fixing her eye as he had when he had called her back from aphasia. "him--millefleur--miller," she sobbed, shrinking back as if the very confession appalled her. "yes," added kennedy coolly, "miller did try to remove the traces of the poison after he discovered it, in order to protect himself and the reputation of the novella." the telephone bell tinkled. craig seized the receiver. "yes, barron, this is kennedy. you received the impulses all right? good. and have you had time to study the records? yes? what's that? number seven? all right. i'll see you very soon and go over the records again with you. good-bye." "one word more," he continued, now facing us. "the normal heart traces its throbs in regular rhythm. the diseased or overwrought heart throbs in degrees of irregularity that vary according to the trouble that affects it, both organic and emotional. the expert like barron can tell what each wave means, just as he can tell what the lines in a spectrum mean. he can see the invisible, hear the inaudible, feel the intangible, with mathematical precision. barron has now read the electro-cardiograms. each is a picture of the beating of the heart that made it, and each smallest variation has a meaning to him. every passion, every emotion, every disease, is recorded with inexorable truth. the person with murder in his heart cannot hide it from the string galvanometer, nor can that person who wrote the false note in which the very lines of the letters betray a diseased heart hide that disease. the doctor tells me that that person was number--" mrs. collins had risen wildly and was standing before us with blazing eyes. "yes," she cried, pressing her hands on her breast as if it were about to burst and tell the secret before her lips could frame the words, "yes, i killed her, and i would follow her to the end of the earth if i had not succeeded. she was there, the woman who had stolen from me what was more than life itself. yes, i wrote the note, i poisoned the envelope. i killed her." all the intense hatred that she had felt for that other woman in the days that she had vainly striven to equal her in beauty and win back her husband's love broke forth. she was wonderful, magnificent, in her fury. she was passion personified; she was fate, retribution. collins looked at his wife, and even he felt the spell. it was not crime that she had done; it was elemental justice. for a moment she stood, silent, facing kennedy. then the colour slowly faded from her cheeks. she reeled. collins caught her and imprinted a kiss, the kiss that for years she had longed and striven for again. she looked rather than spoke forgiveness as he held her and showered them on her. "before heaven," i heard him whisper into her ear, "with all my power as a lawyer i will free you from this." gently dr. leslie pushed him aside and felt her pulse as she dropped limply into the only easy chair in the laboratory. "o'connor," he said at length, "all the evidence that we really have hangs on an invisible thread of quartz a mile away. if professor kennedy agrees, let us forget what has happened here to-night. i will direct my jury to bring in a verdict of suicide. collins, take good care of her." he leaned over and whispered so she could not hear. "i wouldn't promise her six weeks otherwise." i could not help feeling deeply moved as the newly reunited collinses left the laboratory together. even the bluff deputy, o'connor, was touched by it and under the circumstances did what seemed to him his higher duty with a tact of which i had believed him scarcely capable. whatever the ethics of the case, he left it entirely to dr. leslie's coroner's jury to determine. burke collins was already making hasty preparations for the care of his wife so that she might have the best medical attention to prolong her life for the few weeks or months before nature exacted the penalty which was denied the law. "that's a marvellous piece of apparatus," i remarked, standing over the connections with the string galvanometer, after all had gone. "just suppose the case had fallen into the hands of some of these old-fashioned detectives--" "i hate post-mortems--on my own cases," interrupted kennedy brusquely. "to-morrow will be time enough to clear up this mess. meanwhile, let us get this thing out of our minds." he clapped his hat on his head decisively and deliberately walked out of the laboratory, starting off at a brisk pace in the moonlight across the campus to the avenue where now the only sound was the noisy rattle of an occasional trolley car. how long we walked i do not know. but i do know that for genuine relaxation after a long period of keen mental stress, there is nothing like physical exercise. we turned into our apartment, roused the sleepy hall-boy, and rode up. "i suppose people think i never rest," remarked kennedy, carefully avoiding any reference to the exciting events of the past two days. "but i do. like every one else, i have to. when i am working hard on a case--well, i have my own violent reaction against it--more work of a different kind. others choose white lights, red wines and blue feelings afterwards. but i find, when i reach that state, that the best anti-toxin is something that will chase the last case from your brain by getting you in trim for the next unexpected event." he had sunk into an easy chair where he was running over in his mind his own plans for the morrow. "just now i must recuperate by doing no work at all," he went on slowly undressing. "that walk was just what i needed. when the fever of dissipation comes on again, i'll call on you. you won't miss anything, walter." like the famous finnegan, however, he was on again and gone again in the morning. this time i had no misgivings, although i should have liked to accompany him, for on the library table he had scrawled a little note, "studying east side to-day. will keep in touch with you. craig." my daily task of transcribing my notes was completed and i thought i would run down to the star to let the editor know how i was getting along on my assignment. i had scarcely entered the door when the office boy thrust a message into my hand. it stopped me even before i had a chance to get as far as my own desk. it was from kennedy at the laboratory and bore a time stamp that showed that it must have been received only a few minutes before i came in. "meet me at the grand central," it read, "immediately." without going further into the office, i turned and dropped down in the elevator to the subway. as quickly as an express could take me, i hurried up to the new station. "where away?" i asked breathlessly, as craig met me at the entrance through which he had reasoned i would come. "the coast or down east?" "woodrock," he replied quickly, taking my arm and dragging me down a ramp to the train that was just leaving for that fashionable suburb. "well," i queried eagerly, as the train started. "why all this secrecy?" "i had a caller this afternoon," he began, running his eye over the other passengers to see if we were observed. "she is going back on this train. i am not to recognise her at the station, but you and i are to walk to the end of the platform and enter a limousine bearing that number." he produced a card on the back of which was written a number in six figures. mechanically i glanced at the name as he handed the card to me. craig was watching intently the expression on my face as i read, "miss yvonne brixton." "since when were you admitted into society?" i gasped, still staring at the name of the daughter of the millionaire banker, john brixton. "she came to tell me that her father is in a virtual state of siege, as it were, up there in his own house," explained kennedy in an undertone, "so much so that, apparently, she is the only person he felt he dared trust with a message to summon me. practically everything he says or does is spied on; he can't even telephone without what he says being known." "siege?" i repeated incredulously. "impossible. why, only this morning i was reading about his negotiations with a foreign syndicate of bankers from southeastern europe for a ten-million-dollar loan to relieve the money stringency there. surely there must be some mistake in all this. in fact, as i recall it, one of the foreign bankers who is trying to interest him is that count wachtmann who, everybody says, is engaged to miss brixton, and is staying at the house at woodrock. craig, are you sure nobody is hoaxing you?" "read that," he replied laconically, handing me a piece of thin letter-paper such as is often used for foreign correspondence. "such letters have been coming to mr. brixton, i understand, every day." the letter was in a cramped foreign scrawl: john brixton, woodrock, new york. american dollars must not endanger the peace of europe. be warned in time. in the name of liberty and progress we have raised the standard of conflict without truce or quarter against reaction. if you and the american bankers associated with you take up these bonds you will never live to receive the first payment of interest. the red brotherhood of the balkans. i looked up inquiringly. "what is the red brotherhood?" i asked. "as nearly as i can make out," replied kennedy, "it seems to be a sort of international secret society. i believe it preaches the gospel of terror and violence in the cause of liberty and union of some of the peoples of southeastern europe. anyhow, it keeps its secrets well. the identity of the members is a mystery, as well as the source of its funds, which, it is said, are immense." "and they operate so secretly that brixton can trust no one about him?" i asked. "i believe he is ill," explained craig. "at any rate, he evidently suspects almost every one about him except his daughter. as nearly as i could gather, however, he does not suspect wachtmann himself. miss brixton seemed to think that there were some enemies of the count at work. her father is a secretive man. even to her, the only message he would entrust was that he wanted to see me immediately." at woodrock we took our time in getting off the train. miss brixton, a tall, dark-haired, athletic girl just out of college, had preceded us, and as her own car shot out from the station platform we leisurely walked down and entered another bearing the number she had given kennedy. we seemed to be expected at the house. hardly had we been admitted through the door from the porte-cochere, than we were led through a hall to a library at the side of the house. from the library we entered another door, then down a flight of steps which must have brought us below an open courtyard on the outside, under a rim of the terrace in front of the house for a short distance to a point where we descended three more steps. at the head of these three steps was a great steel and iron door with heavy bolts and a combination lock of a character ordinarily found only on a safe in a banking institution. the door was opened, and we descended the steps, going a little farther in the same direction away from the side of the house. then we turned at a right angle facing toward the back of the house but well to one side of it. it must have been, i figured out later, underneath the open courtyard. a few steps farther brought us to a fair-sized, vaulted room. v the phantom circuit brixton had evidently been waiting impatiently for our arrival. "mr. kennedy?" he inquired, adding quickly without waiting for an answer: "i am glad to see you. i suppose you have noticed the precautions we are taking against intruders? yet it seems to be all of no avail. i can not be alone even here. if a telephone message comes to me over my private wire, if i talk with my own office in the city, it seems that it is known. i don't know what to make of it. it is terrible. i don't know what to expect next." brixton had been standing beside a huge mahogany desk as we entered. i had seen him before at a distance as a somewhat pompous speaker at banquets and the cynosure of the financial district. but there was something different about his looks now. he seemed to have aged, to have grown yellower. even the whites of his eyes were yellow. i thought at first that perhaps it might be the effect of the light in the centre of the room, a huge affair set in the ceiling in a sort of inverted hemisphere of glass, concealing and softening the rays of a powerful incandescent bulb which it enclosed. it was not the light that gave him the altered appearance, as i concluded from catching a casual confirmatory glance of perplexity from kennedy himself. "my personal physician says i am suffering from jaundice," explained brixton. rather than seeming to be offended at our notice of his condition he seemed to take it as a good evidence of kennedy's keenness that he had at once hit on one of the things that were weighing on brixton's own mind. "i feel pretty badly, too. curse it," he added bitterly, "coming at a time when it is absolutely necessary that i should have all my strength to carry through a negotiation that is only a beginning, important not so much for myself as for the whole world. it is one of the first times new york bankers have had a chance to engage in big dealings in that part of the world. i suppose yvonne has shown you one of the letters i am receiving?" he rustled a sheaf of them which he drew from a drawer of his desk, and continued, not waiting for kennedy even to nod: "here are a dozen or more of them. i get one or two every day, either here or at my town house or at the office." kennedy had moved forward to see them. "one moment more," brixton interrupted, still holding them. "i shall come back to the letters. that is not the worst. i've had threatening letters before. have you noticed this room?" we had both seen and been impressed by it. "let me tell you more about it," he went on. "it was designed especially to be, among other things, absolutely soundproof." we gazed curiously about the strong room. it was beautifully decorated and furnished. on the walls was a sort of heavy, velvety green wall-paper. exquisite hangings were draped about, and on the floor were thick rugs. in all i noticed that the prevailing tint was green. "i had experiments carried out," he explained languidly, "with the object of discovering methods and means for rendering walls and ceilings capable of effective resistance to sound transmission. one of the methods devised involved the use under the ceiling or parallel to the wall, as the case might be, of a network of wire stretched tightly by means of pulleys in the adjacent walls and not touching at any point the surface to be protected against sound. upon the wire network is plastered a composition formed of strong glue, plaster of paris, and granulated cork, so as to make a flat slab, between which and the wall or ceiling is a cushion of confined air. the method is good in two respects: the absence of contact between the protective and protected surfaces and the colloid nature of the composition used. i have gone into the thing at length because it will make all the more remarkable what i am about to tell you." kennedy had been listening attentively. as brixton proceeded i had noticed kennedy's nostrils dilating almost as if he were a hound and had scented his quarry. i sniffed, too. yes, there was a faint odour, almost as if of garlic in the room. it was unmistakable. craig was looking about curiously, as if to discover a window by which the odour might have entered. brixton, with his eyes following keenly every move, noticed him. "more than that" he added quickly, "i have had the most perfect system of modern ventilation installed in this room, absolutely independent from that in the house." kennedy said nothing. "a moment ago, mr. kennedy, i saw you and mr. jameson glancing up at the ceiling. sound-proof as this room is, or as i believe it to be, i--i hear voices, voices from--not through, you understand, but from--that very ceiling. i do not hear them now. it is only at certain times when i am alone. they repeat the words in some of these letters--'you must not take up those bonds. you must not endanger the peace of the world. you will never live to get the interest.' over and over i have heard such sentences spoken in this very room. i have rushed out and up the corridor. there has been no one there. i have locked the steel door. still i have heard the voices. and it is absolutely impossible that a human being could get close enough to say them without my knowing and finding out where he is." kennedy betrayed by not so much as the motion of a muscle even a shade of a doubt of brixton's incredible story. whether because he believed it or because he was diplomatic, craig took the thing at its face value. he moved a blotter so that he could stand on the top of brixton's desk in the centre of the room. then he unfastened and took down the glass hemisphere over the light. "it is an osram lamp of about a hundred candlepower, i should judge," he observed. apparently he had satisfied himself that there was nothing concealed in the light itself. laboriously, with such assistance as the memory of mr. brixton could give, he began tracing out the course of both the electric light and telephone wires that led down into the den. next came a close examination of the ceiling and side walls, the floor, the hangings, the pictures, the rugs, everything. kennedy was tapping here and there all over the wall, as if to discover whether there was any such hollow sound as a cavity might make. there was none. a low exclamation from him attracted my attention, though it escaped brixton. his tapping had raised the dust from the velvety wall-paper wherever he had tried it. hastily, from a corner where it would not be noticed, he pulled off a piece of the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. then followed a hasty examination of the intake of the ventilating apparatus. apparently satisfied with his examination of things in the den, craig now prepared to trace out the course of the telephone and light wires in the house. brixton excused himself, asking us to join him in the library up-stairs after craig had completed his investigation. nothing was discovered by tracing the lines back, as best we could, from the den. kennedy therefore began at the other end, and having found the points in the huge cellar of the house where the main trunk and feed wires entered, he began a systematic search in that direction. a separate line led, apparently, to the den, and where this line feeding the osram lamp passed near a dark storeroom in a corner craig examined more closely than ever. seemingly his search was rewarded, for he dived into the dark storeroom and commenced lighting matches furiously to discover what was there. "look, walter," he exclaimed, holding a match so that i could see what he had unearthed. there, in a corner concealed by an old chest of drawers, stood a battery of five storage-cells connected with an instrument that looked very much like a telephone transmitter, a rheostat, and a small transformer coil. "i suppose this is a direct-current lighting circuit," he remarked, thoughtfully regarding his find. "i think i know what this is, all right. any amateur could do it, with a little knowledge of electricity and a source of direct current. the thing is easily constructed, the materials are common, and a wonderfully complicated result can be obtained. what's this?" he had continued to poke about in the darkness as he was speaking. in another corner he had discovered two ordinary telephone receivers. "connected up with something, too, by george!" he ejaculated. evidently some one had tapped the regular telephone wires running into the house, had run extensions into the little storeroom, and was prepared to overhear everything that was said either to or by those in the house. further examination disclosed that there were two separate telephone systems running into brixton's house. one, with its many extensions, was used by the household and by the housekeeper; the other was the private wire which led, ultimately, down into brixton's den. no sooner had he discovered it than kennedy became intensely interested. for the moment he seemed entirely to forget the electric-light wires and became absorbed in tracing out the course of the telephone trunk-line and its extensions. continued search rewarded him with the discovery that both the household line and the private line were connected by hastily improvised extensions with the two receivers he had discovered in the out-of-the-way corner of a little dark storeroom. "don't disturb a thing," remarked kennedy, cautiously picking up even the burnt matches he had dropped in his hasty search. "we must devise some means of catching the eavesdropper red handed. it has all the marks of being an inside job." we had completed our investigation of the basement without attracting any attention, and craig was careful to make it seem that in entering the library we came from the den, not from the cellar. as we waited in the big leather chairs kennedy was sketching roughly on a sheet of paper the plan of the house, drawing in the location of the various wires. the door opened. we had expected john brixton. instead, a tall, spare foreigner with a close-cropped moustache entered. i knew at once that it must be count wachtmann, although i had never seen him. "ah, i beg your pardon," he exclaimed in english which betrayed that he had been under good teachers in london. "i thought miss brixton was here." "count wachtmann?" interrogated kennedy, rising. "the same," he replied easily, with a glance of inquiry at us. "my friend and i are from the star" said kennedy. "ah! gentlemen of the press?" he elevated his eyebrows the fraction of an inch. it was so politely contemptuous that i could almost have throttled him. "we are waiting to see mr. brixton," explained kennedy. "what is the latest from the near east?" wachtmann asked, with the air of a man expecting to hear what he could have told you yesterday if he had chosen. there was a movement of the portieres, and a woman entered. she stopped a moment. i knew it was miss brixton. she had recognised kennedy, but her part was evidently to treat him as a total stranger. "who are these men, conrad?" she asked, turning to wachtmann. "gentlemen of the press, i believe, to see your father, yvonne," replied the count. it was evident that it had not been mere newspaper talk about this latest rumored international engagement. "how did you enjoy it?" he asked, noticing the title of a history which she had come to replace in the library. "very well--all but the assassinations and the intrigues," she replied with a little shudder. he shot a quick, searching look at her face. "they are a violent people--some of them," he commented quickly. "you are going into town to-morrow?" i heard him ask miss brixton, as they walked slowly down the wide hall to the conservatory a few moments later. "what do you think of him?" i whispered to kennedy. i suppose my native distrust of his kind showed through, for craig merely shrugged his shoulders. before he could reply mr. brixton joined us. "there's another one--just came," he ejaculated, throwing a letter down on the library table. it was only a few lines this time: "the bonds will not be subject to a tax by the government, they say. no--because if there is a war there won't be any government to tax them!" the note did not appear to interest kennedy as much as what he had discovered. "one thing is self-evident, mr. brixton," he remarked. "some one inside this house is spying, is in constant communication with a person or persons outside. all the watchmen and great danes on the estate are of no avail against the subtle, underground connection that i believe exists. it is still early in the afternoon. i shall make a hasty trip to new york and return after dinner. i should like to watch with you in the den this evening." "very well," agreed brixton. "i shall arrange to have you met at the station and brought here as secretly as i can." he sighed, as if admitting that he was no longer master of even his own house. kennedy was silent during most of our return trip to new york. as for myself, i was deeply mired in an attempt to fathom wachtmann. he baffled me. however, i felt that if there was indeed some subtle, underground connection between some one inside and someone outside brixton's house, craig would prepare an equally subtle method of meeting it on his own account. very little was said by either of us on the journey up to the laboratory, or on the return to woodrock. i realised that there was very little excuse for a commuter not to be well informed. i, at least, had plenty of time to exhaust the newspapers i had bought. whether or not we returned without being observed, i did not know, but at least we did find that the basement and dark storeroom were deserted, as we cautiously made our way again it to the corner where craig had made his enigmatical discoveries of the afternoon. while i held a pocket flashlight craig was busy concealing another instrument of his own in the little storeroom. it seemed to be a little black disk about as big as a watch, with a number of perforated holes in one face. carelessly he tossed it into the top drawer of the chest under some old rubbish, shut the drawer tight and ran a flexible wire out of the back of the chest. it was a simple matter to lay the wire through some bins next the storeroom and then around to the passageway down to the subterranean den of brixton. there craig deposited a little black box about the size of an ordinary kodak. for an hour or so we sat with brixton. neither of us said anything, and brixton was uncommunicatively engaged in reading a railroad report. suddenly a sort of muttering, singing noise seemed to fill the room. "there it is!" cried brixton, clapping the book shut and looking eagerly at kennedy. gradually the sound increased in pitch. it seemed to come from the ceiling, not from any particular part of the room, but merely from somewhere overhead. there was no hallucination about it. we all heard. as the vibrations increased it was evident that they were shaping themselves into words. kennedy had grasped the black box the moment the sound began and was holding two black rubber disks to his ears. at last the sound from overhead became articulate it was weird, uncanny. suddenly a voice said distinctly: "let american dollars beware. they will not protect american daughters." craig had dropped the two ear-pieces and was gazing intently at the osram lamp in the ceiling. was he, too, crazy? "here, mr. brixton, take these two receivers of the detectaphone," said kennedy. "tell me whether you can recognise the voice." "why, it's familiar," he remarked slowly. "i can't place it, but i've heard it before. where is it? what is this thing, anyhow?" "it is someone hidden in the storeroom in the basement," answered craig. "he is talking into a very sensitive telephone transmitter and--" "but the voice--here?" interrupted brixton impatiently. kennedy pointed to the incandescent lamp in the ceiling. "the incandescent lamp," he said, "is not always the mute electrical apparatus it is supposed to be. under the right conditions it can be made to speak exactly as the famous 'speaking-arc,' as it was called by professor duddell, who investigated it. both the arc-light and the metal-filament lamp can be made to act as telephone receivers." it seemed unbelievable, but kennedy was positive. "in the case of the speaking-arc or 'arcophone,' as it might be called," he continued, "the fact that the electric arc is sensitive to such small variations in the current over a wide range of frequency has suggested that a direct-current arc might be used as a telephone receiver. all that is necessary is to superimpose a microphone current on the main arc current, and the arc reproduces sounds and speech distinctly, loud enough to be heard several feet. indeed, the arc could be used as a transmitter, too, if a sensitive receiver replaced the transmitter at the other end. the things needed are an arc-lamp, an impedance coil, or small transformer-coil, a rheostat, and a source of energy. the alternating current is not adapted to reproduce speech, but the ordinary direct current is. of course, the theory isn't half as simple as the apparatus i have described." he had unscrewed the osram lamp. the talking ceased immediately. "two investigators named ort and ridger have used a lamp like this as a receiver," he continued. "they found that words spoken were reproduced in the lamp. the telephonic current variations superposed on the current passing through the lamp produce corresponding variations of heat in the filament, which are radiated to the glass of the bulb, causing it to expand and contract proportionately, and thus transmitting vibrations to the exterior air. of course, in sixteen-and thirty-two-candle-power lamps the glass is too thick, and the heat variations are too feeble." who was it whose voice brixton had recognised as familiar over kennedy's hastily installed detectaphone? certainly he must have been a scientist of no mean attainment. that did not surprise me, for i realised that from that part of europe where this mystical red brotherhood operated some of the most famous scientists of the world had sprung. a hasty excursion into the basement netted us nothing. the place was deserted. we could only wait. with parting instructions to brixton in the use of the detectaphone we said good night, were met by a watchman and escorted as far as the lodge safely. only one remark did kennedy make as we settled ourselves for the long ride in the accommodation train to the city. "that warning means that we have two people to protect--both brixton and his daughter." speculate as i might, i could find no answer to the mystery, nor to the question, which was also unsolved, as to the queer malady of brixton himself, which his physician diagnosed as jaundice. vi the detectaphone far after midnight though it had been when we had at last turned in at our apartment, kennedy was up even earlier than usual in the morning. i found him engrossed in work at the laboratory. "just in time to see whether i'm right in my guess about the illness of brixton," he remarked, scarcely looking up at me. he had taken a flask with a rubber stopper. through one hole in it was fitted a long funnel; through another ran a glass tube, connecting with a large u-shaped drying-tube filled with calcium chloride, which in turn connected with a long open tube with an up-turned end. into the flask craig dropped some pure granulated zinc coated with platinum. then he covered it with dilute sulphuric acid through the funnel tube. "that forms hydrogen gas," he explained, "which passes through the drying-tube and the ignition-tube. wait a moment until all the air is expelled from the tubes." he lighted a match and touched it to the open upturned end. the hydrogen, now escaping freely, was ignited with a pale-blue flame. next, he took the little piece of wall-paper i had seen him tear off in the den, scraped off some powder from it, dissolved it, and poured it into the funnel-tube. almost immediately the pale, bluish flame turned to bluish white, and white fumes were formed. in the ignition-tube a sort of metallic deposit appeared. quickly he made one test after another. i sniffed. there was an unmistakable smell of garlic in the air. "arseniureted hydrogen," commented craig. "this is the marsh test for arsenic. that wall-paper in brixton's den has been loaded down with arsenic, probably paris green or schweinfurth green, which is aceto-arsenite of copper. every minute he is there he is breathing arseniureted hydrogen. some one has contrived to introduce free hydrogen into the intake of his ventilator. that acts on the arsenic compounds in the wall-paper and hangings and sets free the gas. i thought i knew the smell the moment i got a whiff of it. besides, i could tell by the jaundiced look of his face that he was being poisoned. his liver was out of order, and arsenic seems to accumulate in the liver." "slowly poisoned by minute quantities of gas," i repeated in amazement. "some one in that red brotherhood is a diabolical genius. think of it--poisoned wall-paper!" it was still early in the forenoon when kennedy excused himself, and leaving me to my own devices disappeared on one of his excursions into the underworld of the foreign settlements on the east side. about the middle of the afternoon he reappeared. as far as i could learn all that he had found out was that the famous, or rather infamous, professor michael kumanova, one of the leaders of the red brotherhood, was known to be somewhere in this country. we lost no time in returning again to woodrock late that afternoon. craig hastened to warn brixton of his peril from the contaminated atmosphere of the den, and at once a servant was set to work with a vacuum cleaner. carefully craig reconnoitred the basement where the eavesdropping storeroom was situated. finding it deserted, he quickly set to work connecting the two wires of the general household telephone with what looked very much like a seamless iron tube, perhaps six inches long and three inches in diameter. then he connected the tube also with the private wire of brixton in a similar manner. "this is a special repeating-coil of high efficiency," he explained in answer to my inquiry. "it is absolutely balanced as to resistance, number of turns, and everything. i shall run this third line from the coil into brixton's den, and then, if you like, you can accompany me on a little excursion down to the village where i am going to install another similar coil between the two lines at the local telephone central station opposite the railroad." brixton met us about eight o'clock that night in his now renovated den. apparently, even the little change from uncertainty to certainty so far had had a tonic effect on him. i had, however, almost given up the illusion that it was possible for us to be even in the den without being watched by an unseen eye. it seemed to me that to one who could conceive of talking through an incandescent lamp seeing, even through steel and masonry, was not impossible. kennedy had brought with him a rectangular box of oak, in one of the large faces of which were two square boles. as he replaced the black camera-like box of the detectaphone with this oak box he remarked: "this is an intercommunicating telephone arrangement of the detectaphone. you see, it is more sensitive than anything of the sort ever made before. the arrangement of these little square holes is such as to make them act as horns or magnifiers of a double receiver. we can all hear at once what is going on by using this machine." we had not been waiting long before a peculiar noise seemed to issue from the detectaphone. it was as though a door had been opened and shut hastily. some one had evidently entered the storeroom. a voice called up the railroad station and asked for michael kronski, count wachtmann's chauffeur. "it is the voice i heard last night," exclaimed brixton. "by the lord harry, do you know, it is janeff the engineer who has charge of the steam heating, the electric bells, and everything of the sort around the place. my own engineer--i'll land the fellow in jail before i'll--" kennedy raised his hand. "let us hear what he has to say," remonstrated craig calmly. "i suppose you have wondered why i didn't just go down there last night and grab the fellow. well, you see now. it is my invariable rule to get the man highest up. this fellow is only one tool. arrest him, and as likely as not we should allow the big criminal to escape." "hello, kronski!" came over the detectaphone. "this is janeff. how are things going?" wachtmann's chauffeur must have answered that everything was all right. "you knew that they had discovered the poisoned wall-paper?" asked janeff. a long parley followed. finally, janeff repeated what apparently had been his instructions. "now, let me see," he said. "you want me to stay here until the last minute so that i can overhear whether any alarm is given for her? all right. you're sure it is the nine-o'clock train she is due on? very well. i shall meet you at the ferry across the hudson. i'll start from here as soon as i hear the train come in. we'll get the girl this time. that will bring brixton to terms sure. you're right. even if we fail this time, we'll succeed later. don't fail me. i'll be at the ferry as soon as i can get past the guards and join you. there isn't a chance of an alarm from the house. i'll cut all the wires the last thing before i leave. good-bye." all at once it dawned on me what they were planning--the kidnapping of brixton's only daughter, to hold her, perhaps, as a hostage until he did the bidding of the gang. wachtmann's chauffeur was doing it and using wachtmann's car, too. was wachtmann a party to it? what was to be done? i looked at my watch. it was already only a couple of minutes of nine, when the train would be due. "if we could seize that fellow in the closet and start for the station immediately we might save yvonne," cried brixton, starting for the door. "and if they escape you make them more eager than ever to strike a blow at you and yours," put in craig coolly. "no, let us get this thing straight. i didn't think it was as serious as this, but i'm prepared to meet any emergency." "but, man," shouted brixton, "you don't suppose anything in the world counts beside her, do you?" "exactly the point," urged craig. "save her and capture them--both at once." "how can you?" fumed brixton. "if you attempt to telephone from here, that fellow janeff will overhear and give a warning." regardless of whether janeff was listening or not, kennedy was eagerly telephoning to the woodrock central down in the village. he was using the transmitter and receiver that were connected with the iron tube which he had connected to the two regular house lines. "have the ferry held at any cost," he was ordering. "don't let the next boat go out until mr. brixton gets there, under any circumstances. now put that to them straight, central. you know mr. brixton has just a little bit of influence around here, and somebody's head will drop if they let that boat go out before he gets there." "humph!" ejaculated brixton. "much good that will do. why, i suppose our friend janeff down in the storeroom knows it all now. come on, let's grab him." nevertheless there was no sound from the detectaphone which would indicate that he had overheard and was spreading the alarm. he was there yet, for we could hear him clear his throat once or twice. "no," replied kennedy calmly, "he knows nothing about it. i didn't use any ordinary means to prepare against the experts who have brought this situation about. that message you heard me send went out over what we call the 'phantom circuit.'" "the phantom circuit?" repeated brixton, chafing at the delay. "yes, it seems fantastic at first, i suppose," pursued kennedy calmly; "but, after all, it is in accordance with the laws of electricity. it's no use fretting and fuming, mr. brixton. if janeff can wait, we'll have to do so, too. suppose we should start and this kronski should change his plans at the last minute? how would we find it out? by telepathy? believe me, sir, it is better to wait here a minute and trust to the phantom circuit than to mere chance." "but suppose he should cut the line," i put in. kennedy smiled. "i have provided for that, walter, in the way i installed the thing. i took good care that we could not be cut off that way. we can hear everything ourselves, but we cannot be overheard. he knows nothing. you see, i took advantage of the fact that additional telephones or so-called phantom lines can be superposed on existing physical lines. it is possible to obtain a third circuit from two similar metallic circuits by using for each side of this third circuit the two wires of each of the other circuits in multiple. all three circuits are independent, too. "the third telephone current enters the wires of the first circuit, as it were, and returns along the wires of the second circuit. there are several ways of doing it. one is to use retardation or choke-coils bridged across the two metallic circuits at both ends, with taps taken from the middle points of each. but the more desirable method is the one you saw me install this afternoon. i introduced repeating-coils into the circuits at both ends. technically, the third circuit is then taken off from the mid-points of the secondaries or line windings of these repeating coils. "the current on a long-distance line is alternating in character, and it passes readily through a repeating-coil. the only effect it has on the transmission is slightly reducing the volume. the current passes into the repeating-coil, then divides and passes through the two line wires. at the other end the halves balance, so to speak. thus, currents passing over a phantom circuit don't set up currents in the terminal apparatus of the side circuits. consequently, a conversation carried on over the phantom circuit will not be heard in either side circuit, nor does a conversation on one side circuit affect the phantom. we could all talk at once without interfering with each other." "at any other time i should be more than interested," remarked brixton grimly, curbing his impatience to be doing something. "i appreciate that, sir," rejoined kennedy. "ah, here it is. i have the central down in the village. yes? they will hold the boat for us? good. thank you. the nine-o'clock train is five minutes late? yes--what? count wachtmann's car is there? oh, yes, the train is just pulling in. i see. miss brixton has entered his car alone. what's that? his chauffeur has started the car without waiting for the count, who is coming down the platform?" instantly kennedy was on his feet. he was dashing up the corridor and the stairs from the den and down into the basement to the little storeroom. we burst into the place. it was empty. janeff had cut the wires and fled. there was not a moment to lose. craig hastily made sure that he had not discovered or injured the phantom circuit. "call the fastest car you have in your garage, mr. brixton," ordered kennedy. "hello, hello, central! get the lodge at the brixton estate. tell them if they see the engineer janeff going out to stop him. alarm the watchman and have the dogs ready. catch him at any cost, dead, or alive." a moment later brixton's car raced around, and we piled in and were off like a whirlwind. already we could see lights moving about and hear the baying of dogs. personally, i wouldn't have given much for janeff's chances of escape. as we turned the bend in the road just before we reached the ferry, we almost ran into two cars standing before the ferry house. it looked as though one had run squarely in front of the other and blocked it off. in the slip the ferry boat was still steaming and waiting. beside the wrecked car a man was lying on the ground groaning, while another man was quieting a girl whom he was leading to the waiting-room of the ferry. brixton, weak though he was from his illness, leaped out of our car almost before we stopped and caught the girl in his arms. "father!" she exclaimed, clinging to him. "what's this?" he demanded sternly, eying the man. it was wachtmann himself. "conrad saved me from that chauffeur of his," explained miss brixton. "i met him on the train, and we were going to ride up to the house together. but before conrad could get into the car this fellow, who had the engine running, started it. conrad jumped into another car that was waiting at the station. he overlook us and dodged in front so as to cut the chauffeur off from the ferry." "curse that villain of a chauffeur," muttered wachtmann, looking down at the wounded man. "do you know who he is?" asked craig with a searching glance at wachtmann's face. "i ought to. his name is kronski, and a blacker devil an employment bureau never furnished." "kronski? no," corrected kennedy. "it is professor kumanova, whom you perhaps have heard of as a leader of the red brotherhood, one of the cleverest scientific criminals who ever lived. i think you'll have no more trouble negotiating your loan or your love affair, count," added craig, turning on his heel. he was in no mood to receive the congratulations of the supercilious wachtmann. as far as craig was concerned, the case was finished, although i fancied from a flicker of his eye as he made some passing reference to the outcome that when he came to send in a bill to brixton for his services he would not forget the high eyebrowed count. i followed in silence as craig climbed into the brixton car and explained to the banker that it was imperative that he should get back to the city immediately. nothing would do but that the car must take us all the way back, while brixton summoned another from the house for himself. the ride was accomplished swiftly in record time. kennedy said little. apparently the exhilaration of the on-rush of cool air was quite in keeping with his mood, though for my part, i should have preferred something a little more relaxing of the nervous tension. "we've been at it five days, now," i remarked wearily as i dropped into an easy chair in our own quarters. "are you going to keep up this debauch?" kennedy laughed. "no," he said with a twinkle of scientific mischief, "no, i'm going to sleep it off." "thank heaven!" i muttered. "because," he went on seriously, "that case interrupted a long series of tests i am making on the sensitiveness of selenium to light, and i want to finish them up soon. there's no telling when i shall be called on to use the information." i swallowed hard. he really meant it. he was laying out more work for himself. next morning i fully expected to find that he had gone. instead he was preparing for what he called a quiet day in the laboratory. "now for some real work," he smiled. "sometimes, walter, i feel that i ought to give up this outside activity and devote myself entirely to research. it is so much more important." i could only stare at him and reflect on how often men wanted to do something other than the very thing that nature had evidently intended them to do, and on how fortunate it was that we were not always free agents. he set out for the laboratory and i determined that as long as he would not stop working, neither would i. i tried to write. somehow i was not in the mood. i wrote at my story, but succeeded only in making it more unintelligible. i was in no fit condition for it. it was late in the afternoon. i had made up my mind to use force, if necessary, to separate kennedy from his study of selenium. my idea was that anything from the metropolitan to the "movies" would do him good, and i had almost carried my point when a big, severely plain black foreign limousine pulled up with a rush at the laboratory door. a large man in a huge fur coat jumped out and the next moment strode into the room. he needed no introduction, for we recognised at once j. perry spencer, one of the foremost of american financiers and a trustee of the university. with that characteristic directness which i have always thought accounted in large measure for his success, he wasted scarcely a word in coming straight to the object of his visit. "professor kennedy," he began, chewing his cigar and gazing about with evident interest at the apparatus craig had collected in his warfare of science with crime, "i have dropped in here as a matter of patriotism. i want you to preserve to america those masterpieces of art and literature which i have collected all over the world during many years. they are the objects of one of the most curious pieces of vandalism of which i have ever heard. professor kennedy," he concluded earnestly, "could i ask you to call on dr. hugo lith, the curator of my private museum, as soon as you can possibly find it convenient?" "most assuredly, mr. spencer," replied craig, with a whimsical side glance at me that told without words that this was better relaxation to him than either the metropolitan or the "movies." "i shall be glad to see dr. lith at any time--right now, if it is convenient to him." the millionaire connoisseur consulted his watch. "lith will be at the museum until six, at least. yes, we can catch him there. i have a dinner engagement at seven myself. i can give you half an hour of the time before then. if you're ready, just jump into the car, both of you." the museum to which he referred was a handsome white marble building, in renaissance, fronting on a side street just off fifth avenue and in the rear of the famous spencer house, itself one of the show places of that wonderful thoroughfare. spencer had built the museum at great cost simply to house those treasures which were too dear to him to entrust to a public institution. it was in the shape of a rectangle and planned with special care as to the lighting. dr. lith, a rather stout, mild-eyed german savant, plunged directly into the middle of things as soon as we had been introduced. "it is a most remarkable affair, gentlemen," he began, placing for us chairs that must have been hundreds of years old. "at first it was only those objects in the museum, that were green that were touched, like the collection of famous and historic french emeralds. but soon we found it was other things, too, that were missing--old roman coins of gold, a collection of watches, and i know not what else until we have gone over the--" "where is miss white?" interrupted spencer, who had been listening somewhat impatiently. "in the library, sir. shall i call her?" "no, i will go myself. i want her to tell her experience to professor kennedy exactly as she told it to me. explain while i am gone how impossible it would be for a visitor to do one, to say nothing of all, of the acts of vandalism we have discovered." vii the green curse the american medici disappeared into his main library, where miss white was making a minute examination to determine what damage had been done in the realm over which she presided. "apparently every book with a green binding has been mutilated in some way," resumed dr. lith, "but that was only the beginning. others have suffered, too, and some are even gone. it is impossible that any visitor could have done it. only a few personal friends of mr. spencer are ever admitted here, and they are never alone. no, it is weird, mysterious." just then spencer returned with miss white. she was an extremely attractive girl, slight of figure, but with an air about her that all the imported gowns in new york could not have conferred. they were engaged in animated conversation, so much in contrast with the bored air with which spencer had listened to dr. lith that even i noticed that the connoisseur was completely obliterated in the man, whose love of beauty was by no means confined to the inanimate. i wondered if it was merely his interest in her story that impelled spencer. the more i watched the girl the more i was convinced that she knew that she was interesting to the millionaire. "for example," dr. lith was saying, "the famous collection of emeralds which has disappeared has always been what you americans call 'hoodooed.' they hare always brought ill luck, and, like many things of the sort to which superstition attaches, they have been 'banked,' so to speak, by their successive owners in museums." "are they salable; that is, could any one dispose of the emeralds or the other curios with reasonable safety and at a good price?" "oh, yes, yes," hastened dr. lith, "not as collections, but separately. the emeralds alone cost fifty thousand dollars. i believe mr. spencer bought them for mrs. spencer some years before she died. she did not care to wear them, however, and had them placed here." i thought i noticed a shade of annoyance cross the face of the magnate. "never mind that," he interrupted. "let me introduce miss white. i think you will find her story one of the most uncanny you have ever heard." he had placed a chair for her and, still addressing us but looking at her, went on: "it seems that the morning the vandalism was first discovered she and dr. lith at once began a thorough search of the building to ascertain the extent of the depredations. the search lasted all day, and well into the night. i believe it was midnight before you finished?" "it was almost twelve," began the girl, in a musical voice that was too parisian to harmonize with her plain anglo-saxon name, "when dr. lith was down here in his office checking off the objects in the catalogue which were either injured or missing. i had been working in the library. the noise of something like a shade flapping in the wind attracted my attention. i listened. it seemed to come from the art-gallery, a large room up-stairs where some of the greatest masterpieces in this country are hung. i hurried up there. "just as i reached the door a strange feeling seemed to come over me that i was not alone in that room. i fumbled for the electric light switch, but in my nervousness could not find it. there was just enough light in the room to make out objects indistinctly. i thought i heard a low, moaning sound from an old flemish copper ewer near me. i had heard that it was supposed to groan at night." she paused and shuddered at her recollection, and looked about as if grateful for the flood of electric light that now illuminated everything. spencer reached over and touched her arm to encourage her to go on. she did not seem to resent the touch. "opposite me, in the middle of the open floor," she resumed, her eyes dilated and her breath coming and going rapidly, "stood the mummy-case of ka, an egyptian priestess of thebes, i think. the case was empty, but on the lid was painted a picture of the priestess! such wonderful eyes! they seem to pierce right through your very soul. often in the daytime i have stolen off to look at them. but at night--remember the hour of night, too--oh, it was awful, terrible. the lid of the mummy-case moved, yes, really moved, and seemed to float to one side. i could see it. and back of that carved and painted face with the piercing eyes was another face, a real face, real eyes, and they looked out at me with such hatred from the place that i knew was empty--" she had risen and was facing us with wild terror written on her face as if in appeal for protection against something she was powerless to name. spencer, who had not taken his hand off her arm, gently pressed her back into the easy chair and finished the story. "she screamed and fainted. dr. lith heard it and rushed up-stairs. there she lay on the floor. the lid of the sarcophagus had really been moved. he saw it. not a thing else had been disturbed. he carried her down here and revived her, told her to rest for a day or two, but--" "i cannot, i cannot," she cried. "it is the fascination of the thing. it brings me back here. i dream of it. i thought i saw those eyes the other night. they haunt me. i fear them, and yet i would not avoid them, if it killed me to look. i must meet and defy the power. what is it? is it a curse four thousand years old that has fallen on me?" i had heard stories of mummies that rose from their sleep of centuries to tell the fate of some one when it was hanging in the balance, of mummies that groaned and gurgled and fought for breath, frantically beating with their swathed hands in the witching hours of the night. and i knew that the lure of these mummies was so strong for some people that they were drawn irresistibly to look upon and confer with them. was this a case for the oculists, the spiritualists, the egyptologists, or for a detective? "i should like to examine the art gallery, in fact, go over the whole museum," put in kennedy in his most matter-of-fact tone. spencer, with a glance at his watch, excused himself, nodding to dr. lith to show us about, and with a good night to miss white which was noticeable for its sympathy with her fears, said, "i shall be at the house for another half-hour at least, in case anything really important develops." a few minutes later miss white left for the night, with apparent reluctance, and yet, i thought, with just a little shudder as she looked back up the staircase that led to the art-gallery. dr. lith led us into a large vaulted marble hall and up a broad flight of steps, past beautiful carvings and frescoes that i should have liked to stop and admire. the art-gallery was a long room in the interior and at the top of the building, windowless but lighted by a huge double skylight each half of which must have been some eight or ten feet across. the light falling through this skylight passed through plate glass of marvellous transparency. one looked up at the sky as if through the air itself. kennedy ignored the gallery's profusion of priceless art for the time and went directly to the mummy-case of the priestess ka. "it has a weird history," remarked dr. lith. "no less than seven deaths, as well as many accidents, have been attributed to the malign influence of that greenish yellow coffin. you know the ancient egyptians used to chant as they buried their sacred dead: 'woe to him who injures the tomb. the dead shall point out the evildoer to the devourer of the underworld. soul and body shall be destroyed.'" it was indeed an awesome thing. it represented a woman in the robes of an egyptian priestess, a woman of medium height, with an inscrutable face. the slanting egyptian eyes did, as miss white had said, almost literally stare through you. i am sure that any one possessing a nature at all affected by such things might after a few minutes gazing at them in self-hypnotism really convince himself that the eyes moved and were real. even as i turned and looked the other way i felt that those penetrating eyes were still looking at me, never asleep, always keen and searching. there was no awe about kennedy. he carefully pushed aside the lid and peered inside. i almost expected to see some one in there. a moment later he pulled out his magnifying-glass and carefully examined the interior. at last he was apparently satisfied with his search. he had narrowed his attention down to a few marks on the stone, partly in the thin layer of dust that had collected on the bottom. "this was a very modern and material reincarnation," he remarked, as he rose. "if i am not mistaken, the apparition wore shoes, shoes with nails in the heels, and nails that are not like those in american shoes. i shall have to compare the marks i have found with marks i have copied from shoe-nails in the wonderful collection of m. bertillon. offhand, i should say that the shoes were of french make." the library having been gone over next without anything attracting kennedy's attention particularly, he asked about the basement or cellar. dr. lith lighted the way, and we descended. down there were innumerable huge packing-cases which had just arrived from abroad, full of the latest consignment of art treasures which spencer had purchased. apparently dr. lith and miss white had been so engrossed in discovering what damage had been done to the art treasures above that they had not had time to examine the new ones in the basement. kennedy's first move was to make a thorough search of all the little grated windows and a door which led out into a sort of little areaway for the removal of ashes and refuse. the door showed no evidence of having been tampered with, nor did any of the windows at first sight. a low exclamation from kennedy brought us to his side. he had opened one of the windows and thrust his hand out against the grating, which had fallen on the outside pavement with a clang. the bars had been completely and laboriously sawed through, and the whole thing had been wedged back into place so that nothing would be detected at a cursory glance. he was regarding the lock on the window. apparently it was all right; actually it had been sprung so that it was useless. "most persons," he remarked, "don't know enough about jimmies. against them an ordinary door-lock or window-catch is no protection. with a jimmy eighteen inches long even an anaemic burglar can exert a pressure sufficient to lift two tons. not one window in a thousand can stand that strain. the only use of locks is to keep out sneak-thieves and compel the modern scientific educated burglar to make a noise. but making a noise isn't enough here, at night. this place with all its fabulous treasures must be guarded constantly, now, every hour, as if the front door were wide open." the bars replaced and the window apparently locked as before, craig devoted his efforts to examining the packing cases in the basement. as yet apparently nothing down there had been disturbed. but while rummaging about, from an angle formed behind one of the cases he drew forth a cane, to all appearances an ordinary malacca walking-stick. he balanced it in his hand a moment, then shook his head. "too heavy for a malacca," he ruminated. then an idea seemed to occur to him. he gave the handle a twist. sure enough, it came off, and as it did so a bright little light flashed up. "well, what do you think of that?" he exclaimed. "for a scientific dark-lantern that is the neatest thing i have ever seen. an electric light cane, with a little incandescent lamp and a battery hidden in it. this grows interesting. we must at last have found the cache of a real gentleman burglar such as bertillon says exists only in books. i wonder if he has anything else hidden back here." he reached down and pulled out a peculiar little instrument--a single blue steel cylinder. he fitted a hard rubber cap snugly into the palm of his hand, and with the first and middle fingers encircled the cylinder over a steel ring near the other end. a loud report followed, and a vase, just unpacked, at the opposite end of the basement was shattered as if by an explosion. "phew!" exclaimed kennedy. "i didn't mean to do that. i knew the thing was loaded, but i had no idea the hair-spring ring at the end was so delicate as to shoot it off at a touch. it's one of those aristocratic little apache pistols that one can carry in his vest pocket and hide in his hand. say, but that stung! and back here is a little box of cartridges, too." we looked at each other in amazement at the chance find. apparently the vandal had planned a series of visits. "now, let me see," resumed kennedy. "i suppose our very human but none the less mysterious intruder expected to use these again. well, let him try. i'll put them back here for the present. i want to watch in the art-gallery to-night." i could not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be an inside job and the fixing of the window merely a blind. or was the vandal fascinated by the subtle influence of mysticism that so often seems to emanate from objects that have come down from the remote ages of the world? i could not help asking myself whether the story that miss white had told was absolutely true. had there been anything more than superstition in the girl's evident fright? she had seen something, i felt sure, for it was certain she was very much disturbed. but what was it she had really seen? so far all that kennedy had found had proved that the reincarnation of the priestess ka had been very material. perhaps the "reincarnation" had got in in the daytime and had spent the hours until night in the mummy-case. it might well have been chosen as the safest and least suspicious hiding-place. kennedy evidently had some ideas and plans, for no sooner had he completed arrangements with dr. lith so that we could get into the museum that night to watch, than he excused himself. scarcely around the corner on the next business street he hurried into a telephone booth. "i called up first deputy o'connor," he explained as he left the booth a quarter of an hour later. "you know it is the duty of two of o'connor's men to visit all the pawn-shops of the city at least once a week, looking over recent pledges and comparing them with descriptions of stolen articles. i gave him a list from that catalogue of dr. lith's and i think that if any of the emeralds, for instance, have been pawned his men will be on the alert and will find it out." we had a leisurely dinner at a near-by hotel, during most of which time kennedy gazed vacantly at his food. only once did he mention the case, and that was almost as if he were thinking aloud. "nowadays," he remarked, "criminals are exceptionally well informed. they used to steal only money and jewels; to-day it is famous pictures and antiques also. they know something about the value of antique bronze and marble. in fact, the spread of a taste for art has taught the enterprising burglar that such things are worth money, and he, in turn, has educated up the receivers of stolen goods to pay a reasonable percentage of the value of his artistic plunder. the success of the european art thief is enlightening the american thief. that's why i think we'll find some of this stuff in the hands of the professional fences." it was still early in the evening when we returned to the museum and let ourselves in with the key that dr. lith had loaned kennedy. he had been anxious to join us in the watch, but craig had diplomatically declined, a circumstance that puzzled me and set me thinking that perhaps he suspected the curator himself. we posted ourselves in an angle where we could not possibly be seen even if the full force of the electrolier were switched on. hour after hour we waited. but nothing happened. there were strange and weird noises in plenty, not calculated to reassure one, but craig was always ready with an explanation. it was in the forenoon of the day after our long and unfruitful vigil in the art-gallery that dr. lith himself appeared at our apartment in a great state of perturbation. "miss white has disappeared," he gasped, in answer to craig's hurried question. "when i opened the museum, she was not there as she is usually. instead, i found this note." he laid the following hastily written message on the table: do not try to follow me. it is the green curse that has pursued me from paris. i cannot escape it, but i may prevent it from affecting others. lucille white. that was all. we looked at each other at a loss to understand the enigmatic wording--"the green curse." "i rather expected something of the sort," observed kennedy. "by the way, the shoenails were french, as i surmised. they show the marks of french heels. it was miss white herself who hid in the mummy-case." "impossible," exclaimed dr. lith incredulously. as for myself, i had learned that it was of no use being incredulous with kennedy. a moment later the door opened, and one of o'connor's men came in bursting with news. some of the emeralds had been discovered in a third avenue pawn-shop. o'connor, mindful of the historic fate of the mexican madonna and the stolen statue of the egyptian goddess neith, had instituted a thorough search with the result that at least part of the pilfered jewels had been located. there was only one clue to the thief, but it looked promising. the pawnbroker described him as "a crazy frenchman of an artist," tall, with a pointed black beard. in pawning the jewels he had given the name of edouard delaverde, and the city detectives were making a canvass of the better known studios in hope of tracing him. kennedy, dr. lith and myself walked around to the boarding-house where miss white lived. there was nothing about it, from the landlady to the gossip, to distinguish it from scores of other places of the better sort. we had no trouble in finding out that miss white had not returned home at all the night before. the landlady seemed to look on her as a woman of mystery, and confided to us that it was an open secret that she was not an american at all, but a french girl whose name, she believed, was really lucille leblanc--which, after all, was white. kennedy made no comment, but i wavered between the conclusions that she had been the victim of foul play and that she might be the criminal herself, or at least a member of a band of criminals. no trace of her could be found through the usual agencies for locating missing persons. it was the middle of the afternoon, however, when word came to us that one of the city detectives had apparently located the studio of delaverde. it was coupled with the interesting information that the day before a woman roughly answering the description of miss white had been seen there. delaverde himself was gone. the building to which the detective took us was down-town in a residence section which had remained as a sort of little eddy to one side of the current of business that had swept everything before it up-town. it was an old building and large, and was entirely given over to studios of artists. into one of the cheapest of the suites we were directed. it was almost bare of furniture and in a peculiarly shiftless state of disorder. a half-finished picture stood in the centre of the room, and several completed ones were leaning against the wall. they were of the wildest character imaginable. even the conceptions of the futurists looked tame in comparison. kennedy at once began rummaging and exploring. in a corner of a cupboard near the door he disclosed a row of dark-colored bottles. one was filled halfway with an emerald-green liquid. he held it up to the light and read the label, "absinthe." "ah," he exclaimed with evident interest, looking first at the bottle and then at the wild, formless pictures. "our crazy frenchman was an absintheur. i thought the pictures were rather the product of a disordered mind than of genius." he replaced the bottle, adding: "it is only recently that our own government placed a ban on the importation of that stuff as a result of the decision of the department of agriculture that it was dangerous to health and conflicted with the pure food law. in france they call it the 'scourge,' the 'plague,' the 'enemy,' the 'queen of poisons.' compared with other alcoholic beverages it has the greatest toxicity of all. there are laws against the stuff in france, switzerland, and belgium. it isn't the alcohol alone, although there is from fifty to eighty per cent. in it, that makes it so deadly. it is the absinthe, the oil of wormwood, whose bitterness has passed into a proverb. the active principle absinthin is a narcotic poison. the stuff creates a habit most insidious and difficult to break, a longing more exacting than hunger. it is almost as fatal as cocaine in its blasting effects on mind and body. "wormwood," he pursued, still rummaging about, "has a special affinity for the brain-cells and the nervous system in general. it produces a special affliction of the mind, which might be called absinthism. loss of will follows its use, brutishness, softening of the brain. it gives rise to the wildest hallucinations. perhaps that was why our absintheur chose first to destroy or steal all things green, as if there were some merit in the colour, when he might have made away with so many more valuable things. absintheurs have been known to perform some of the most intricate manoeuvres, requiring great skill and the use of delicate tools. they are given to disappearing, and have no memory of their actions afterward." on an ink-spattered desk lay some books, including lombroso's "degenerate man" and "criminal woman." kennedy glanced at them, then at a crumpled manuscript that was stuck into a pigeonhole. it was written in a trembling, cramped, foreign hand, evidently part of a book, or an article. "oh, the wickedness of wealth!" it began. "while millions of the poor toilers slave and starve and shiver, the slave-drivers of to-day, like the slave-drivers of ancient egypt, spend the money wrung from the blood of the people in useless and worthless toys of art while the people have no bread, in old books while the people have no homes, in jewels while the people have no clothes. thousands are spent on dead artists, but a dollar is grudged to a living genius. down with such art! i dedicate my life to righting the wrongs of the proletariat. vive l'anarchism!" the thing was becoming more serious. but by far the most serious discovery in the now deserted studio was a number of large glass tubes in a corner, some broken, others not yet used and standing in rows as if waiting to be filled. a bottle labelled "sulphuric acid" stood at one end of a shelf, while at the other was a huge jar full of black grains, next a bottle of chlorate of potash. kennedy took a few of the black grains and placed them on a metal ash-tray. he lighted a match. there was a puff and a little cloud of smoke. "ah," he exclaimed, "black gunpowder. our absintheur was a bomb-maker, an expert perhaps. let me see. i imagine he was making an explosive bomb, ingeniously contrived of five glass tubes. the centre one, i venture, contained sulphuric acid and chlorate of potash separated by a close-packed wad of cotton wool. then the two tubes on each side probably contained the powder, and perhaps the outside tubes were filled with spirits of turpentine. when it is placed in position, it is so arranged that the acid in the center tube is uppermost and will thus gradually soak through the cotton wool and cause great heat and an explosion by contact with the potash. that would ignite the powder in the next tubes, and that would scatter the blazing turpentine, causing a terrific explosion and a widespread fire. with an imperative idea of vengeance, such as that manuscript discloses, either for his own wrongs as an artist or for the fancied wrongs of the people, what may this absintheur not be planning now? he has disappeared, but perhaps he may be more dangerous if found than if lost." viii the mummy case the horrible thought occurred to me that perhaps he was not alone. i had seen spencer's infatuation with his attractive librarian. the janitor of the studio-building was positive that a woman answering her description had been a visitor at the studio. would she be used to get at the millionaire and his treasures? was she herself part of the plot to victimise, perhaps kill, him? the woman had been much of an enigma to me at first. she was more so now. it was barely possible that she, too, was an absintheur, who had shaken off the curse for a time only to relapse into it again. if there were any thoughts like these passing through kennedy's mind he did not show it, at least not in the shape of hesitating in the course he had evidently mapped out to follow. he said little, but hurried off from the studio in a cab up-town again to the laboratory. a few minutes later we were speeding down to the museum. there was not much time for craig to work if he hoped to be ready for anything that might happen that night. he began by winding coil after coil of copper wire about the storeroom in the basement of the museum. it was not a very difficult matter to conceal it, so crowded was the room, or to lead the ends out through a window at the opposite side from that where the window had been broken open. up-stairs in the art-gallery he next installed several boxes such as those which i had seen him experimenting with during his tests of selenium on the afternoon when mr. spencer had first called on us. they were camera-like boxes, about ten inches long, three inches or so wide, and four inches deep. one end was open, or at least looked as though the end had been shoved several inches into the interior of the box. i looked into one of the boxes and saw a slit in the wall that had been shoved in. kennedy was busy adjusting the apparatus, and paused only to remark that the boxes contained two sensitive selenium surfaces balanced against two carbon resistances. there was also in the box a clockwork mechanism which craig wound up and set ticking ever so softly. then he moved a rod that seemed to cover the slit, until the apparatus was adjusted to his satisfaction, a delicate operation, judging by the care he took. several of these boxes were installed, and by that time it was quite late. wires from the apparatus in the art-gallery also led outside, and these as well as the wires from the coils down in the basement he led across the bit of garden back of the spencer house and up to a room on the top floor. in the upper room he attached the wires from the storeroom to what looked like a piece of crystal and a telephone receiver. those from the art-gallery terminated in something very much like the apparatus which a wireless operator wears over his head. among other things which craig had brought down from the laboratory was a package which he had not yet unwrapped. he placed it near the window, still wrapped. it was quite large, and must have weighed fifteen or twenty pounds. that done, he produced a tape-measure and began, as if he were a surveyor, to measure various distances and apparently to calculate the angles and distances from the window-sill of the spencer house to the skylight, which was the exact centre of the museum. the straight distance, if i recall correctly, was in the neighborhood of four hundred feet. these preparations completed, there was nothing left to do but to wait for something to happen. spencer had declined to get alarmed about our fears for his own safety, and only with difficulty had we been able to dissuade him from moving heaven and earth to find miss white, a proceeding which must certainly have disarranged kennedy's carefully laid plans. so interested was he that he postponed one of the most important business conferences of the year, growing out of the anti-trust suits, in order to be present with dr. lith and ourselves in the little upper back room. it was quite late when kennedy completed his hasty arrangements, yet as the night advanced we grew more and more impatient for something to happen. craig was apparently even more anxious than he had been the night before, when we watched in the art-gallery itself. spencer was nervously smoking, lighting one cigar furiously from another until the air was almost blue. scarcely a word was spoken as hour after hour craig sat with the receiver to his ear, connected with the coils down in the storeroom. "you might call this an electric detective," he had explained to spencer. "for example, if you suspected that anything out of the way was going on in a room anywhere this would report much to you even if you were miles away. it is the discovery of a student of thorne baker, the english electrical expert. he was experimenting with high-frequency electric currents, investigating the nature of the discharges used for electrifying certain things. quite by accident he found that when the room on which he was experimenting was occupied by some person his measuring-instruments indicated that fact. he tested the degree of variation by passing the current first through the room and then through a sensitive crystal to a delicate telephone receiver. there was a distinct change in the buzzing sound heard through the telephone when the room was occupied or unoccupied. what i have done is to wind single loops of plain wire on each side of that room down there, as well as to wind around the room a few turns of concealed copper wire. these collectors are fitted to a crystal of carborundum and a telephone receiver." we had each tried the thing and could hear a distinct buzzing in the receiver. "the presence of a man or woman in that room would be evident to a person listening miles away," he went on. "a high-frequency current is constantly passing through that storeroom. that is what causes that normal buzzing." it was verging on midnight when kennedy suddenly cried: "here, walter, take this receiver. you remember how the buzzing sounded. listen. tell me if you, too, can detect the change." i clapped the receiver quickly to my ear. indeed i could tell the difference. in place of the load buzzing there was only a mild sound. it was slower and lower. "that means," he said excitedly, "that some one has entered that pitch-dark storeroom by the broken window. let me take the receiver back again. ah, the buzzing is coming back. he is leaving the room. i suppose he has found the electric light cane and the pistol where he left them. now, walter, since you have become accustomed to this thing take it and tell me what you hear." craig had already seized the other apparatus connected with the art-gallery and had the wireless receiver over his head. he was listening with rapt attention, talking while he waited. "this is an apparatus," he was saying, "that was devised by dr. fournier d'albe, lecturer on physics at birmingham university, to aid the blind. it is known as the optophone. what i am literally doing now is to hear light. the optophone translates light into sound by means of that wonderful little element, selenium, which in darkness is a poor conductor of electricity, but in light is a good conductor. this property is used in the optophone in transmitting an electric current which is interrupted by a special clockwork interrupter. it makes light and darkness audible in the telephone. this thing over my head is like a wireless telephone receiver, capable of detecting a current of even a quarter of a microampere." we were all waiting expectantly for craig to speak. evidently the intruder was now mounting the stairs to the art-gallery. "actually i can hear the light of the stars shining in through that wonderful plate glass skylight of yours, mr. spencer," he went on. "a few moments ago when the moon shone through i could hear it, like the rumble of a passing cart. i knew it was the moon both because i could see that it must be shining in and because i recognised the sound. the sun would thunder like a passing express-train if it were daytime now. i can distinguish a shadow passing between the optophone and the light. a hand moved across in front of it would give a purring sound, and a glimpse out of a window in daylight would sound like a cinematograph reeling off a film. "ah, there he is." craig was listening with intense excitement now. "our intruder has entered the art-gallery. he is flashing his electric light cane about at various objects, reconnoitring. no doubt if i were expert enough and had had time to study it, i could tell you by the sound just what he is looking at." "craig," i interrupted, this time very excited myself, "the buzzing from the high-frequency current is getting lower and lower." "by george, then, there is another of them," he replied. "i'm not surprised. keep a sharp watch. tell me the moment the buzzing increases again." spencer could scarcely control his impatience. it had been a long time since he had been a mere spectator, and he did not seem to relish being held in check by anybody. "now that you are sure the vandal is there," he cut in, his cigar out in his excitement, "can't we make a dash over there and get him before he has a chance to do any more damage? he might be destroying thousands of dollars' worth of stuff while we are waiting here." "and he could destroy the whole collection, building and all, including ourselves into the bargain, if he heard so much as a whisper from us," added kennedy firmly. "that second person has left the storeroom, craig," i put in. "the buzzing has returned again full force." kennedy tore the wireless receiver from his ear. "here, walter, never mind about that electric detective any more, then. take the optophone. describe minutely to me just exactly what you hear." he had taken from his pocket a small metal ball. i seized the receiver from him and fitted it to my ear. it took me several instants to accustom my ears to the new sounds, but they were plain enough, and i shouted my impressions of their variations. kennedy was busy at the window over the heavy package, from which he had torn the wrapping. his back was toward us, and we could not see what he was doing. a terrific din sounded in my ears, almost splitting my ear-drums. it was as though i had been suddenly hurled into a magnified cave of the winds and a cataract mightier than niagara was thundering at me. it was so painful that i cried out in surprise and involuntarily dropped the receiver to the floor. "it was the switching on of the full glare of the electric lights in the art-gallery," craig shouted. "the other person must have got up to the room quicker than i expected. here goes." a loud explosion took place, apparently on the very window-sill of our room. almost at the same instant there was a crash of glass from the museum. we sprang to the window, i expecting to see kennedy injured, spencer expecting to see his costly museum a mass of smoking ruins. instead we saw nothing of the sort. on the window-ledge was a peculiar little instrument that looked like a miniature field-gun with an elaborate system of springs and levers to break the recoil. craig had turned from it so suddenly that he actually ran full tilt into us. "come on," he cried breathlessly, bolting from the room, and seizing dr. lith by the arm as he did so. "dr. lith, the keys to the museum, quick! we must get there before the fumes clear away." he was taking the stairs two at a time, dragging the dignified curator with him. in fewer seconds than i can tell it we were in the museum and mounting the broad staircase to the art-gallery. an overpowering gas seemed to permeate everything. "stand back a moment," cautioned kennedy as we neared the door. "i have just shot in here one of those asphyxiating bombs which the paris police invented to war against the apaches and the motor-car bandits. open all the windows back here and let the air clear. walter, breathe as little of it as you can--but--come here--do you see?--over there, near the other door--a figure lying on the floor? make a dash in after me and carry it out. there is just one thing more. if i am not back in a minute come in and try to get me." he had already preceded me into the stifling fumes. with a last long breath of fresh air i plunged in after him, scarcely knowing what would happen to me. i saw the figure on the floor, seized it, and backed out of the room as fast as i could. dizzy and giddy from the fumes i had been forced to inhale, i managed to drag the form to the nearest window. it was lucille white. an instant later i felt myself unceremoniously pushed aside. spencer had forgotten all about the millions of dollars' worth of curios, all about the suspicions that had been entertained against her, and had taken the half-conscious burden from me. "this is the second time i have found you here, edouard," she was muttering in her half-delirium, still struggling. "the first time--that night i hid in the mummy-case, you fled when i called for help. i have followed you every moment since last night to prevent this. edouard, don't, don't! remember i was--i am your wife. listen to me. oh, it is the absinthe that has spoiled your art and made it worthless, not the critics. it is not mr. spencer who has enticed me away, but you who drove me away, first from paris, and now from new york. he has been only--no! no!--" she was shrieking now, her eyes wide open as she realised it was spencer himself she saw leaning over her. with a great effort she seemed to rouse herself. "don't stay. run--run. leave me. he has a bomb that may go off at any moment. oh--oh--it is the curse of absinthe that pursues me. will you not go? vite! vite!" she had almost fainted and was lapsing into french, laughing and crying alternately, telling him to go, yet clinging to him. spencer paid no attention to what she had said of the bomb. but i did. the minute was up, and kennedy was in there yet. i turned to rush in again to warn him at any peril. just then a half-conscious form staggered against me. it was craig himself. he was holding the infernal machine of the five glass tubes that might at any instant blow us into eternity. overcome himself, he stumbled. the sinking sensation in my heart i can never describe. it was just a second that i waited for the terrific explosion that was to end it all for us, one long interminable second. but it did not come. limp as i was with the shock, i dropped down beside him and bent over. "a glass of water, walter," he murmured, "and fan me a bit. i didn't dare trust myself to carry the thing complete, so i emptied the acid into the sarcophagus. i guess i must have stayed in there too long. but we are safe. see if you can drag out delaverde. he is in there by the mummy-case." spencer was still holding lucille, although she was much better in the fresh air of the hall. "i understand," he was muttering. "you have been following this fiend of a husband of yours to protect the museum and myself from him. lucille, lucille--look at me. you are mine, not his, whether he is dead or alive. i will free you from him, from the curse of the absinthe that has pursued you." the fumes had cleared a great deal by this time. in the centre of the art-gallery we found a man, a tall, black-bearded frenchman, crazy indeed from the curse of the green absinthe that had ruined him. he was scarcely breathing from a deadly wound in his chest. the hair-spring ring of the apache pistol had exploded the cartridge as he fell. spencer did not even look at him, as he carried his own burden down to the little office of dr. lith. "when a rich man marries a girl who has been earning her own living, the newspapers always distort it," he whispered aside to me a few minutes later. "jameson, you're a newspaperman--i depend on you to get the facts straight this time." outside, kennedy grasped my arm. "you'll do that, walter?" he asked persuasively. "spencer is a client that one doesn't get every day. just drop into the star office and give them the straight story, i'll promise you i'll not take another case until you are free again to go on with me in it." there was no denying him. as briefly as i could i rehearsed the main facts to the managing editor late that night. i was too tired to write it at length, yet i could not help a feeling of satisfaction as he exclaimed, "great stuff, jameson,--great." "i know," i replied, "but this six-cylindered existence for a week wears you out." "my dear boy," he persisted, "if i had turned some one else loose on that story, he'd have been dead. go to it--it's fine." it was a bit of blarney, i knew. but somehow or other i liked it. it was just what i needed to encourage me, and i hurried uptown promising myself a sound sleep at any rate. "very good," remarked kennedy the next morning, poking his head in at my door and holding up a copy of the star into which a very accurate brief account of the affair had been dropped at the last moment. "i'm going over to the laboratory. see you there as soon as you can get over." "craig," i remarked an hour or so later as i sauntered in on him, hard at work, "i don't see how you stand this feverish activity." "stand it?" he repeated, holding up a beaker to the light to watch a reaction. "it's my very life. stand it? why, man, if you want me to pass away--stop it. as long as it lasts, i shall be all right. let it quit and i'll--i'll go back to research work," he laughed. evidently he had been waiting for me, for as he talked, he laid aside the materials with which he had been working and was preparing to go out. "then, too," he went on, "i like to be with people like spencer and brixton. for example, while i was waiting here for you, there came a call from emery pitts." "emery pitts?" i echoed. "what does he want?" "the best way to find out is--to find out," he answered simply. "it's getting late and i promised to be there directly. i think we'd better take a taxi." a few minutes later we were ushered into a large fifth avenue mansion and were listening to a story which interested even kennedy. "not even a blood spot has been disturbed in the kitchen. nothing has been altered since the discovery of the murdered chef, except that his body has been moved into the next room." emery pitts, one of the "thousand millionaires of steel," overwrought as he was by a murder in his own household, sank back in his easy-chair, exhausted. pitts was not an old man; indeed, in years he was in the prime of life. yet by his looks he might almost have been double his age, the more so in contrast with minna pitts, his young and very pretty wife, who stood near him in the quaint breakfast-room and solicitously moved a pillow back of his head. kennedy and i looked on in amazement. we knew that he had recently retired from active business, giving as a reason his failing health. but neither of us had thought, when the hasty summons came early that morning to visit him immediately at his house, that his condition was as serious as it now appeared. "in the kitchen?" repeated kennedy, evidently not prepared for any trouble in that part of the house. pitts, who had closed his eyes, now reopened them slowly and i noticed how contracted were the pupils. "yes," he answered somewhat wearily, "my private kitchen which i have had fitted up. you know, i am on a diet, have been ever since i offered the one hundred thousand dollars for the sure restoration of youth. i shall have you taken out there presently." he lapsed again into a half dreamy state, his head bowed on one hand resting on the arm of his chair. the morning's mail still lay on the table, some letters open, as they had been when the discovery had been announced. mrs. pitts was apparently much excited and unnerved by the gruesome discovery in the house. "you have no idea who the murderer might be?" asked kennedy, addressing pitts, but glancing keenly at his wife. "no," replied pitts, "if i had i should have called the regular police. i wanted you to take it up before they spoiled any of the clues. in the first place we do not think it could have been done by any of the other servants. at least, minna says that there was no quarrel." "how could any one have got in from the outside?" asked craig. "there is a back way, a servants' entrance, but it is usually locked. of course some one might have obtained a key to it." mrs. pitts had remained silent throughout the dialogue. i could not help thinking that she suspected something, perhaps was concealing something. yet each of them seemed equally anxious to have the marauder apprehended, whoever he might be. "my dear," he said to her at length, "will you call some one and have them taken to the kitchen?" ix the elixir of life as minna pitts led us through the large mansion preparatory to turning us over to a servant she explained hastily that mr. pitts had long been ill and was now taking a new treatment under dr. thompson lord. no one having answered her bell in the present state of excitement of the house, she stopped short at the pivoted door of the kitchen, with a little shudder at the tragedy, and stood only long enough to relate to us the story as she had heard it from the valet, edward. mr. pitts, it seemed, had wanted an early breakfast and had sent edward to order it. the valet had found the kitchen a veritable slaughter-house, with, the negro chef, sam, lying dead on the floor. sam had been dead, apparently, since the night before. as she hurried away, kennedy pushed open the door. it was a marvellous place, that antiseptic or rather aseptic kitchen, with its white tiling and enamel, its huge ice-box, and cooking-utensils for every purpose, all of the most expensive and modern make. there were marks everywhere of a struggle, and by the side of the chef, whose body now lay in the next room awaiting the coroner, lay a long carving-knife with which he had evidently defended himself. on its blade and haft were huge coagulated spots of blood. the body of sam bore marks of his having been clutched violently by the throat, and in his head was a single, deep wound that penetrated the skull in a most peculiar manner. it did not seem possible that a blow from a knife could have done it. it was a most unusual wound and not at all the sort that could have been made by a bullet. as kennedy examined it, he remarked, shaking his head in confirmation of his own opinion, "that must have been done by a behr bulletless gun." "a bulletless gun?" i repeated. "yes, a sort of pistol with a spring-operated device that projects a sharp blade with great force. no bullet and no powder are used in it. but when it is placed directly over a vital point of the skull so that the aim is unerring, a trigger lets a long knife shoot out with tremendous force, and death is instantaneous." near the door, leading to the courtyard that opened on the side street, were some spots of blood. they were so far from the place where the valet had discovered the body of the chef that there could be no doubt that they were blood from the murderer himself. kennedy's reasoning in the matter seemed irresistible. he looked under the table near the door, covered with a large light cloth. beneath the table and behind the cloth he found another blood spot. "how did that land there?" he mused aloud. "the table-cloth is bloodless." craig appeared to think a moment. then he unlocked and opened the door. a current of air was created and blew the cloth aside. "clearly," he exclaimed, "that drop of blood was wafted under the table as the door was opened. the chances are all that it came from a cut on perhaps the hand or face of the murderer himself." it seemed to be entirely reasonable, for the bloodstains about the room were such as to indicate that he had been badly cut by the carving-knife. "whoever attacked the chef must have been deeply wounded," i remarked, picking up the bloody knife and looking about at the stains, comparatively few of which could have come from the one deep fatal wound in the head of the victim. kennedy was still engrossed in a study of the stains, evidently considering that their size, shape, and location might throw some light on what had occurred. "walter," he said finally, "while i'm busy here, i wish you would find that valet, edward. i want to talk to him." i found him at last, a clean-cut young fellow of much above average intelligence. "there are some things i have not yet got clearly, edward," began kennedy. "now where was the body, exactly, when you opened the door?" edward pointed out the exact spot, near the side of the kitchen toward the door leading out to the breakfast room and opposite the ice-box. "and the door to the side street?" asked kennedy, to all appearances very favorably impressed by the young man. "it was locked, sir," he answered positively. kennedy was quite apparently considering the honesty and faithfulness of the servant. at last he leaned over and asked quickly, "can i trust you?" the frank, "yes," of the young fellow was convincing enough. "what i want," pursued kennedy, "is to have some one inside this house who can tell me as much as he can see of the visitors, the messengers that come here this morning. it will be an act of loyalty to your employer, so that you need have no fear about that." edward bowed, and left us. while i had been seeking him, kennedy had telephoned hastily to his laboratory and had found one of his students there. he had ordered him to bring down an apparatus which he described, and some other material. while we waited kennedy sent word to pitts that he wanted to see him alone for a few minutes. the instrument appeared to be a rubber bulb and cuff with a rubber bag attached to the inside. from it ran a tube which ended in another graduated glass tube with a thin line of mercury in it like a thermometer. craig adjusted the thing over the brachial artery of pitts, just above the elbow. "it may be a little uncomfortable, mr. pitts," he apologised, "but it will be for only a few minutes." pressure through the rubber bulb shut off the artery so that kennedy could no longer feel the pulse at the wrist. as he worked, i began to see what he was after. the reading on the graded scale of the height of the column of mercury indicated, i knew, blood pressure. this time, as he worked, i noted also the flabby skin of pitts as well as the small and sluggish pupils of his eyes. he completed his test in silence and excused himself, although as we went back to the kitchen i was burning with curiosity. "what was it?" i asked. "what did you discover?" "that," he replied, "was a sphygmomanometer, something like the sphygmograph which we used once in another case. normal blood pressure is millimetres. mr. pitts shows a high pressure, very high. the large life insurance companies are now using this instrument. they would tell you that a high pressure like that indicates apoplexy. mr. pitts, young as he really is, is actually old. for, you know, the saying is that a man is as old as his arteries. pitts has hardening of the arteries, arteriosclerosis--perhaps other heart and kidney troubles, in short pre-senility." craig paused: then added sententiously as if to himself: "you have heard the latest theories about old age, that it is due to microbic poisons secreted in the intestines and penetrating the intestinal walls? well, in premature senility the symptoms are the same as in senility, only mental acuteness is not so impaired." we had now reached the kitchen again. the student had also brought down to kennedy a number of sterilised microscope slides and test-tubes, and from here and there in the masses of blood spots kennedy was taking and preserving samples. he also took samples of the various foods, which he preserved in the sterilised tubes. while he was at work edward joined us cautiously. "has anything happened?" asked craig. "a message came by a boy for mrs. pitts," whispered the valet. "what did she do with it?" "tore it up." "and the pieces?" "she must have hidden them somewhere." "see if you can get them." edward nodded and left us. "yes," i remarked after he had gone, "it does seem as if the thing to do was to get on the trail of a person bearing wounds of some kind. i notice, for one thing, craig, that edward shows no such marks, nor does any one else in the house as far as i can see. if it were an 'inside job' i fancy edward at least could clear himself. the point is to find the person with a bandaged hand or plastered face." kennedy assented, but his mind was on another subject. "before we go we must see mrs. pitts alone, if we can," he said simply. in answer to his inquiry through one of the servants she sent down word that she would see us immediately in her sitting-room. the events of the morning had quite naturally upset her, and she was, if anything, even paler than when we saw her before. "mrs. pitts," began kennedy, "i suppose you are aware of the physical condition of your husband?" it seemed a little abrupt to me at first, but he intended it to be. "why," she asked with real alarm, "is he so very badly?" "pretty badly," remarked kennedy mercilessly, observing the effect of his words. "so badly, i fear, that it would not require much more excitement like to-day's to bring on an attack of apoplexy. i should advise you to take especial care of him, mrs. pitts." following his eyes, i tried to determine whether the agitation of the woman before us was genuine or not. it certainly looked so. but then, i knew that she had been an actress before her marriage. was she acting a part now? "what do you mean?" she asked tremulously. "mrs. pitts," replied kennedy quickly, observing still the play of emotion on her delicate features, "some one, i believe, either regularly in or employed in this house or who had a ready means of access to it must have entered that kitchen last night. for what purpose, i can leave you to judge. but sam surprised the intruder there and was killed for his faithfulness." her startled look told plainly that though she might have suspected something of the sort she did not think that any one else suspected, much less actually perhaps knew it. "i can't imagine who it could be, unless it might be one of the servants," she murmured hastily; adding, "and there is none of them that i have any right to suspect." she had in a measure regained her composure, and kennedy felt that it was no use to pursue the conversation further, perhaps expose his hand before he was ready to play it. "that woman is concealing something," remarked kennedy to me as we left the house a few minutes later. "she at least bears no marks of violence herself of any kind," i commented. "no," agreed craig, "no, you are right so far." he added: "i shall be very busy in the laboratory this afternoon, and probably longer. however, drop in at dinner time, and in the meantime, don't say a word to any one, but just use your position on the star to keep in touch with anything the police authorities may be doing." it was not a difficult commission, since they did nothing but issue a statement, the net import of which was to let the public know that they were very active, although they had nothing to report. kennedy was still busy when i rejoined him, a little late purposely, since i knew that he would be over his head in work. "what's this--a zoo?" i asked, looking about me as i entered the sanctum that evening. there were dogs and guinea pigs, rats and mice, a menagerie that would have delighted a small boy. it did not look like the same old laboratory for the investigation of criminal science, though i saw on a second glance that it was the same, that there was the usual hurly-burly of microscopes, test-tubes, and all the paraphernalia that were so mystifying at first but in the end under his skilful hand made the most complicated cases seem stupidly simple. craig smiled at my surprise. "i'm making a little study of intestinal poisons," he commented, "poisons produced by microbes which we keep under more or less control in healthy life. in death they are the little fellows that extend all over the body and putrefy it. we nourish within ourselves microbes which secrete very virulent poisons, and when those poisons are too much for us--well, we grow old. at least that is the theory of metchnikoff, who says that old age is an infectious chronic, disease. somehow," he added thoughtfully, "that beautiful white kitchen in the pitts home had really become a factory for intestinal poisons." there was an air of suppressed excitement in his manner which told me that kennedy was on the trail of something unusual. "mouth murder," he cried at length, "that was what was being done in that wonderful kitchen. do you know, the scientific slaying of human beings has far exceeded organised efforts at detection? of course you expect me to say that; you think i look at such things through coloured glasses. but it is a fact, nevertheless. "it is a very simple matter for the police to apprehend the common murderer whose weapon is a knife or a gun, but it is a different thing when they investigate the death of a person who has been the victim of the modern murderer who slays, let us say, with some kind of deadly bacilli. authorities say, and i agree with them, that hundreds of murders are committed in this country every year and are not detected because the detectives are not scientists, while the slayers have used the knowledge of the scientists both to commit and to cover up the crimes. i tell you, walter, a murder science bureau not only would clear up nearly every poison mystery, but also it would inspire such a wholesome fear among would-be murderers that they would abandon many attempts to take life." he was as excited over the case as i had ever seen him. indeed it was one that evidently taxed his utmost powers. "what have you found?" i asked, startled. "you remember my use of the sphygmomanometer?" he asked. "in the first place that put me on what seems to be a clear trail. the most dreaded of all the ills of the cardiac and vascular systems nowadays seems to be arterio-sclerosis, or hardening of the arteries. it is possible for a man of forty-odd, like mr. pitts, to have arteries in a condition which would not be encountered normally in persons under seventy years of age. "the hard or hardening artery means increased blood pressure, with a consequent increased strain on the heart. this may lead, has led in this case, to a long train of distressing symptoms, and, of course, to ultimate death. heart disease, according to statistics, is carrying off a greater percentage of persons than formerly. this fact cannot be denied, and it is attributed largely to worry, the abnormal rush of the life of to-day, and sometimes to faulty methods of eating and bad nutrition. on the surface, these natural causes might seem to be at work with mr. pitts. but, walter, i do not believe it, i do not believe it. there is more than that, here. come, i can do nothing more to-night, until i learn more from these animals and the cultures which i have in these tubes. let us take a turn or two, then dine, and perhaps we may get some word at our apartment from edward." it was late that night when a gentle tap at the door proved that kennedy's hope had not been unfounded. i opened it and let in edward, the valet, who produced the fragments of a note, torn and crumpled. "there is nothing new, sir," he explained, "except that mrs. pitts seems more nervous than ever, and mr. pitts, i think, is feeling a little brighter." kennedy said nothing, but was hard at work with puckered brows at piecing together the note which edward had obtained after hunting through the house. it had been thrown into a fireplace in mrs. pitts's own room, and only by chance had part of it been unconsumed. the body of the note was gone altogether, but the first part and the last part remained. apparently it had been written the very morning on which the murder was discovered. it read simply, "i have succeeded in having thornton declared ..." then there was a break. the last words were legible, and were,"... confined in a suitable institution where he can cause no future harm." there was no signature, as if the sender had perfectly understood that the receiver would understand. "not difficult to supply some of the context, at any rate," mused kennedy. "whoever thornton may be, some one has succeeded in having him declared 'insane,' i should supply. if he is in an institution near new york, we must be able to locate him. edward, this is a very important clue. there is nothing else." kennedy employed the remainder of the night in obtaining a list of all the institutions, both public and private, within a considerable radius of the city where the insane might be detained. the next morning, after an hour or so spent in the laboratory apparently in confirming some control tests which kennedy had laid out to make sure that he was not going wrong in the line of inquiry he was pursuing, we started off in a series of flying visits to the various sanitaria about the city in search of an inmate named thornton. i will not attempt to describe the many curious sights and experiences we saw and had. i could readily believe that any one who spent even as little time as we did might almost think that the very world was going rapidly insane. there were literally thousands of names in the lists which we examined patiently, going through them all, since kennedy was not at all sure that thornton might not be a first name, and we had no time to waste on taking any chances. it was not until long after dusk that, weary with the search and dust-covered from our hasty scouring of the country in an automobile which kennedy had hired after exhausting the city institutions, we came to a small private asylum up in westchester. i had almost been willing to give it up for the day, to start afresh on the morrow, but kennedy seemed to feel that the case was too urgent to lose even twelve hours over. it was a peculiar place, isolated, out-of-the-way, and guarded by a high brick wall that enclosed a pretty good sized garden. a ring at the bell brought a sharp-eyed maid to the door. "have you--er--any one here named thornton--er--?" kennedy paused in such a way that if it were the last name he might come to a full stop, and if it were a first name he could go on. "there is a mr. thornton who came yesterday," she snapped ungraciously, "but you can not see him, it's against the rules." "yes--yesterday," repeated kennedy eagerly, ignoring her tartness. "could i--" he slipped a crumpled treasury note into her hand--"could i speak to mr. thornton's nurse?" the note seemed to render the acidity of the girl slightly alkaline. she opened the door a little further, and we found ourselves in a plainly furnished reception room, alone. we might have been in the reception-room of a prosperous country gentleman, so quiet was it. there was none of the raving, as far as i could make out, that i should have expected even in a twentieth century bedlam, no material for a poe story of dr. tarr and professor feather. at length the hall door opened, and a man entered, not a prepossessing man, it is true, with his large and powerful hands and arms and slightly bowed, almost bulldog legs. yet he was not of that aggressive kind which would make a show of physical strength without good and sufficient cause. "you have charge of mr. thornton?" inquired kennedy. "yes," was the curt response. "i trust he is all right here?" "he wouldn't be here if he was all right," was the quick reply. "and who might you be?" "i knew him in the old days," replied craig evasively. "my friend here does not know him, but i was in this part of westchester visiting and having heard he was here thought i would drop in, just for old time's sake. that is all." "how did you know he was here?" asked the man suspiciously. "i heard indirectly from a friend of mine, mrs. pitts." "oh." the man seemed to accept the explanation at its face value. "is he very--very badly?" asked craig with well-feigned interest. "well," replied the man, a little mollified by a good cigar which i produced, "don't you go a-telling her, but if he says the name minna once a day it is a thousand times. them drug-dopes has some strange delusions." "strange delusions?" queried craig. "why, what do you mean?" "say," ejaculated the man. "i don't know you, you come here saying you're friends of mr. thornton's. how do i know what you are?" "well," ventured kennedy, "suppose i should also tell you i am a friend of the man who committed him." "of dr. thompson lord?" "exactly. my friend here knows dr. lord very well, don't you, walter?" thus appealed to i hastened to add, "indeed i do." then, improving the opening, i hastened: "is this mr. thornton violent? i think this is one of the most quiet institutions i ever saw for so small a place." the man shook his head. "because," i added, "i thought some drug fiends were violent and had to be restrained by force, often." "you won't find a mark or a scratch on him, sir," replied the man. "that ain't our system." "not a mark or scratch on him," repeated kennedy thoughtfully. "i wonder if he'd recognise me?" "can't say," concluded the man. "what's more, can't try. it's against the rules. only your knowing so many he knows has got you this far. you'll have to call on a regular day or by appointment to see him, gentlemen." there was an air of finality about the last statement that made kennedy rise and move toward the door with a hearty "thank you, for your kindness," and a wish to be remembered to "poor old thornton." as we climbed into the car he poked me in the ribs. "just as good for the present as if we had seen him," he exclaimed. "drug-fiend, friend of mrs. pitts, committed by dr. lord, no wounds." then he lapsed into silence as we sped back to the city. "the pitts house," ordered kennedy as we bowled along, after noting by his watch that it was after nine. then to me he added, "we must see mrs. pitts once more, and alone." we waited some time after kennedy sent up word that he would like to see mrs. pitts. at last she appeared. i thought she avoided kennedy's eye, and i am sure that her intuition told her that he had some revelation to make, against which she was steeling herself. craig greeted her as reassuringly as he could, but as she sat nervously before us, i could see that she was in reality pale, worn, and anxious. "we have had a rather hard day," began kennedy after the usual polite inquiries about her own and her husband's health had been, i thought, a little prolonged by him. "indeed?" she asked. "have you come any closer to the truth?" kennedy met her eyes, and she turned away. "yes, mr. jameson and i have put in the better part of the day in going from one institution for the insane to another." he paused. the startled look on her face told as plainly as words that his remark had struck home. without giving her a chance to reply, or to think of a verbal means of escape, craig hurried on with an account of what we had done, saying nothing about the original letter which had started us on the search for thornton, but leaving it to be inferred by her that he knew much more than he cared to tell. "in short, mrs. pitts," he concluded firmly, "i do not need to tell you that i already know much about the matter which you are concealing." the piling up of fact on fact, mystifying as it was to me who had as yet no inkling of what it was tending toward, proved too much for the woman who knew the truth, yet did not know how much kennedy knew of it. minna pitts was pacing the floor wildly, all the assumed manner of the actress gone from her, yet with the native grace and feeling of the born actress playing unrestrained in her actions. "you know only part of my story," she cried, fixing him with her now tearless eyes. "it is only a question of time when you will worm it all out by your uncanny, occult methods. mr. kennedy, i cast myself on you." x the toxin of death the note of appeal in her tone was powerful, but i could not so readily shake off my first suspicions of the woman. whether or not she convinced kennedy, he did not show. "i was only a young girl when i met mr. thornton," she raced on. "i was not yet eighteen when we were married. too late, i found out the curse of his life--and of mine. he was a drug fiend. from the very first life with him was insupportable. i stood it as long as i could, but when he beat me because he had no money to buy drugs, i left him. i gave myself up to my career on the stage. later i heard that he was dead--a suicide. i worked, day and night, slaved, and rose in the profession--until, at last, i met mr. pitts." she paused, and it was evident that it was with a struggle that she could talk so. "three months after i was married to him, thornton suddenly reappeared, from the dead it seemed to me. he did not want me back. no, indeed. all he wanted was money. i gave him money, my own money, for i made a great deal in my stage days. but his demands increased. to silence him i have paid him thousands. he squandered them faster than ever. and finally, when it became unbearable, i appealed to a friend. that friend has now succeeded in placing this man quietly in a sanitarium for the insane." "and the murder of the chef?" shot out kennedy. she looked from one to the other of us in alarm. "before god, i know no more of that than does mr. pitts." was she telling the truth? would she stop at anything to avoid the scandal and disgrace of the charge of bigamy? was there not something still that she was concealing? she took refuge in the last resort--tears. encouraging as it was to have made such progress, it did not seem to me that we were much nearer, after all, to the solution of the mystery. kennedy, as usual, had nothing to say until he was absolutely sure of his ground. he spent the greater part of the next day hard at work over the minute investigations of his laboratory, leaving me to arrange the details of a meeting he planned for that night. there were present mr. and mrs. pitts, the former in charge of dr. lord. the valet, edward, was also there, and in a neighbouring room was thornton in charge of two nurses from the sanitarium. thornton was a sad wreck of a man now, whatever he might have been when his blackmail furnished him with an unlimited supply of his favourite drugs. "let us go back to the very start of the case," began kennedy when we had all assembled, "the murder of the chef, sam." it seemed that the mere sound of his voice electrified his little audience. i fancied a shudder passed over the slight form of mrs. pitts, as she must have realised that this was the point where kennedy had left off, in his questioning her the night before. "there is," he went on slowly, "a blood test so delicate that one might almost say that he could identify a criminal by his very blood-crystals--the fingerprints, so to speak, of his blood. it was by means of these 'hemoglobin clues,' if i may call them so, that i was able to get on the right trail. for the fact is that a man's blood is not like that of any other living creature. blood of different men, of men and women differ. i believe that in time we shall be able to refine this test to tell the exact individual, too. "what is this principle? it is that the hemoglobin or red colouring-matter of the blood forms crystals. that has long been known, but working on this fact dr. reichert and professor brown of the university of pennsylvania have made some wonderful discoveries. "we could distinguish human from animal blood before, it is true. but the discovery of these two scientists takes us much further. by means of blood-crystals we can distinguish the blood of man from that of the animals and in addition that of white men from that of negroes and other races. it is often the only way of differentiating between various kinds of blood. "the variations in crystals in the blood are in part of form and in part of molecular structure, the latter being discovered only by means of the polarising microscope. a blood-crystal is only one two-thousand-two-hundred-and-fiftieth of an inch in length and one nine-thousandth of an inch in breadth. and yet minute as these crystals are, this discovery is of immense medico-legal importance. crime may now be traced by blood-crystals." he displayed on his table a number of enlarged micro-photographs. some were labelled, "characteristic crystals of white man's blood"; others "crystallisation of negro blood"; still others, "blood-crystals of the cat." "i have here," he resumed, after we had all examined the photographs and had seen that there was indeed a vast amount of difference, "three characteristic kinds of crystals, all of which i found in the various spots in the kitchen of mr. pitts. there were three kinds of blood, by the infallible reichert test." i had been prepared for his discovery of two kinds, but three heightened the mystery still more. "there was only a very little of the blood which was that of the poor, faithful, unfortunate sam, the negro chef," kennedy went on. "a little more, found far from his body, is that of a white person. but most of it is not human blood at all. it was the blood of a cat." the revelation was startling. before any of us could ask, he hastened to explain. "it was placed there by some one who wished to exaggerate the struggle in order to divert suspicion. that person had indeed been wounded slightly, but wished it to appear that the wounds were very serious. the fact of the matter is that the carving-knife is spotted deeply with blood, but it is not human blood. it is the blood of a cat. a few years ago even a scientific detective would have concluded that a fierce hand-to-hand struggle had been waged and that the murderer was, perhaps, fatally wounded. now, another conclusion stands, proved infallibly by this reichert test. the murderer was wounded, but not badly. that person even went out of the room and returned later, probably with a can of animal blood, sprinkled it about to give the appearance of a struggle, perhaps thought of preparing in this way a plea of self-defence. if that latter was the case, this reichert test completely destroys it, clever though it was." no one spoke, but the same thought was openly in all our minds. who was this wounded criminal? i asked myself the usual query of the lawyers and the detectives--who would benefit most by the death of pitts? there was but one answer, apparently, to that. it was minna pitts. yet it was difficult for me to believe that a woman of her ordinary gentleness could be here to-night, faced even by so great exposure, yet be so solicitous for him as she had been and then at the same time be plotting against him. i gave it up, determining to let kennedy unravel it in his own way. craig evidently had the same thought in his mind, however, for he continued: "was it a woman who killed the chef? no, for the third specimen of blood, that of the white person, was the blood of a man; not of a woman." pitts had been following closely, his unnatural eyes now gleaming. "you said he was wounded, you remember," he interrupted, as if casting about in his mind to recall some one who bore a recent wound. "perhaps it was not a bad wound, but it was a wound nevertheless, and some one must have seen it, must know about it. it is not three days." kennedy shook his head. it was a point that had bothered him a great deal. "as to the wounds," he added in a measured tone "although this occurred scarcely three days ago, there is no person even remotely suspected of the crime who can be said to bear on his hands or face others than old scars of wounds." he paused. then he shot out in quick staccato, "did you ever hear of dr. carrel's most recent discovery of accelerating the healing of wounds so that those which under ordinary circumstances might take ten days to heal might be healed in twenty-four hours?" rapidly, now, he sketched the theory. "if the factors that bring about the multiplication of cells and the growth of tissues were discovered, dr. carrel said to himself, it would perhaps become possible to hasten artificially the process of repair of the body. aseptic wounds could probably be made to cicatrise more rapidly. if the rate of reparation of tissue were hastened only ten times, a skin wound would heal in less than twenty-four hours and a fracture of the leg in four or five days. "for five years dr. carrel has been studying the subject, applying various extracts to wounded tissues. all of them increased the growth of connective tissue, but the degree of acceleration varied greatly. in some cases it was as high, as forty times the normal. dr. carrel's dream of ten times the normal was exceeded by himself." astounded as we were by this revelation, kennedy did not seem to consider it as important as one that he was now hastening to show us. he took a few cubic centimetres of some culture which he had been preparing, placed it in a tube, and poured in eight or ten drops of sulphuric acid. he shook it. "i have here a culture from some of the food that i found was being or had been prepared for mr. pitts. it was in the icebox." then he took another tube. "this," he remarked, "is a one-to-one-thousand solution of sodium nitrite." he held it up carefully and poured three or four cubic centimetres of it into the first tube so that it ran carefully down the side in a manner such as to form a sharp line of contact between the heavier culture with the acid and the lighter nitrite solution. "you see," he said, "the reaction is very clear cut if you do it this way. the ordinary method in the laboratory and the text-books is crude and uncertain." "what is it?" asked pitts eagerly, leaning forward with unwonted strength and noting the pink colour that appeared at the junction of the two liquids, contrasting sharply with the portions above and below. "the ring or contact test for indol," kennedy replied, with evident satisfaction. "when the acid and the nitrites are mixed the colour reaction is unsatisfactory. the natural yellow tint masks that pink tint, or sometimes causes it to disappear, if the tube is shaken. but this is simple, clear, delicate--unescapable. there was indol in that food of yours, mr. pitts." "indol?" repeated pitts. "is," explained kennedy, "a chemical compound--one of the toxins secreted by intestinal bacteria and responsible for many of the symptoms of senility. it used to be thought that large doses of indol might be consumed with little or no effect on normal man, but now we know that headache, insomnia, confusion, irritability, decreased activity of the cells, and intoxication are possible from it. comparatively small doses over a long time produce changes in organs that lead to serious results. "it is," went on kennedy, as the full horror of the thing sank into our minds, "the indol-and phenol-producing bacteria which are the undesirable citizens of the body, while the lactic-acid producing germs check the production of indol and phenol. in my tests here to-day, i injected four one-hundredths of a grain of indol into a guinea-pig. the animal had sclerosis or hardening of the aorta. the liver, kidneys, and supra-renals were affected, and there was a hardening of the brain. in short, there were all the symptoms of old age." we sat aghast. indol! what black magic was this? who put it in the food? "it is present," continued craig, "in much larger quantities than all the metchnikoff germs could neutralise. what the chef was ordered to put into the food to benefit you, mr. pitts, was rendered valueless, and a deadly poison was added by what another--" minna pitts had been clutching for support at the arms of her chair as kennedy proceeded. she now threw herself at the feet of emery pitts. "forgive me," she sobbed. "i can stand it no longer. i had tried to keep this thing about thornton from you. i have tried to make you happy and well--oh--tried so hard, so faithfully. yet that old skeleton of my past which i thought was buried would not stay buried. i have bought thornton off again and again, with money--my money--only to find him threatening again. but about this other thing, this poison, i am as innocent, and i believe thornton is as--" craig laid a gentle hand on her lips. she rose wildly and faced him in passionate appeal. "who--who is this thornton?" demanded emery pitts. quickly, delicately, sparing her as much as he could, craig hurried over our experiences. "he is in the next room," craig went on, then facing pitts added: "with you alive, emery pitts, this blackmail of your wife might have gone on, although there was always the danger that you might hear of it--and do as i see you have already done--forgive, and plan to right the unfortunate mistake. but with you dead, this thornton, or rather some one using him, might take away from minna pitts her whole interest in your estate, at a word. the law, or your heirs at law, would never forgive as you would." pitts, long poisoned by the subtle microbic poison, stared at kennedy as if dazed. "who was caught in your kitchen, mr. pitts, and, to escape detection, killed your faithful chef and covered his own traces so cleverly?" rapped out kennedy. "who would have known the new process of healing wounds? who knew about the fatal properties of indol? who was willing to forego a one-hundred-thousand-dollar prize in order to gain a fortune of many hundreds of thousands?" kennedy paused, then finished with irresistibly dramatic logic; "who else but the man who held the secret of minna pitts's past and power over her future so long as he could keep alive the unfortunate thornton--the up-to-date doctor who substituted an elixir of death at night for the elixir of life prescribed for you by him in the daytime--dr. lord." kennedy had moved quietly toward the door. it was unnecessary. dr. lord was cornered and knew it. he made no fight. in fact, instantly his keen mind was busy outlining his battle in court, relying on the conflicting testimony of hired experts. "minna," murmured pitts, falling back, exhausted by the excitement, on his pillows, "minna--forgive? what is there to forgive? the only thing to do is to correct. i shall be well--soon now--my dear. then all will be straightened out." "walter," whispered kennedy to me, "while we are waiting, you can arrange to have thornton cared for at dr. hodge's sanitarium." he handed me a card with the directions where to take the unfortunate man. when at last i had thornton placed where no one else could do any harm through him, i hastened back to the laboratory. craig was still there, waiting alone. "that dr. lord will be a tough customer," he remarked. "of course you're not interested in what happens in a case after we have caught the criminal. but that often is really only the beginning of the fight. we've got him safely lodged in the tombs now, however." "i wish there was some elixir for fatigue," i remarked, as we closed the laboratory that night. "there is," he replied. "a homeopathic remedy--more fatigue." we started on our usual brisk roundabout walk to the apartment. but instead of going to bed, kennedy drew a book from the bookcase. "i shall read myself to sleep to-night," he explained, settling deeply in his chair. as for me, i went directly to my room, planning that to-morrow i would take several hours off and catch up in my notes. that morning kennedy was summoned downtown and had to interrupt more important duties in order to appear before dr. leslie in the coroner's inquest over the death of the chef. dr. lord was held for the grand jury, but it was not until nearly noon that craig returned. we were just about to go out to luncheon, when the door buzzer sounded. "a note for mr. kennedy," announced a man in a police uniform, with a blue anchor edged with white on his coat sleeve. craig tore open the envelope quickly with his forefinger. headed "harbour police, station no. , staten island," was an urgent message from our old friend deputy commissioner o'connor. "i have taken personal charge of a case here that is sufficiently out of the ordinary to interest you," i read when kennedy tossed the note over to me and nodded to the man from the harbour squad to wait for us. "the curtis family wish to retain a private detective to work in conjunction with the police in investigating the death of bertha curtis, whose body was found this morning in the waters of kill van kull." kennedy and i lost no time in starting downtown with the policeman who had brought the note. the curtises, as we knew, were among the prominent families of manhattan and i recalled having heard that at one time bertha curtis had been an actress, in spite of the means and social position of her family, from whom she had become estranged as a result. at the station of the harbour police, o'connor and another man, who was in a state of extreme excitement, greeted us almost before we had landed. "there have been some queer doings about here," exclaimed the deputy as he grasped kennedy's hand, "but first of all let me introduce mr. walker curtis." in a lower tone as we walked up the dock o'connor continued, "he is the brother of the girl whose body the men in the launch at the station found in the kill this morning. they thought at first that the girl had committed suicide, making it doubly sure by jumping into the water, but he will not believe it and,--well, if you'll just come over with us to the local undertaking establishment, i'd like to have you take a look at the body and see if your opinion coincides with mine. "ordinarily," pursued o'connor, "there isn't much romance in harbour police work nowadays, but in this case some other elements seem to be present which are not usually associated with violent deaths in the waters of the bay, and i have, as you will see, thought it necessary to take personal charge of the investigation. "now, to shorten the story as much as possible, kennedy, you know of course that the legislature at the last session enacted laws prohibiting the sale of such drugs as opium, morphine, cocaine, chloral and others, under much heavier penalties than before. the health authorities not long ago reported to us that dope was being sold almost openly, without orders from physicians, at several scores of places and we have begun a crusade for the enforcement of the law. of course you know how prohibition works in many places and how the law is beaten. the dope fiends seem to be doing the same thing with this law. "of course nowadays everybody talks about a 'system' controlling everything, so i suppose people would say that there is a 'dope trust.' at any rate we have run up against at least a number of places that seem to be banded together in some way, from the lowest down in chinatown to one very swell joint uptown around what the newspapers are calling 'crime square.' it is not that this place is pandering to criminals or the women of the tenderloin that interests us so much as that its patrons are men and women of fashionable society whose jangled nerves seem to demand a strong narcotic. "this particular place seems to be a headquarters for obtaining them, especially opium and its derivatives. "one of the frequenters of the place was this unfortunate girl, bertha curtis. i have watched her go in and out myself, wild-eyed, nervous, mentally and physically wrecked for life. perhaps twenty-five or thirty persons visit the place each day. it is run by a man known as 'big jack' clendenin who was once an actor and, i believe, met and fascinated miss curtis during her brief career on the stage. he has an attendant there, a jap, named nichi moto, who is a perfect enigma. i can't understand him on any reasonable theory. a long time ago we raided the place and packed up a lot of opium, pipes, material and other stuff. we found clendenin there, this girl, several others, and the jap. i never understood just how it was but somehow clendenin got off with a nominal fine and a few days later opened up again. we were watching the place, getting ready to raid it again and present such evidence that clendenin couldn't possibly beat it, when all of a sudden along came this--this tragedy." we had at last arrived at the private establishment which was doing duty as a morgue. the bedraggled form that had been bandied about by the tides all night lay covered up in the cold damp basement. bertha curtis had been a girl of striking beauty once. for a long time i gazed at the swollen features before i realised what it was that fascinated and puzzled me about her. kennedy, however, after a casual glance had arrived at at least a part of her story. "that girl," he whispered to me so that her brother could not hear, "has led a pretty fast life. look at those nails, yellow and dark. it isn't a weak face, either. i wouldn't be surprised if the whole thing, the oriental glamour and all that, fascinated her as much as the drug." so far the case with its heartrending tragedy had all the earmarks of suicide. xi the opium joint o'connor drew back the sheet which covered her and in the calf of the leg disclosed an ugly bullet hole. ugly as it was, however, it was anything but dangerous and seemed to indicate nothing as to the real cause of her death. he drew from his pocket a slightly misshapen bullet which had been probed from the wound and handed it to kennedy, who examined both the wound and the bullet carefully. it seemed to be an ordinary bullet except that in the pointed end were three or four little round, very shallow wells or depressions only the minutest fraction of an inch deep. "very extraordinary," he remarked slowly. "no, i don't think this was a case of suicide. nor was it a murder for money, else the jewels would have been taken." o'connor looked approvingly at me. "exactly what i said," he exclaimed. "she was dead before her body was thrown into the water." "no, i don't agree with you there," corrected craig, continuing his examination of the body. "and yet it is not a case of drowning exactly, either." "strangled?" suggested o'connor. "by some jiu jitsu trick?" i put in, mindful of the queer-acting jap at clendenin's. kennedy shook his head. "perhaps the shock of the bullet wound rendered her unconscious and in that state she was thrown in," ventured walker curtis, apparently much relieved that kennedy coincided with o'connor in disagreeing with the harbour police as to the suicide theory. kennedy shrugged his shoulders and looked at the bullet again. "it is very extraordinary," was all he replied. "i think you said a few moments ago, o'connor, that there had been some queer doings about here. what did you mean?" "well, as i said, the work of the harbour squad isn't ordinarily very remarkable. harbour pirates aren't murderous as a rule any more. for the most part they are plain sneak thieves or bogus junk dealers who work with dishonest pier watchmen and crooked canal boat captains and lighter hands. "but in this instance," continued the deputy, his face knitting at the thought that he had to confess another mystery to which he had no solution, "it is something quite different. you know that all along the shore on this side of the island are old, dilapidated and, some of them, deserted houses. for several days the residents of the neighbourhood have been complaining of strange occurrences about one place in particular which was the home of a wealthy family in a past generation. it is about a mile from here, facing the road along the shore, and has in front of it and across the road the remains of an old dock sticking out a few feet into the water at high tide. "now, as nearly as any one can get the story, there seems to have been a mysterious, phantom boat, very swift, without lights, and with an engine carefully muffled down which has been coming up to the old dock for the past few nights when the tide was high enough. a light has been seen moving on the dock, then suddenly extinguished, only to reappear again. who carried it and why, no one knows. any one who has tried to approach the place has had a scare thrown into him which he will not easily forget. for instance, one man crept up and though he did not think he was seen he was suddenly shot at from behind a tree. he felt the bullet pierce his arm, started to run, stumbled, and next morning woke up in the exact spot on which he had fallen, none the worse for his experience except that he had a slight wound that will prevent his using his right arm for some time for heavy work. "after each visit of the phantom boat there is heard, according to the story of the few neighbours who have observed it, the tramp of feet up the overgrown stone walk from the dock and some have said that they heard an automobile as silent and ghostly as the boat. we have been all through the weird old house, but have found nothing there, except enough loose boards and shutters to account for almost any noise or combination of noises. however, no one has said there was anything there except the tramp of feet going back and forth on the old pavements outside. two or three times shots have been heard, and on the dock where most of the alleged mysterious doings have taken place we have found one very new exploded shell of a cartridge." craig took the shell which o'connor drew from another pocket and trying to fit the bullet and the cartridge together remarked "both from a . , probably one of those old-fashioned, long-barrelled makes." "there," concluded o'connor ruefully, "you know all we know of the thing so far." "i may keep these for the present?" inquired kennedy, preparing to pocket the shell and the bullet, and from his very manner i could see that as a matter of fact he already knew a great deal more about the case than the police. "take us down to this old house and dock, if you please." over and over, craig paced up and down the dilapidated dock, his keen eyes fastened to the ground, seeking some clue, anything that would point to the marauders. real persons they certainly were, and not any ghostly crew of the bygone days of harbour pirates, for there was every evidence of some one who had gone up and down the walk recently, not once but many times. suddenly kennedy stumbled over what looked like a sardine tin can, except that it had no label or trace of one. it was lying in the thick long matted grass by the side of the walk as if it had tumbled there and had been left unnoticed. yet there was nothing so very remarkable about it in itself. tin cans were lying all about, those marks of decadent civilisation. but to craig it had instantly presented an idea. it was a new can. the others were rusted. he had pried off the lid and inside was a blackish, viscous mass. "smoking opium," craig said at last. we retraced our steps pondering on the significance of the discovery. o'connor had had men out endeavouring all day to get a clue to the motor car that had been mentioned in some of the accounts given by the natives. so far the best he had been able to find was a report of a large red touring car which crossed from new york on a late ferry. in it were a man and a girl as well as a chauffeur who wore goggles and a cap pulled down over his head so that he was practically unrecognisable. the girl might have been miss curtis and, as for the man, it might have been clendenin. no one had bothered much with them; no one had taken their number; no one had paid any attention where they went after the ferry landed. in fact, there would have been no significance to the report if it had not been learned that early in the morning on the first ferry from the lower end of the island to new jersey a large red touring car answering about the same description had crossed, with a single man and driver but no woman. "i should like to watch here with you to-night, o'connor," said craig as we parted. "meet us here. in the meantime i shall call on jameson with his well-known newspaper connections in the white light district," here he gave me a half facetious wink, "to see what he can do toward getting me admitted to this gilded palace of dope up there on forty-fourth street." after no little trouble kennedy and i discovered our "hop joint" and were admitted by nichi moto, of whom we had heard. kennedy gave me a final injunction to watch, but to be very careful not to seem to watch. nichi moto with an eye to business and not to our absorbing more than enough to whet our descriptive powers quickly conducted us into a large room where, on single bamboo couches or bunks, rather tastefully made, perhaps half a dozen habitues lay stretched at full length smoking their pipes in peace, or preparing them in great expectation from the implements on the trays before them. kennedy relieved me of the responsibility of cooking the opium by doing it for both of us and, incidentally, dropping a hint not to inhale it and to breathe as little of it as possible. even then it made me feel badly, though he must have contrived in some way to get even less of the stuff than i. a couple of pipes, and kennedy beckoned to nichi. "where is mr. clendenin?" he asked familiarly. "i haven't seen him yet." the japanese smiled his engaging smile. "not know," was all he said, and yet i knew the fellow at least knew better english, if not more facts. kennedy had about started on our faking a third "pipe" when a new, unexpected arrival beckoned excitedly to nichi. i could not catch all that was said but two words that i did catch were "the boss" and "hop toy," the latter the word for opium. no sooner had the man disappeared without joining the smokers than nichi seemed to grow very restless and anxious. evidently he had received orders to do something. he seemed anxious to close the place and get away. i thought that some one might have given a tip that the place was to be raided, but kennedy, who had been closer, had overheard more than i had and among other things he had caught the word, "meet him at the same place." it was not long before we were all politely hustled out. "at least we know this," commented kennedy, as i congratulated myself on our fortunate escape, "clendenin was not there, and there is something doing to-night, for he has sent for nichi." we dropped into our apartment to freshen up a bit against the long vigil that we knew was coming that night. to our surprise walker curtis had left a message that he wished to see kennedy immediately and alone, and although i was not present i give the substance of what he said. it seemed that he had not wished to tell o'connor for fear that it would get into the papers and cause an even greater scandal, but it had come to his knowledge a few days before the tragedy that his sister was determined to marry a very wealthy chinese merchant, an importer of tea, named chin jung. whether or not this had any bearing on the case he did not know. he thought it had, because for a long time, both when she was on the stage and later, clendenin had had a great influence over her and had watched with a jealous eye the advances of every one else. curtis was especially bitter against clendenin. as kennedy related the conversation to me on our way over to staten island i tried to piece the thing together, but like one of the famous chinese puzzles, it would not come out. i had to admit the possibility that it was clendenin who might have quarrelled over her attachment to chin jung, even though i have never yet been able to understand what the fascination is that some orientals have over certain american girls. all that night we watched patiently from a vantage point of an old shed near both the house and the decayed pier. it was weird in the extreme, especially as we had no idea what might happen if we had success and saw something. but there was no reward for our patience. absolutely nothing happened. it was as though they knew, whoever they were, that we were there. during the hours that passed o'connor whiled away the time in a subdued whisper now and then in telling us of his experiences in chinatown which he was now engaged in trying to clean up. from chinatown, its dens, its gamblers and its tongs we drifted to the legitimate business interests there, and i, at least, was surprised to find that there were some of the merchants for whom even o'connor had a great deal of respect. kennedy evidently did not wish to violate in any way the confidence of walker curtis, and mention of the name of chin jung, but by a judicious question as to who the best men were in the celestial settlement he did get a list of half a dozen or so from o'connor. chin jung was well up in the list. however, the night wore away and still nothing happened. it was in the middle of the morning when we were taking a snatch of sleep in our own rooms uptown that the telephone began to ring insistently. kennedy, who was resting, i verily believe, merely out of consideration for my own human frailties, was at the receiver in an instant. it proved to be o'connor. he had just gone back to his office at headquarters and there he had found a report of another murder. "who is it?" asked kennedy, "and why do you connect it with this case?" o'connor's answer must have been a poser, judging from the look of surprise on craig's face. "the jap--nichi moto?" he repeated. "and it is the same sort of non-fatal wound, the same evidence of asphyxia, the same circumstances, even down to the red car reported by residents in the neighbourhood." nothing further happened that day except this thickening of the plot by the murder of the peculiar-acting nichi. we saw his body and it was as o'connor said. "that fellow wasn't on the level toward clendenin," craig mused after we had viewed the second murder in the case. "the question is, who and what was he working for?" there was as yet no hint of answer, and our only plan was to watch again that night. this time o'connor, not knowing where the lightning would strike next, took craig's suggestion and we determined to spend the time cruising about in the fastest of the police motor boats, while the force of watchers along the entire shore front of the city was quietly augmented and ordered to be extra vigilant. o'connor at the last moment had to withdraw and let us go alone, for the worst, and not the unexpected, happened in his effort to clean up chinatown. the war between the old rivals, the hep sing tong and the on leong tong, those ancient societies of troublemakers in the little district, had broken out afresh during the day and three orientals had been killed already. it is not a particularly pleasant occupation cruising aimlessly up and down the harbour in a fifty-foot police boat, staunch and fast as she may be. every hour we called at a police post to report and to keep in touch with anything that might interest us. it came at about two o'clock in the morning and of all places, near the battery itself. from the front of a ferry boat that ran far down on the brooklyn side, what looked like two flashlights gleamed out over the water once, then twice. "headlights of an automobile," remarked craig, scarcely taking more notice of it, for they might have simply been turned up and down twice by a late returning traveller to test them. we were ourselves near the brooklyn shore. imagine our surprise to see an answering light from a small boat in the river which was otherwise lightless. we promptly put out our own lights and with every cylinder working made for the spot where the light had flashed up on the river. there was something there all right and we went for it. on we raced after the strange craft, the phantom that had scared staten island. for a mile or so we seemed to be gaining, but one of our cylinders began to miss--the boat turned sharply around a bend in the shore. we had to give it up as well as trying to overtake the ferry boat going in the opposite direction. kennedy's equanimity in our apparent defeat surprised me. "oh, it's nothing, walter," he said. "they slipped away to-night, but i have found the clue. to-morrow as soon as the customs house is open you will understand. it all centres about opium." at least a large part of the secret was cleared, too, as a result of kennedy's visit to the customs house. after years of fighting with the opium ring on the pacific coast, the ring had tried to "put one over" on the revenue officers and smuggle the drug in through new york. it did not take long to find the right man among the revenue officers to talk with. nor was kennedy surprised to learn that nichi moto had been in fact a japanese detective, a sort of stool pigeon in clendenin's establishment working to keep the government in touch with the latest scheme. the finding of the can of opium on the scene of the murder of bertha curtis, and the chase after the lightless motor boat had at last placed kennedy on the right track. with one of the revenue officers we made a quick trip to brooklyn and spent the morning inspecting the ships from south american ports docked in the neighbourhood where the phantom boat had disappeared. from ship to ship we journeyed until at last we came to one on which, down in the chain locker, we found a false floor with a locker under that. there was a compartment six feet square and in it lay, neatly packed, fourteen large hermetically sealed cylinders, each full of the little oblong tins such as kennedy had picked up the other day--forty thousand dollars' worth of the stuff at one haul, to say nothing of the thousands that had already been landed at one place or another. it had been a good day's work, but as yet it had not caught the slayer or cleared up the mystery of bertha curtis. some one or something had had a power over the girl to lure her on. was it clendenin? the place in forty-fourth street, on inquiry, proved to be really closed as tight as a drum. where was he? all the deaths had been mysterious, were still mysterious. bertha curtis had carried her secret with her to the grave to which she had been borne, willingly it seemed, in the red car with the unknown companion and the goggled chauffeur. i found myself still asking what possible connection she could have with smuggling opium. kennedy, however, was indulging in no such speculations. it was enough for him that the scene had suddenly shifted and in a most unexpected manner. i found him voraciously reading practically everything that was being printed in the papers about the revival of the tong war. "they say much about the war, but little about the cause," was his dry comment. "i wish i could make up my mind whether it is due to the closing of the joints by o'connor, or the belief that one tong is informing on the other about opium smuggling." kennedy passed over all the picturesque features in the newspapers, and from it all picked out the one point that was most important for the case which he was working to clear up. one tong used revolvers of a certain make; the other of a different make. the bullet which had killed bertha curtis and later nichi moto was from a pistol like that of the hep sings. the difference in the makes of guns seemed at once to suggest something to kennedy and instead of mixing actively in the war of the highbinders he retired to his unfailing laboratory, leaving me to pass the time gathering such information as i could. once i dropped in on him but found him unsociably surrounded by microscopes and a very sensitive arrangement for taking microphotographs. some of his negatives were nearly a foot in diameter, and might have been, for all i knew, pictures of the surface of the moon. while i was there o'connor came in. craig questioned him about the war of the tongs. "why," o'connor cried, almost bubbling over with satisfaction, "this afternoon i was waited on by chin jung, you remember?--one of the leading merchants down there. of course you know that chinatown doesn't believe in hurting business and it seems that he and some of the others like him are afraid that if the tong war is not hushed up pretty soon it will cost a lot--in money. they are going to have an anniversary of the founding of the chinese republic soon and of the chinese new year and they are afraid that if the war doesn't stop they'll be ruined." "which tong does he belong to?" asked kennedy, still scrutinising a photograph through his lens. "neither," replied o'connor. "with his aid and that of a judge of one of our courts who knows the chinaman like a book we have had a conference this afternoon between the two tongs and the truce is restored again for two weeks." "very good," answered kennedy, "but it doesn't catch the murderer of bertha curtis and the jap. where is clendenin, do you suppose?" "i don't know, but it at least leaves me free to carry on that case. what are all these pictures?" "well," began kennedy, taking his glass from his eye and wiping it carefully, "a paris crime specialist has formulated a system for identifying revolver bullets which is very like that of dr. bertillon for identifying human beings." he picked up a handful of the greatly enlarged photographs. "these are photographs of bullets which he has sent me. the barrel of every gun leaves marks on the bullet that are always the same for the same barrel but never identical for two different barrels. in these big negatives every detail appears very distinctly and it can be decided with absolute certainty whether a given bullet was fired from a given revolver. now, using this same method, i have made similar greatly enlarged photographs of the two bullets that have figured so far in this case. the bullet that killed miss curtis shows the same marks as that which killed nichi." he picked up another bunch of prints. "now," he continued, "taking up the firing pin of a rifle or the hammer of a revolver, you may not know it but they are different in every case. even among the same makes they are different, and can be detected. "the cartridge in either a gun or revolver is struck at a point which is never in the exact centre or edge, as the case may be, but is always the same for the same weapon. now the end of the hammer when examined with the microscope bears certain irregularities of marking different from those of every other gun and the shell fired in it is impressed with the particular markings of that hammer, just as paper is by type. on making microphotographs of firing pins or hammers, with special reference to the rounded ends and also photographs of the corresponding rounded depressions in the primers fired by them it is forced on any one that cartridges fired by each individual rifle or pistol can positively be identified. "you will see on the edge of the photographs i have made a rough sketch calling attention to the 'l'-shaped mark which is the chief characteristic of this hammer, although there are other detailed markings which show well under the microscope but not well in a photograph. you will notice that the characters on the firing hammer are reversed on the cartridge in the same way that a metal type and the character printed by it are reversed as regards one another. again, depressions on the end of the hammer become raised characters on the cartridge, and raised characters on the hammer become depressions on the cartridge. "look at some of these old photographs and you will see that they differ from this. they lack the 'l' mark. some have circles, others a very different series of pits and elevations, a set of characters when examined and measured under the microscope utterly different from those in every other case. each is unique, in its pits, lines, circles and irregularities. the laws of chance are as much against two of them having the same markings as they are against the thumb prints of two human subjects being identical. the firing-pin theory, which was used in a famous case in maine, is just as infallible as the finger-print theory. in this case when we find the owner of the gun making an 'l' mark we shall have the murderer." something, i could see, was working on o'connor's mind. "that's all right," he interjected, "but you know in neither case was the victim shot to death. they were asphyxiated." "i was coming to that," rejoined craig. "you recall the peculiar marking on the nose of those bullets? they were what is known as narcotic bullets, an invention of a pittsburg scientist. they have the property of lulling their victims to almost instant slumber. a slight scratch from these sleep-producing bullets is all that is necessary, as it was in the case of the man who spied on the queer doings on staten island. the drug, usually morphia, is carried in tiny wells on the cap of the bullet, is absorbed by the system and acts almost instantly." the door burst open and walker curtis strode in excitedly. he seemed surprised to see us all there, hesitated, then motioned to kennedy that he wished to see him. for a few moments they talked and finally i caught the remark from kennedy, "but, mr. curtis, i must do it. it is the only way." curtis gave a resigned nod and kennedy turned to us. "gentlemen," he said, "mr. curtis in going over the effects of his sister has found a note from clendenin which mentions another opium joint down in chinatown. he wished me to investigate privately, but i have told him it would be impossible." at the mention of a den in the district he was cleaning up o'connor had pricked up his ears. "where is it?" he demanded. curtis mentioned a number on dover street. "the amoy restaurant," ejaculated o'connor, seizing the telephone. a moment later he was arranging with the captain at the elizabeth street station for the warrants for an instant raid. xii the "dope trust" as we hurried into chinatown from chatham square we could see that the district was celebrating its holidays with long ropes of firecrackers, and was feasting to reed discords from the pipes of its most famous musicians, and was gay with the hanging out of many sunflags, red with an eighteen-rayed white sun in the blue union. both the new tong truce and the anniversary were more than cause for rejoicing. hurried though it was, the raid on the hep sing joint had been carefully prepared by o'connor. the house we were after was one of the oldest of the rookeries, with a gaudy restaurant on the second floor, a curio shop on the street level, while in the basement all that was visible was a view of a huge and orderly pile of tea chests. a moment before the windows of the dwellings above the restaurant had been full of people. all had faded away even before the axes began to swing on the basement door which had the appearance of a storeroom for the shop above. the flimsy outside door went down quickly. but it was only a blind. another door greeted the raiders. the axes swung noisily and the crowbars tore at the fortified, iron-clad, "ice box" door inside. after breaking it down they had to claw their way through another just like it. the thick doors and tea chests piled up showed why no sounds of gambling and other practices ever were heard outside. pushing aside a curtain we were in the main room. the scene was one of confusion showing the hasty departure of the occupants. kennedy did not stop here. within was still another room, for smokers, anything but like the fashionable place we had seen uptown. it was low, common, disgusting. the odour everywhere was offensive; everywhere was filth that should naturally breed disease. it was an inferno reeking with unwholesome sweat and still obscured with dense fumes of smoke. three tiers of bunks of hardwood were built along the walls. there was no glamour here; all was sordid. several chinamen in various stages of dazed indolence were jabbering in incoherent oblivion, a state i suppose of "oriental calm." there, in a bunk, lay clendenin. his slow and uncertain breathing told of his being under the influence of the drug, and he lay on his back beside a "layout" with a half-cooked pill still in the bowl of his pipe. the question was to wake him up. craig began slapping him with a wet towel, directing us how to keep him roused. we walked him about, up and down, dazed, less than half sensible, dreaming, muttering, raving. a hasty exclamation from o'connor followed as he drew from the scant cushions of the bunk a long-barreled pistol, a . such as the tong leaders used, the same make as had shot bertha curtis and nichi. craig seized it and stuck it into his pocket. all the gamblers had fled, all except those too drugged to escape. where they had gone was indicated by a door leading up to the kitchen of the restaurant. craig did not stop but leaped upstairs and then down again into a little back court by means of a fire-escape. through a sort of short alley we groped our way, or rather through an intricate maze of alleys and a labyrinth of blind recesses. we were apparently back of a store on pell street. it was the work of only a moment to go through another door and into another room, filled with smoky, dirty, unpleasant, fetid air. this room, too, seemed to be piled with tea chests. craig opened one. there lay piles and piles of opium tins, a veritable fortune in the drug. mysterious pots and pans, strainers, wooden vessels, and testing instruments were about. the odour of opium in the manufacture was unmistakable, for smoking opium is different from the medicinal drug. there it appeared the supplies of thousands of smokers all over the country were stored and prepared. in a corner a mass of the finished product lay weltering in a basin like treacle. in another corner was the apparatus for remaking yen-shee or once-smoked opium. this i felt was at last the home of the "dope trust," as o'connor had once called it, the secret realm of a real opium king, the american end of the rich shanghai syndicate. a door opened and there stood a chinaman, stoical, secretive, indifferent, with all the oriental cunning and cruelty hall-marked on his face. yet there was a fascination and air of eastern culture about him in spite of that strange and typical oriental depth of intrigue and cunning that shone through, great characteristics of the east. no one said a word as kennedy continued to ransack the place. at last under a rubbish heap he found a revolver wrapped up loosely in an old sweater. quickly, under the bright light, craig drew clendenin's pistol, fitted a cartridge into it and fired at the wall. again into the second gun he fitted another and a second shot rang out. out of his pocket came next the small magnifying glass and two unmounted microphotographs. he bent down over the exploded shells. "there it is," cried craig scarcely able to restrain himself with the keenness of his chase, "there it is--the mark like an 'l.' this cartridge bears the one mark, distinct, not possible to have been made by any other pistol in the world. none of the hep sings, all with the same make of weapons, none of the gunmen in their employ, could duplicate that mark." "some bullets," reported a policeman who had been rummaging further in the rubbish. "be careful, man," cautioned craig. "they are doped. lay them down. yes, this is the same gun that fired the shot at bertha curtis and nichi moto--fired narcotic bullets in order to stop any one who interfered with the opium smuggling, without killing the victim." "what's the matter?" asked o'connor, arriving breathless from the gambling room after hearing the shots. the chinaman stood, still silent, impassive. at sight of him o'connor gasped out, "chin jung!" "real tong leader," added craig, "and the murderer of the white girl to whom he was engaged. this is the goggled chauffeur of the red car that met the smuggling boat, and in which bertha curtis rode, unsuspecting, to her death." "and clendenin?" asked walker curtis, not comprehending. "a tool--poor wretch. so keen had the hunt for him become that he had to hide in the only safe place, with the coolies of his employer. he must have been in such abject terror that he has almost smoked himself to death." "but why should the chinaman shoot my sister?" asked walker curtis amazed at the turn of events. "your sister," replied craig, almost reverently, "wrecked though she was by the drug, was at last conscience stricken when she saw the vast plot to debauch thousands of others. it was from her that the japanese detective in the revenue service got his information--and both of them have paid the price. but they have smashed the new opium ring--we have captured the ring-leaders of the gang." out of the maze of streets, on chatham square again, we lost no time in mounting to the safety of the elevated station before some murderous tong member might seek revenge on us. the celebration in chinatown was stilled. it was as though the nerves of the place had been paralysed by our sudden, sharp blow. a downtown train took me to the office to write a "beat," for the star always made a special feature of the picturesque in chinatown news. kennedy went uptown. except for a few moments in the morning, i did not see kennedy again until the following afternoon, for the tong war proved to be such an interesting feature that i had to help lay out and direct the assignments covering its various details. i managed to get away again as soon as possible, however, for i knew that it would not be long before some one else in trouble would commandeer kennedy to untangle a mystery, and i wanted to be on the spot when it started. sure enough, it turned out that i was right. seated with him in our living room, when i came in from my hasty journey uptown in the subway, was a man, tall, thick-set, with a crop of closely curling dark hair, a sharp, pointed nose, ferret eyes, and a reddish moustache, curled at the ends. i had no difficulty in deciding what he was, if not who he was. he was the typical detective who, for the very reason that he looked the part, destroyed much of his own usefulness. "we have lost so much lately at trimble's," he was saying, "that it is long past the stage of being merely interesting. it is downright serious--for me, at least. i've got to make good or lose my job. and i'm up against one of the cleverest shoplifters that ever entered a department-store, apparently. only heaven knows how much she has got away with in various departments so far, but when it comes to lifting valuable things like pieces of jewelry which run into the thousands, that is too much." at the mention of the name of the big trimble store i had recognised at once what the man was, and it did not need kennedy's rapid-fire introduction of michael donnelly to tell me that he was a department store detective. "have you no clue, no suspicions?" inquired kennedy. "well, yes, suspicions," measured donnelly slowly. "for instance, one day not long ago a beautifully dressed and refined-looking woman called at the jewellery department and asked to see a diamond necklace which we had just imported from paris. she seemed to admire it very much, studied it, tried it on, but finally went away without making up her mind. a couple of days later she returned and asked to see it again. this time there happened to be another woman beside her who was looking at some pendants. the two fell to talking about the necklace, according to the best recollection of the clerk, and the second woman began to examine it critically. again the prospective buyer went away. but this time after she had gone, and when he was putting the things back into the safe, the clerk examined the necklace, thinking that perhaps a flaw had been discovered in it which had decided the woman against it. it was a replica in paste; probably substituted by one of these clever and smartly dressed women for the real necklace." before craig had a chance to put another question, the buzzer on our door sounded, and i admitted a dapper, soft-spoken man of middle size, who might have been a travelling salesman or a bookkeeper. he pulled a card from his case and stood facing us, evidently in doubt how to proceed. "professor kennedy?" he asked at length, balancing the pasteboard between his fingers. "yes," answered craig. "what can i do for you?" "i am from shorham, the fifth avenue jeweller, you know," he began brusquely, as he handed the card to kennedy. "i thought i'd drop in to consult you about a peculiar thing that happened at the store recently, but if you are engaged, i can wait. you see, we had on exhibition a very handsome pearl dogcollar, and a few days ago two women came to--" "say," interrupted kennedy, glancing from the card to the face of joseph bentley, and then at donnelly. "what is this--a gathering of the clans? there seems to be an epidemic of shoplifting. how much were you stung for?" "about twenty thousand altogether," replied bentley with rueful frankness. "why? has some one else been victimised, too?" xiii the kleptomaniac quickly kennedy outlined, with donnelly's permission, the story we had just heard. the two store detectives saw the humour of the situation, as well as the seriousness of it, and fell to comparing notes. "the professional as well as the amateur shop-lifter has always presented to me an interesting phase of criminality," remarked kennedy tentatively, during a lull in their mutual commiseration. "with thousands of dollars' worth of goods lying unprotected on the counters, it is really no wonder that some are tempted to reach out and take what they want." "yes," explained donnelly, "the shop-lifter is the department-store's greatest unsolved problem. why, sir, she gets more plunder in a year than the burglar. she's costing the stores over two million dollars. and she is at her busiest just now with the season's shopping in full swing. it's the price the stores have to pay for displaying their goods, but we have to do it, and we are at the mercy of the thieves. i don't mean by that the occasional shoplifter who, when she gets caught, confesses, cries, pleads, and begs to return the stolen article. they often get off. it is the regulars who get the two million, those known to the police, whose pictures are, many of them, in the rogues' gallery, whose careers and haunts are known to every probation officer. they are getting away with loot that means for them a sumptuous living." "of course we are not up against the same sort of swindlers that you are," put in bentley, "but let me tell you that when the big jewelers do get up against anything of the sort they are up against it hard." "have you any idea who it could be?" asked kennedy, who had been following the discussion keenly. "well, some idea," spoke up donnelly. "from what bentley says i wouldn't be surprised to find that it was the same person in both cases. of course you know how rushed all the stores are just now. it is much easier for these light-fingered individuals to operate during the rush than at any other time. in the summer, for instance, there is almost no shop-lifting at all. i thought that perhaps we could discover this particular shoplifter by ordinary means, that perhaps some of the clerks in the jewellery department might be able to identify her. we found one who said that he thought he might recognise one of the women if he saw her again. perhaps you did not know that we have our own little rogues' gallery in most of the big department-stores. but there didn't happen to be anything there that he recognised. so i took him down to police headquarters. through plate after plate of pictures among the shoplifters in the regular rogues' gallery the clerk went. at last he came to one picture that caused him to stop. 'that is one of the women i saw in the store that day,' he said. 'i'm sure of it.'" donnelly produced a copy of the bertillon picture. "what?" exclaimed bentley, as he glanced at it and then at the name and history on the back. "annie grayson? why, she is known as the queen of shoplifters. she has operated from christie's in london to the little curio-shops of san francisco. she has worked under a dozen aliases and has the art of alibi down to perfection. oh, i've heard of her many times before. i wonder if she really is the person we're looking for. they say that annie grayson has forgotten more about shoplifting than the others will ever know." "yes," continued donnelly, "and here's the queer part of it. the clerk was ready to swear that he had seen the woman in the store at some time or other, but whether she had been near the counter where the necklace was displayed was another matter. he wasn't so sure about that." "then how did she get it?" i asked, much interested. "i don't say that she did get it," cautioned donnelly. "i don't know anything about it. that is why i am here consulting professor kennedy." "then who did get it, do you think?" i demanded. "we have a great deal of very conflicting testimony from the various clerks," donnelly continued. "among those who are known to have visited the department and to have seen the necklace is another woman, of an entirely different character, well known in the city." he glanced sharply at us, as if to impress us with what he was about to say, then he leaned over and almost whispered the name. "as nearly as i can gather out of the mass of evidence, mrs. william willoughby, the wife of the broker down in wall street, was the last person who was seen looking at the diamonds." the mere breath of such a suspicion would have been enough, without his stage-whisper method of imparting the information. i felt that it was no wonder that, having even a suspicion of this sort, he should be in doubt how to go ahead and should wish kennedy's advice. ella willoughby, besides being the wife of one of the best known operators in high-class stocks and bonds, was well known in the society columns of the newspapers. she lived in glenclair, where she was a leader of the smarter set at both the church and the country club. the group who preserved this neat balance between higher things and the world, the flesh and the devil, i knew to be a very exclusive group, which, under the calm suburban surface, led a sufficiently rapid life. mrs. willoughby, in addition to being a leader, was a very striking woman and a beautiful dresser, who set a fast pace for the semi-millionaires who composed the group. here indeed was a puzzle at the very start of the case. it was in all probability mrs. willoughby who had looked at the jewels in both cases. on the other hand, it was annie grayson who had been seen on at least one occasion, yet apparently had had nothing whatever to do with the missing jewels, at least not so far as any tangible evidence yet showed. more than that, donnelly vouchsafed the information that he had gone further and that some of the men work-ing under him had endeavoured to follow the movements of the two women and had found what looked to be a curious crossing of trails. both of them, he had found, had been in the habit of visiting, while shopping, the same little tea-room on thirty-third street, though no one had ever seen them together there, and the coincidence might be accounted for by the fact that many glenclair ladies on shopping expeditions made this tea-room a sort of rendezvous. by inquiring about among his own fraternity donnelly had found that other stores also had reported losses recently, mostly of diamonds and pearls, both black and white. kennedy had been pondering the situation for some time, scarcely uttering a word. both detectives were now growing restless, waiting for him to say something. as for me, i knew that if anything were said or done it would be in kennedy's own good time. i had learned to have implicit faith and confidence in him, for i doubt if craig could have been placed in a situation where he would not know just what to do after he had looked over the ground. at length he leisurely reached across the table for the suburban telephone book, turned the pages quickly, snapped it shut, and observed wearily and, as it seemed, irrelevantly: "the same old trouble again about accurate testimony. i doubt whether if i should suddenly pull a revolver and shoot jameson, either of you two men could give a strictly accurate account of just what happened." no one said anything, as he raised his hands from his habitual thinking posture with finger-tips together, placed both hands back of his head, and leaned back facing us squarely. "the first step," he said slowly, "must be to arrange a 'plant.' as nearly as i can make out the shoplifters or shoplifter, whichever it may prove to be, have no hint that any one is watching them yet. now, donnelly, it is still very early. i want you to telephone around to the newspapers, and either in the trimble advertisements or in the news columns have it announced that your jewellery department has on exhibition a new and special importation of south african stones among which is one--let me see, let's call it the 'kimberley queen.' that will sound attractive. in the meantime find the largest and most perfect paste jewel in town and have it fixed up for exhibition and labelled the kimberley queen. give it a history if you can; anything to attract attention. i'll see you in the morning. good-night, and thank you for coming to me with this case." it was quite late, but kennedy, now thoroughly interested in following the chase, had no intention of waiting until the morrow before taking action on his own account. in fact he was just beginning the evening's work by sending donnelly off to arrange the "plant." no less interested in the case than himself, i needed no second invitation, and in a few minutes we were headed from our rooms toward the laboratory, where kennedy had apparatus to meet almost any conceivable emergency. from a shelf in the corner he took down an oblong oak box, perhaps eighteen inches in length, in the front of which was set a circular metal disk with a sort of pointer and dial. he lifted the lid of the box, and inside i could see two shiny caps which in turn he lifted, disclosing what looked like two good-sized spools of wire. apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, he snapped the lid shut and wrapped up the box carefully, consigning it to my care, while he hunted some copper wire. from long experience with kennedy i knew better than to ask what he had in mind to do. it was enough to know that he had already, in those few minutes of apparent dreaming while donnelly and bentley were fidgeting for words, mapped out a complete course of action. we bent our steps toward the under-river tube, which carried a few late travellers to the railroad terminal where kennedy purchased tickets for glenclair. i noticed that the conductor on the suburban train eyed us rather suspiciously as though the mere fact that we were not travelling with commutation tickets at such an hour constituted an offence. although i did not yet know the precise nature of our adventure, i remembered with some misgiving that i had read of police dogs in glenclair which were uncomfortably familiar with strangers carrying bundles. however, we got along all right, perhaps because the dogs knew that in a town of commuters every one was privileged to carry a bundle. "if the willoughbys had been on a party line," remarked craig as we strode up woodridge avenue trying to look as if it was familiar to us, "we might have arranged this thing by stratagem. as it is, we shall have to resort to another method, and perhaps better, since we shall have to take no one into our confidence." the avenue was indeed a fine thoroughfare, lined on both sides with large and often imposing mansions, surrounded with trees and shrubbery, which served somewhat to screen them. we came at last to the willoughby house, a sizable colonial residence set up on a hill. it was dark, except for one dim light in an upper story. in the shadow of the hedge, craig silently vaulted the low fence and slipped up the terraces, as noiselessly as an indian, scarcely crackling a twig or rustling a dead leaf on the ground. he paused as he came to a wing on the right of the house. i had followed more laboriously, carrying the box and noting that he was not looking so much at the house as at the sky, apparently. it did not take long to fathom what he was after. it was not a star-gazing expedition; he was following the telephone wire that ran in from the street to the corner of the house near which we were now standing. a moment's inspection showed him where the wire was led down, on the outside and entered through the top of a window. quickly he worked, though in a rather awkward position, attaching two wires carefully to the telephone wires. next he relieved me of the oak box with its strange contents, and placed it under the porch where it was completely hidden by some lattice-work which extended down to the ground on this side. then he attached the new wires from the telephone to it and hid the connecting wires as best he could behind the swaying runners of a vine. at last, when he had finished to his satisfaction, we retraced our steps, to find that our only chance of getting out of town that night was by trolley that landed us, after many changes, in our apartment in new york, thoroughly convinced of the disadvantages of suburban detective work. nevertheless the next day found us out sleuthing about glenclair, this time in a more pleasant role. we had a newspaper friend or two out there who was willing to introduce us about without asking too many questions. kennedy, of course, insisted on beginning at the very headquarters of gossip, the country club. we spent several enjoyable hours about the town, picking up a good deal of miscellaneous and useless information. it was, however, as kennedy had suspected. annie grayson had taken up her residence in an artistic little house on one of the best side streets of the town. but her name was no longer annie grayson. she was mrs. maud emery, a dashing young widow of some means, living in a very quiet but altogether comfortable style, cutting quite a figure in the exclusive suburban community, a leading member of the church circle, an officer of the civic league, prominent in the women's club, and popular with those to whom the established order of things was so perfect that the only new bulwark of their rights was an anti-suffrage society. in fact, every one was talking of the valuable social acquisition in the person of this attractive young woman who entertained lavishly and was bracing up an otherwise drooping season. no one knew much about her, but then, that was not necessary. it was enough to accept one whose opinions and actions were not subversive of the social order in any way. the willoughbys, of course, were among the most prominent people in the town. william willoughby was head of the firm of willoughby & walton, and it was the general opinion that mrs. willoughby was the head of the firm of ella & william willoughby. the willoughbys were good mixers, and were spoken well of even by the set who occupied the social stratum just one degree below that in which they themselves moved. in fact, when mrs. willoughby had been severely injured in an automobile accident during the previous summer glenclair had shown real solicitude for her and had forgotten a good deal of its artificiality in genuine human interest. kennedy was impatiently waiting for an opportunity to recover the box which he had left under the willoughby porch. several times we walked past the house, but it was not until nightfall that he considered it wise to make the recovery. again we slipped silently up the terraces. it was the work of only a moment to cut the wires, and in triumph craig bore off the precious oak box and its batteries. he said little on our journey back to the city, but the moment we had reached the laboratory he set the box on a table with an attachment which seemed to be controlled by pedals operated by the feet. "walter," he explained, holding what looked like an earpiece in his hand, "this is another of those new little instruments that scientific detectives to-day are using. a poet might write a clever little verse en-titled, 'the telegraphone'll get you, if you don't watch out.' this is the latest improved telegraphone, a little electromagnetic wizard in a box, which we detectives are now using to take down and 'can' telephone conversations and other records. it is based on an entirely new principle in every way different from the phonograph. it was discovered by an inventor several years ago, while experimenting in telephony. "there are no disks or cylinders of wax, as in the phonograph, but two large spools of extremely fine steel wire. the record is not made mechanically on a cylinder, but electromagnetically on this wire. small portions of magnetism are imparted to fractions of the steel wire as it passes between two carbon electric magnets. each impression represents a sound wave. there is no apparent difference in the wire, no surface abrasion or other change, yet each particle of steel undergoes an electromagnetic transformation by which the sound is indelibly imprinted on it until it is wiped out by the erasing magnet. there are no cylinders to be shaved; all that is needed to use the wire again is to pass a magnet over it, automatically erasing any previous record that you do not wish to preserve. you can dictate into it, or, with this plug in, you can record a telephone conversation on it. even rust or other deterioration of the steel wire by time will not affect this electromagnetic registry of sound. it can be read as long as steel will last. it is as effective for long distances as for short, and there is wire enough on one of these spools for thirty minutes of uninterrupted record." craig continued to tinker tantalisingly with the machine. "the principle on which it is based," he added, "is that a mass of tempered steel may be impressed with and will retain magnetic fluxes varying in density and in sign in adjacent portions of its mass. there are no indentations on the wire or the steel disk. instead there is a deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, which is made by connecting up an ordinary telephone transmitter with the electromagnets and talking through the coil. the disturbance set up in the coils by the vibration of the diaphragm of the transmitter causes a deposit of magnetic impulse on the wire, the coils being connected with dry batteries. when the wire is again run past these coils, with a receiver such as i have here in circuit with the coils, a light vibration is set up in the receiver diaphragm which reproduces the sound of speech." he turned a switch and placed an ear-piece over his head, giving me another connected with it. we listened eagerly. there were no foreign noises in the machine, no grating or thumping sounds, as he controlled the running off of the steel wire by means of a foot-pedal. we were listening to everything that had been said over the willoughby telephone during the day. several local calls to tradesmen came first, and these we passed over quickly. finally we heard the following conversation: "hello. is that you, ella? yes, this is maud. good-morning. how do you feel to-day?" "good-morning, maud. i don't feel very well. i have a splitting headache." "oh, that's too bad, dear. what are you doing for it?" "nothing--yet. if it doesn't get better i shall have mr. willoughby call up dr. guthrie." "oh, i hope it gets better soon. you poor creature, don't you think a little trip into town might make you feel better? had you thought of going to-day?" "why, no. i hadn't thought of going in. are you going?" "did you see the trimble ad. in the morning paper?" "no, i didn't see the papers this morning. my head felt too bad." "well, just glance at it. it will interest you. they have the kimberley queen, the great new south african diamond on exhibition there." "they have? i never heard of it before, but isn't that interesting. i certainly would like to see it. have you ever seen it?" "no, but i have made up my mind not to miss a sight of it. they say it is wonderful. you'd better come along. i may have something interesting to tell you, too." "well, i believe i will go. thank you, maud, for suggesting it. perhaps the little change will make me feel better. what train are you going to take? the ten-two? all right, i'll try to meet you at the station. good-bye, maud." "good-bye, ella." craig stopped the machine, ran it back again and repeated the record. "so," he commented at the conclusion of the repetition, "the 'plant' has taken root. annie grayson has bitten at the bait." a few other local calls and a long-distance call from mr. willoughby cut short by his not finding his wife at home followed. then there seemed to have been nothing more until after dinner. it was a call by mr. willoughby himself that now interested us. "hello! hello! is that you, dr. guthrie? well, doctor, this is mr. willoughby talking. i'd like to make an appointment for my wife to-morrow." "why, what's the trouble, mr. willoughby? nothing serious, i hope." "oh, no, i guess not. but then i want to be sure, and i guess you can fix her up all right. she complains of not being able to sleep and has been having pretty bad headaches now and then." "is that so? well, that's too bad. these women and their headaches--even as a doctor they puzzle me. they often go away as suddenly as they come. however, it will do no harm to see me." "and then she complains of noises in her ears, seems to hear things, though as far as i can make out, there is nothing--at least nothing that i hear." "um-m, hallucinations in hearing, i suppose. any dizziness?" "why, yes, a little once in a while." "how is she now?" "well, she's been into town this afternoon and is pretty tired, but she says she feels a little better for the excitement of the trip." "well, let me see. i've got to come down woodridge avenue to see a patient in a few minutes anyhow. suppose i just drop off at your place?" "that will be fine. you don't think it is anything serious, do you, doctor?" "oh, no. probably it's her nerves. perhaps a little rest would do her good. we'll see." the telegraphone stopped, and that seemed to be the last conversation recorded. so far we had learned nothing very startling, i thought, and was just a little disappointed. kennedy seemed well satisfied, however. our own telephone rang, and it proved to be donnelly on the wire. he had been trying to get kennedy all day, in order to report that at various times his men at trimble's had observed mrs. willoughby and later annie grayson looking with much interest at the kimberley queen, and other jewels in the exhibit. there was nothing more to report. "keep it on view another day or two," ordered kennedy. "advertise it, but in a quiet way. we don't want too many people interested. i'll see you in the morning at the store--early." "i think i'll just run back to glenclair again to-night," remarked kennedy as he hung up the receiver. "you needn't bother about coming, walter. i want to see dr. guthrie a moment. you remember him? we met him to-day at the country club, a kindly looking, middle-aged fellow?" i would willingly have gone back with him, but i felt that i could be of no particular use. while he was gone i pondered a good deal over the situation. twice, at least, previously some one had pilfered jewellery from stores, leaving in its place worthless imitations. twice the evidence had been so conflicting that no one could judge of its value. what reason, i asked myself, was there to suppose that it would be different now? no shoplifter in her senses was likely to lift the great kimberley queen gem with the eagle eyes of clerks and detectives on her, even if she did not discover that it was only a paste jewel. and if craig gave the woman, whoever she was, a good opportunity to get away with it, it would be a case of the same conflicting evidence; or worse, no evidence. yet the more i thought of it, the more apparent to me was it that kennedy must have thought the whole thing out before. so far all that had been evident was that he was merely preparing a "plant." still, i meant to caution him when he returned that one could not believe his eyes, certainly not his ears, as to what might happen, unless he was unusually skilful or lucky. it would not do to rely on anything so fallible as the human eye or ear, and i meant to impress it on him. what, after all, had been the net result of our activities so far? we had found next to nothing. indeed, it was all a greater mystery than ever. it was very late when craig returned, but i gathered from the still fresh look on his face that he had been successful in whatever it was he had had in mind when he made the trip. "i saw dr. guthrie," he reported laconically, as we prepared to turn in. "he says that he isn't quite sure but that mrs. willoughby may have a touch of vertigo. at any rate, he has consented to let me come out to-morrow with him and visit her as a specialist in nervous diseases from new york. i had to tell him just enough about the case to get him interested, but that will do no harm. i think i'll set this alarm an hour ahead. i want to get up early to-morrow, and if i shouldn't be here when you wake, you'll find me at trimble's." xiv the crimeometer the alarm wakened me all right, but to my surprise kennedy had already gone, ahead of it. i dressed hurriedly, bolted an early breakfast, and made my way to trimble's. he was not there, and i had about concluded to try the laboratory, when i saw him pulling up in a cab from which he took several packages. donnelly had joined us by this time, and together we rode up in the elevator to the jewelry department. i had never seen a department-store when it was empty, but i think i should like to shop in one under those conditions. it seemed incredible to get into the elevator and go directly to the floor you wanted. the jewelry department was in the front of the building on one of the upper floors, with wide windows through which the bright morning light streamed attractively on the glittering wares that the clerks were taking out of the safes and disposing to their best advantage. the store had not opened yet, and we could work unhampered. from his packages, kennedy took three black boxes. they seemed to have an opening in front, while at one side was a little crank, which, as nearly as i could make out, was operated by clockwork released by an electric contact. his first problem seemed to be to dispose the boxes to the best advantage at various angles about the counter where the kimberley queen was on exhibition. with so much bric-a-brac and other large articles about, it did not appear to be very difficult to conceal the boxes, which were perhaps four inches square on the ends and eight inches deep. from the boxes with the clockwork attachment at the side he led wires, centring at a point at the interior end of the aisle where we could see but would hardly be observed by any one standing at the jewelry counter. customers had now begun to arrive, and we took a position in the background, prepared for a long wait. now and then donnelly casually sauntered past us. he and craig had disposed the store detectives in a certain way so as to make their presence less obvious, while the clerks had received instructions how to act under the circumstance that a suspicious person was observed. once when donnelly came up he was quite excited. he had just received a message from bentley that some of the stolen property, the pearls, probably, from the dog collar that had been taken from shorham's, had been offered for sale by a "fence" known to the police as a former confederate of annie grayson. "you see, that is one great trouble with them all," he remarked, with his eye roving about the store in search of anything irregular. "a shoplifter rarely becomes a habitual criminal until after she passes the age of twenty-five. if they pass that age without quitting, there is little hope of their getting right again, as you see. for by that time they have long since begun to consort with thieves of the other sex." the hours dragged heavily, though it was a splendid chance to observe at leisure the psychology of the shopper who looked at much and bought little, the uncomfortableness of the men who had been dragged to the department store slaughter to say "yes" and foot the bills, a kaleidoscopic throng which might have been interesting if we had not been so intent on only one matter. kennedy grasped my elbow in vise-like fingers. involuntarily i looked down at the counter where the kimberley queen reposed in all the trappings of genuineness. mrs. willoughby had arrived again. we were too far off to observe distinctly just what was taking place, but evidently mrs. willoughby was looking at the gem. a moment later another woman sauntered casually up to the counter. even at a distance i recognised annie grayson. as nearly as i could make out they seemed to exchange remarks. the clerk answered a question or two, then began to search for something apparently to show them. every one about them was busy, and, obedient to instructions from donnelly, the store detectives were in the background. kennedy was leaning forward watching as intently as the distance would permit. he reached over and pressed the button near him. after a minute or two the second woman left, followed shortly by mrs. willoughby herself. we hurried over to the counter, and kennedy seized the box containing the kimberley queen. he examined it carefully. a flaw in the paste jewel caught his eye. "there has been a substitution here," he cried. "see! the paste jewel which we used was flawless; this has a little carbon spot here on the side." "one of my men has been detailed to follow each of them," whispered donnelly. "shall i order them to bring mrs. willoughby and annie grayson to the superintendent's office and have them searched?" "no," craig almost shouted. "that would spoil everything. don't make a move until i get at the real truth of this affair." the case was becoming more than ever a puzzle to me, but there was nothing left for me to do but to wait until kennedy was ready to accompany dr. guthrie to the willoughby house. several times he tried to reach the doctor by telephone, but it was not until the middle of the afternoon that he succeeded. "i shall be quite busy the rest of the afternoon, walter," remarked craig, after he had made his appointment with dr. guthrie. "if you will meet me out at the willoughbys' at about eight o'clock, i shall be much obliged to you." i promised, and tried to devote myself to catching up with my notes, which were always sadly behind when kennedy had an important case. i did not succeed in accomplishing much, however. dr. guthrie himself met me at the door of the beautiful house on woodridge avenue and with a hearty handshake ushered me into the large room in the right wing outside of which we had placed the telegraphone two nights before. it was the library. we found kennedy arranging an instrument in the music-room which adjoined the library. from what little knowledge i have of electricity i should have said it was, in part at least, a galvanometer, one of those instruments which register the intensity of minute electric currents. as nearly as i could make out, in this case the galvanometer was so arranged that its action swung to one side or the other a little concave mirror hung from a framework which rested on the table. directly in front of it was an electric light, and the reflection of the light was caught in the mirror and focused by its concavity upon a point to one side of the light. back of it was a long strip of ground glass and an arrow point, attached to which was a pen which touched a roll of paper. on the large table in the library itself kennedy had placed in the centre a transverse board partition, high enough so that two people seated could see each other's faces and converse over it, but could not see each other's hands. on one side of the partition were two metal domes which were fixed to a board set on the table. on the other side, in addition to space on which he could write, kennedy had arranged what looked like one of these new miniature moving-picture apparatuses operated by electricity. indeed, i felt that it must be that, for directly in front of it, hanging on the wall, in plain view of any one seated on the side of the table containing the metal domes, was a large white sheet. the time for the experiment, whatever its nature might be, had at last arrived, and dr. guthrie introduced mr. and mrs. willoughby to us as specialists whom he had persuaded with great difficulty to come down from new york. mr. willoughby he requested to remain outside until after the tests. she seemed perfectly calm as she greeted us, and looked with curiosity at the paraphernalia which kennedy had installed in her library. kennedy, who was putting some finishing touches on it, was talking in a low voice to reassure her. "if you will sit here, please, mrs. willoughby, and place your hands on these two brass domes--there, that's it. this is just a little arrangement to test your nervous condition. dr. guthrie, who understands it, will take his position outside in the music-room at that other table. walter, just switch off that light, please. "mrs. willoughby, i may say that in testing, say, the memory, we psychologists have recently developed two tests, the event test, where something is made to happen before a person's eyes and later he is asked to describe it, and the picture test, where a picture is shown for a certain length of time, after which the patient is also asked to describe what was in the picture. i have endeavoured to combine these two ideas by using the moving-picture machine which you see here. i am going to show three reels of films." as nearly as i could make out kennedy had turned on the light in the lantern on his side of the table. as he worked over the machine, which for the present served to distract mrs. willoughby's attention from herself, he was asking her a series of questions. from my position i could see that by the light of the machine he was recording both the questions and the answers, as well as the time registered to the fifth of a second by a stop-watch. mrs. willoughby could not see what he was doing under the pretence of working over his little moving-picture machine. he had at last finished the questioning. suddenly, without any warning, a picture began to play on the sheet. i must say that i was startled myself. it represented the jewelry counter at trimble's, and in it i could see mrs. willoughby herself in animated conversation with one of the clerks. i looked intently, dividing my attention between the picture and the woman. but so far as i could see there was nothing in this first film that incriminated either of them. kennedy started on the second without stopping. it was practically the same as the first, only taken from a different angle. he had scarcely run it half through when dr. guthrie opened the door. "i think mrs. willoughby must have taken her hands off the metal domes," he remarked; "i can get no record out here." i had turned when he opened the door, and now i caught a glimpse of mrs. willoughby standing, her hands pressed tightly to her head as if it were bursting, and swaying as if she would faint. i do not know what the film was showing at this point, for kennedy with a quick movement shut it off and sprang to her side. "there, that will do, mrs. willoughby. i see that you are not well," he soothed. "doctor, a little something to quiet her nerves. i think we can complete our work merely by comparing notes. call mr. willoughby, walter. there, sir, if you will take charge of your wife and perhaps take her for a turn or two in the fresh air, i think we can tell you in a few moments whether her condition is in any way serious or not." mrs. willoughby was on the verge of hysterics as her husband supported her out of the room. the door had scarcely shut before kennedy threw open a window and seemed to beckon into the darkness. as if from nowhere, donnelly and bentley sprang no and were admitted. dr. guthrie had now returned from the music-room, bearing a sheet of paper on which was traced a long irregular curve at various points on which marginal notes had been written hastily. kennedy leaped directly into the middle of things with his characteristic ardour. "you recall," he began, "that no one seemed to know just who took the jewels in both the cases you first reported? 'seeing is believing,' is an old saying, but in the face of such reports as you detectives gathered it is in a fair way to lose its force. and you were not at fault, either, for modern psychology is proving by experiments that people do not see even a fraction of the things they confidently believe they see. "for example, a friend of mine, a professor in a western university, has carried on experiments with scores of people and has not found one who could give a completely accurate description of what he had seen, even in the direct testimony; while under the influence of questions, particularly if they were at all leading, witnesses all showed extensive inaccuracies in one or more particulars, and that even though they are in a more advantageous position for giving reports than were your clerks who were not prepared. indeed, it is often a wonder to me that witnesses of ordinary events who are called upon in court to relate what they saw after a considerable lapse of time are as accurate as they are, considering the questioning they often go through from interested parties, neighbours and friends, and the constant and often biased rehearsing of the event. the court asks the witness to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. how can he? in fact, i am often surprised that there is such a resemblance between the testimony and the actual facts of the case! "but i have here a little witness that never lies, and, mindful of the fallibility of ordinary witnesses, i called it in. it is a new, compact, little motion camera which has just been perfected to do automatically what the big moving-picture making cameras do." he touched one of the little black boxes such as we had seen him install in the jewelry department at trimble's. "each of these holds one hundred and sixty feet of film," he resumed, "enough to last three minutes, taking, say, sixteen pictures to the foot and running about one foot a second. you know that less than ten or eleven pictures a second affect the retina as separate, broken pictures. the use of this compact little motion camera was suggested to me by an ingenious but cumbersome invention recently offered to the police in paris--the installation on the clock-towers in various streets of cinematograph apparatus directed by wireless. the motion camera as a detective has now proved its value. i have here three films taken at trimble's, from different angles, and they clearly show exactly what actually occurred while mrs. willoughby and annie grayson were looking at the kimberley queen." he paused as if analysing the steps in his own mind. "the telegraphone gave me the first hint of the truth," he said. "the motion camera brought me a step nearer, but without this third instrument, while i should have been successful, i would not have got at the whole truth." he was fingering the apparatus on the library table connected with that in the music-room. "this is the psychometer for testing mental aberrations," he explained. "the scientists who are using it to-day are working, not with a view to aiding criminal jurisprudence, but with the hope of making such discoveries that the mental health of the race may be bettered. still, i believe that in the study of mental diseases these men are furnishing the knowledge upon which future criminologists will build to make the detection of crime an absolute certainty. some day there will be no jury, no detectives, no witnesses, no attorneys. the state will merely submit all suspects to tests of scientific instruments like these, and as these instruments can not make mistakes or tell lies their evidence will be conclusive of guilt or innocence. "already the psychometer is an actual working fact. no living man can conceal his emotions from the uncanny instrument. he may bring the most gigantic of will-powers into play to conceal his inner feelings and the psychometer will record the very work which he makes this will-power do. "the machine is based upon the fact that experiments have proved that the human body's resistance to an electrical current is increased with the increase of the emotions. dr. jung, of zurich, thought that it would be a very simple matter to record these varying emotions, and the psychometer is the result--simple and crude to-day compared with what we have a right to expect in the future. "a galvanometer is so arranged that its action swings a mirror from side to side, reflecting a light. this light falls on a ground-glass scale marked off into centimetres, and the arrow is made to follow the beam of light. a pen pressing down on a metal drum carrying a long roll of paper revolved by machinery records the variations. dr. guthrie, who had charge of the recording, simply sat in front of the ground glass and with the arrow point followed the reflection of the light as it moved along the scale, in this way making a record on the paper on the drum, which i see he is now holding in his hand. "mrs. willoughby, the subject, and myself, the examiner, sat here, facing each other over this table. through those metal domes on which she was to keep her hands she received an electric current so weak that it could not be felt even by the most sensitive nerves. now with every increase in her emotion, either while i was putting questions to her or showing her the pictures, whether she showed it outwardly or not, she increased her body's resistance to the current that was being passed in through her hands. the increase was felt by the galvanometer connected by wires in the music-room, the mirror swung, the light travelled on the scale, the arrow was moved by dr. guthrie, and her varying emotions were recorded indelibly upon the revolving sheet of paper, recorded in such a way as to show their intensity and reveal to the trained scientist much of the mental condition of the subject." kennedy and dr. guthrie now conversed in low tones. once in a while i could catch a scrap of the conversation--"not an epileptic," "no abnormal conformation of the head," "certain mental defects," "often the result of sickness or accident." "every time that woman appeared there was a most peculiar disturbance," remarked dr. guthrie as kennedy took the roll of paper from him and studied it carefully. at length the light seemed to break through his face. "among the various kinds of insanity," he said, slowly measuring his words, "there is one that manifests itself as an irresistible impulse to steal. such terms as neuropath and kleptomaniac are often regarded as rather elegant names for contemptible excuses invented by medical men to cover up stealing. people are prone to say cynically, 'poor man's sins; rich man's diseases.' yet kleptomania does exist, and it is easy to make it seem like crime when it is really persistent, incorrigible, and irrational stealing. often it is so great as to be incurable. cases have been recorded of clergymen who were kleptomaniacs and in one instance a dying victim stole the snuffbox of his confessor. "it is the pleasure and excitement of stealing, not the desire for the object stolen, which distinguishes the kleptomaniac from the ordinary thief. usually the kleptomaniac is a woman, with an insane desire to steal for the mere sake of stealing. the morbid craving for excitement which is at the bottom of so many motiveless and useless crimes, again and again has driven apparently sensible men and women to ruin and even to suicide. it is a form of emotional insanity, not loss of control of the will, but perversion of the will. some are models in their lucid intervals, but when the mania is on them they cannot resist. the very act of taking constitutes the pleasure, not possession. one must take into consideration many things, for such diseases as kleptomania belong exclusively to civilisation; they are the product of an age of sensationalism. naturally enough, woman, with her delicately balanced nervous organisation, is the first and chief offender." kennedy had seated himself at the table and was writing hastily. when he had finished, he held the papers in his hand to dry. he handed one sheet each to bentley and donnelly. we crowded about. kennedy had simply written out two bills for the necklace and the collar of pearls. "send them in to mr. willoughby," he added. "i think he will be glad to pay them to hush up the scandal." we looked at each other in amazement at the revelation. "but what about annie grayson?" persisted donnelly. "i have taken care of her," responded kennedy laconically. "she is already under arrest. would you like to see why?" a moment later we had all piled into dr. guthrie's car, standing at the door. at the cosy little grayson villa we found two large eyed detectives and a very angry woman waiting impatiently. heaped up on a table in the living room was a store of loot that readily accounted for the ocular peculiarity of the detectives. the jumble on the table contained a most magnificent collection of diamonds, sapphires, ropes of pearls, emeralds, statuettes, and bronze and ivory antiques, books in rare bindings, and other baubles which wealth alone can command. it dazzled our eyes as we made a mental inventory of the heap. yet it was a most miscellaneous collection. beside a pearl collar with a diamond clasp were a pair of plain leather slippers and a pair of silk stockings. things of value and things of no value were mixed as if by a lunatic. a beautiful neck ornament of carved coral lay near a half-dozen common linen handkerchiefs. a strip of silk hid a valuable collection of antique jewellery. besides diamonds and precious stones by the score were gold and silver ornaments, silks, satins, laces, draperies, articles of virtu, plumes, even cutlery and bric-a-brac. all this must have been the result of countless excursions to the stores of new york and innumerable clever thefts. we could only look at each other in amazement and wonder at the defiance written on the face of annie grayson. "in all this strange tangle of events," remarked kennedy, surveying the pile with obvious satisfaction, "i find that the precise instruments of science have told me one more thing. some one else discovered mrs. willoughby's weakness, led her on, suggested opportunities to her, used her again and again, profited by her malady, probably to the extent of thousands of dollars. my telegraphone record hinted at that. in some way annie grayson secured the confidence of mrs. willoughby. the one took for the sake of taking; the other received for the sake of money. mrs. willoughby was easily persuaded by her new friend to leave here what she had stolen. besides, having taken it, she had no further interest in it. "the rule of law is that every one is responsible who knows the nature and consequences of his act. we have absolute proof that you, annie grayson, although you did not actually commit any of the thefts yourself, led mrs. willoughby on and profited by her. dr. guthrie will take care of the case of mrs. willoughby. but the law must deal with you for playing on the insanity of a kleptomaniac--the cleverest scheme yet of the queen of shoplifters." as kennedy turned nonchalantly from the detectives who had seized annie grayson, he drew a little red folder from his pocket. "you see, walter," he smiled, "how soon one gets into a habit? i'm almost a regular commuter, now. you know, they are always bringing out these little red folders just when things grow interesting." i glanced over his shoulder. he was studying the local timetable. "we can get the last train from glenclair if we hurry," he announced, stuffing the folder back into his pocket. "they will take her to newark by trolley, i suppose. come on." we made our hasty adieux and escaped as best we could the shower of congratulations. "now for a rest," he said, settling back into the plush covered seat for the long ride into town, his hat down over his eyes and his legs hunched up against the back of the next seat. across in the tube and uptown in a nighthawk cab we went and at last we were home for a good sleep. "this promises to be an off-day," craig remarked, the next morning over the breakfast table. "meet me in the forenoon and we'll take a long, swinging walk. i feel the need of physical exercise." "a mark of returning sanity!" i exclaimed. i had become so used to being called out on the unexpected, now, that i almost felt that some one might stop us on our tramp. nothing of the sort happened, however, until our return. then a middle-aged man and a young girl, heavily veiled, were waiting for kennedy, as we turned in from the brisk finish in the cutting river wind along the drive. "winslow is my name, sir," the man began, rising nervously as we entered the room, "and this is my only daughter, ruth." kennedy bowed and we waited for the man to proceed. he drew his hand over his forehead which was moist with perspiration in spite of the season. ruth winslow was an attractive young woman, i could see at a glance, although her face was almost completely hidden by the thick veil. "perhaps, ruth, i had better--ah--see these gentlemen alone?" suggested her father gently. "no, father," she answered in a tone of forced bravery, "i think not. i can stand it. i must stand it. perhaps i can help you in telling about the--the case." mr. winslow cleared his throat. "we are from goodyear, a little mill-town," he proceeded slowly, "and as you doubtless can see we have just arrived after travelling all day." "goodyear," repeated kennedy slowly as the man paused. "the chief industry, of course, is rubber, i suppose." "yes," assented mr. winslow, "the town centres about rubber. our factories are not the largest but are very large, nevertheless, and are all that keep the town going. it is on rubber, also, i fear, that the tragedy which i am about to relate hangs. i suppose the new york papers have had nothing to say of the strange death of bradley cushing, a young chemist in goodyear who was formerly employed by the mills but had lately set up a little laboratory of his own?" kennedy turned to me. "nothing unless the late editions of the evening papers have it," i replied. "perhaps it is just as well," continued mr. winslow. "they wouldn't have it straight. in fact, no one has it straight yet. that is why we have come to you. you see, to my way of thinking bradley cushing was on the road to changing the name of the town from goodyear to cushing. he was not the inventor of synthetic rubber about which you hear nowadays, but he had improved the process so much that there is no doubt that synthetic rubber would soon have been on the market cheaper and better than the best natural rubber from para. "goodyear is not a large place, but it is famous for its rubber and uses a great deal of raw material. we have sent out some of the best men in the business, seeking new sources in south america, in mexico, in ceylon, malaysia and the congo. what our people do not know about rubber is hardly worth knowing, from the crude gum to the thousands of forms of finished products. goodyear is a wealthy little town, too, for its size. naturally all its investments are in rubber, not only in our own mills but in companies all over the world. last year several of our leading citizens became interested in a new concession in the congo granted to a group of american capitalists, among whom was lewis borland, who is easily the local magnate of our town. when this group organised an expedition to explore the region preparatory to taking up the concession, several of the best known people in goodyear accompanied the party and later subscribed for large blocks of stock. "i say all this so that you will understand at the start just what part rubber plays in the life of our little community. you can readily see that such being the case, whatever advantage the world at large might gain from cheap synthetic rubber would scarcely benefit those whose money and labour had been expended on the assumption that rubber would be scarce and dear. naturally, then, bradley cushing was not precisely popular with a certain set in goodyear. as for myself, i am frank to admit that i might have shared the opinion of many others regarding him, for i have a small investment in this congo enterprise myself. but the fact is that cushing, when he came to our town fresh from his college fellowship in industrial chemistry, met my daughter." without taking his eyes off kennedy, he reached over and patted the gloved hand that clutched the arm of the chair alongside his own. "they were engaged and often they used to talk over what they would do when bradley's invention of a new way to polymerise isoprene, as the process is called, had solved the rubber question and had made him rich. i firmly believe that their dreams were not day dreams, either. the thing was done. i have seen his products and i know something about rubber. there were no impurities in his rubber." mr. winslow paused. ruth was sobbing quietly. "this morning," he resumed hastily, "bradley cushing was found dead in his laboratory under the most peculiar circumstances. i do not know whether his secret died with him or whether some one has stolen it. from the indications i concluded that he had been murdered." such was the case as kennedy and i heard it then. ruth looked up at him with tearful eyes wistful with pain, "would mr. kennedy work on it?" there was only one answer. xv the vampire as we sped out to the little mill-town on the last train, after kennedy had insisted on taking us all to a quiet little restaurant, he placed us so that miss winslow was furthest from him and her father nearest. i could hear now and then scraps of their conversation as he resumed his questioning, and knew that mr. winslow was proving to be a good observer. "cushing used to hire a young fellow of some scientific experience, named strong," said mr. winslow as he endeavoured to piece the facts together as logically as it was possible to do. "strong used to open his laboratory for him in the morning, clean up the dirty apparatus, and often assist him in some of his experiments. this morning when strong approached the laboratory at the usual time he was surprised to see that though it was broad daylight there was a light burning. he was alarmed and before going in looked through the window. the sight that he saw froze him. there lay cushing on a workbench and beside him and around him pools of coagulating blood. the door was not locked, as we found afterward, but the young man did not stop to enter. he ran to me and, fortunately, i met him at our door. i went back. "we opened the unlocked door. the first thing, as i recall it, that greeted me was an unmistakable odour of oranges. it was a very penetrating and very peculiar odour. i didn't understand it, for there seemed to be something else in it besides the orange smell. however, i soon found out what it was, or at least strong did. i don't know whether you know anything about it, but it seems that when you melt real rubber in the effort to reduce it to carbon and hydrogen, you get a liquid substance which is known as isoprene. well, isoprene, according to strong, gives out an odour something like ether. cushing, or some one else, had apparently been heating isoprene. as soon as strong mentioned the smell of ether i recognised that that was what made the smell of oranges so peculiar. "however, that's not the point. there lay cushing on his back on the workbench, just as strong had said. i bent over him, and in his arm, which was bare, i saw a little gash made by some sharp instrument and laying bare an artery, i think, which was cut. long spurts of blood covered the floor for some distance around and from the veins in his arm, which had also been severed, a long stream of blood led to a hollow in the cement floor where it had collected. i believe that he bled to death." "and the motive for such a terrible crime?" queried craig. mr. winslow shook his head helplessly. "i suppose there are plenty of motives," he answered slowly, "as many motives as there are big investments in rubber-producing ventures in goodyear." "but have you any idea who would go so far to protect his investments as to kill?" persisted kennedy. mr. winslow made no reply. "who," asked kennedy, "was chiefly interested in the rubber works where cushing was formerly employed?" "the president of the company is the mr. borland whom i mentioned," replied mr. winslow. "he is a man of about forty, i should say, and is reputed to own a majority of the--" "oh, father," interrupted miss winslow, who had caught the drift of the conversation in spite of the pains that had been taken to keep it away from her, "mr. borland would never dream of such a thing. it is wrong even to think of it." "i didn't say that he would, my dear," corrected mr. winslow gently. "professor kennedy asked me who was chiefly interested in the rubber works and mr. borland owns a majority of the stock." he leaned over and whispered to kennedy, "borland is a visitor at our home, and between you and me, he thinks a great deal of ruth." i looked quickly at kennedy, but he was absorbed in looking out of the car window at the landscape which he did not and could not see. "you said there were others who had an interest in outside companies," cross-questioned kennedy. "i take it that you mean companies dealing in crude rubber, the raw material, people with investments in plantations and concessions, perhaps. who are they? who were the men who went on that expedition to the congo with borland which you mentioned?" "of course, there was borland himself," answered winslow. "then there was a young chemist named lathrop, a very clever and ambitious fellow who succeeded cushing when he resigned from the works, and dr. harris, who was persuaded to go because of his friendship for borland. after they took up the concession i believe all of them put money into it, though how much i can't say." i was curious to ask whether there were any other visitors at the winslow house who might be rivals for ruth's affections, but there was no opportunity. nothing more was said until we arrived at goodyear. we found the body of cushing lying in a modest little mortuary chapel of an undertaking establishment on the main street. kennedy at once began his investigation by discovering what seemed to have escaped others. about the throat were light discolourations that showed that the young inventor had been choked by a man with a powerful grasp, although the fact that the marks had escaped observation led quite obviously to the conclusion that he had not met his death in that way, and that the marks probably played only a minor part in the tragedy. kennedy passed over the doubtful evidence of strangulation for the more profitable examination of the little gash in the wrist. "the radial artery has been cut," he mused. a low exclamation from him brought us all bending over him as he stooped and examined the cold form. he was holding in the palm of his hand a little piece of something that shone like silver. it was in the form of a minute hollow cylinder with two grooves on it, a cylinder so tiny that it would scarcely have slipped over the point of a pencil. "where did you find it?" i asked eagerly. he pointed to the wound. "sticking in the severed end of a piece of vein," he replied, half to himself, "cuffed over the end of the radial artery which had been severed, and done so neatly as to be practically hidden. it was done so cleverly that the inner linings of the vein and artery, the endothelium as it is called, were in complete contact with each other." as i looked at the little silver thing and at kennedy's face, which betrayed nothing, i felt that here indeed was a mystery. what new scientific engine of death was that little hollow cylinder? "next i should like to visit the laboratory," he remarked simply. fortunately, the laboratory had been shut and nothing had been disturbed except by the undertaker and his men who had carried the body away. strong had left word that he had gone to boston, where, in a safe deposit box, was a sealed envelope in which cushing kept a copy of the combination of his safe, which had died with him. there was, therefore, no hope of seeing the assistant until the morning. kennedy found plenty to occupy his time in his minute investigation of the laboratory. there, for instance, was the pool of blood leading back by a thin dark stream to the workbench and its terrible figure, which i could almost picture to myself lying there through the silent hours of the night before, with its life blood slowly oozing away, unconscious, powerless to save itself. there were spurts of arterial blood on the floor and on the nearby laboratory furniture, and beside the workbench another smaller and isolated pool of blood. on a table in a corner by the window stood a microscope which cushing evidently used, and near it a box of fresh sterilised slides. kennedy, who had been casting his eye carefully about taking in the whole laboratory, seemed delighted to find the slides. he opened the box and gingerly took out some of the little oblong pieces of glass, on each of which he dropped a couple of minute drops of blood from the arterial spurts and the venous pools on the floor. near the workbench were circular marks, much as if some jars had been set down there. we were watching him, almost in awe at the matter of fact manner in which, he was proceeding in what to us was nothing but a hopeless enigma, when i saw him stoop and pick up a few little broken pieces of glass. there seemed to be blood spots on the glass, as on other things, but particularly interesting to him. a moment later i saw that he was holding in his hand what were apparently the remains of a little broken vial which he had fitted together from the pieces. evidently it had been used and dropped in haste. "a vial for a local anesthetic," he remarked. "this is the sort of thing that might be injected into an arm or leg and deaden the pain of a cut, but that is all. it wouldn't affect the consciousness or prevent any one from resisting a murderer to the last. i doubt if that had anything directly to do with his death, or perhaps even that this is cushing's blood on it." unlike winslow i had seen kennedy in action so many times that i knew it was useless to speculate. but i was fascinated, for the deeper we got into the case, the more unusual and inexplicable it seemed. i gave that end of it up, but the fact that strong had gone to secure the combination of the safe suggested to me to examine that article. there was certainly no evidence of robbery or even of an attempt at robbery there. "was any doctor called?" asked kennedy. "yes," he replied. "though i knew it was of no use i called in dr. howe, who lives up the street from the laboratory. i should have called dr. harris, who used to be my own physician, but since his return from africa with the borland expedition, he has not been in very good health and has practically given up his practice. dr. howe is the best practising physician in town, i think." "we shall call on him to-morrow," said craig, snapping his watch, which already marked far after midnight. dr. howe proved, the next day, to be an athletic-looking man, and i could not help noticing and admiring his powerful frame and his hearty handshake, as he greeted us when we dropped into his office with a card from winslow. the doctor's theory was that cushing had committed suicide. "but why should a young man who had invented a new method of polymerising isoprene, who was going to become wealthy, and was engaged to a beautiful young girl, commit suicide?" the doctor shrugged his shoulders. it was evident that he, too, belonged to the "natural rubber set" which dominated goodyear. "i haven't looked into the case very deeply, but i'm not so sure that he had the secret, are you?" kennedy smiled. "that is what i'd like to know. i suppose that an expert like mr. borland could tell me, perhaps?" "i should think so." "where is his office?" asked craig. "could you point it out to me from the window?" kennedy was standing by one of the windows of the doctor's office, and as he spoke he turned and drew a little field glass from his pocket. "which end of the rubber works is it?" dr. howe tried to direct him but kennedy appeared unwarrantably obtuse, requiring the doctor to raise the window, and it was some moments before he got his glasses on the right spot. kennedy and i thanked the doctor for his courtesy and left the office. we went at once to the office of dr. harris, to whom winslow had also given us cards. we found him an anaemic man, half asleep. kennedy tentatively suggested the murder of cushing. "well, if you ask me my opinion," snapped out the doctor, "although i wasn't called into the case, from what i hear, i'd say that he was murdered." "some seem to think it was suicide," prompted kennedy. "people who have brilliant prospects and are engaged to pretty girls don't usually die of their own accord," rasped harris. "so you think he really did have the secret of artificial rubber?" asked craig. "not artificial rubber. synthetic rubber. it was the real thing, i believe." "did mr. borland and his new chemist lathrop believe it, too?" "i can't say. but i should surely advise you to see them." the doctor's face was twitching nervously. "where is borland's office?" repeated kennedy, again taking from his pocket the field glass and adjusting it carefully by the window. "over there," directed harris, indicating the corner of the works to which we had already been directed. kennedy had stepped closer to the window before him and i stood beside him looking out also. "the cut was a very peculiar one," remarked kennedy, still adjusting the glasses. "an artery and a vein had been placed together so that the endothelium, or inner lining of each, was in contact with the other, giving a continuous serous surface. which window did you say was borland's? i wish you'd step to the other window and raise it, so that i can be sure. i don't want to go wandering all over the works looking for him." "yes," the doctor said as he went, leaving him standing beside the window from which he had been directing us, "yes, you surely should see mr. borland. and don't forget that young chemist of his, lathrop, either, if i can be of any more help to you, come back again." it was a long walk through the village and factory yards to the office of lewis borland, but we were amply repaid by finding him in and ready to see us. borland was a typical yankee, tall, thin, evidently predisposed to indigestion, a man of tremendous mental and nervous energy and with a hidden wiry strength. "mr. borland," introduced kennedy, changing his tactics and adopting a new role, "i've come down to you as an authority on rubber to ask you what your opinion is regarding the invention of a townsman of yours named cushing." "cushing?" repeated borland in some surprise. "why--" "yes," interrupted kennedy, "i understand all about it. i had heard of his invention in new york and would have put some money into it if i could have been convinced. i was to see him to-day, but of course, as you were going to say, his death prevents it. still, i should like to know what you think about it." "well," borland added, jerking out his words nervously, as seemed to be his habit, "cushing was a bright young fellow. he used to work for me until he began to know too much about the rubber business." "do you know anything about his scheme?" insinuated kennedy. "very little, except that it was not patented yet, i believe, though he told every one that the patent was applied for and he expected to get a basic patent in some way without any interference." "well," drawled kennedy, affecting as nearly as possible the air of a promoter, "if i could get his assistant, or some one who had authority to be present, would you, as a practical rubber man, go over to his laboratory with me? i'd join you in making an offer to his estate for the rights to the process, if it seemed any good." "you're a cool one," ejaculated borland, with a peculiar avaricious twinkle in the corners of his eyes. "his body is scarcely cold and yet you come around proposing to buy out his invention and--and, of all persons, you come to me." "to you?" inquired kennedy blandly. "yes, to me. don't you know that synthetic rubber would ruin the business system that i have built up here?" still craig persisted and argued. "young man," said borland rising at length as if an idea had struck him, "i like your nerve. yes, i will go. i'll show you that i don't fear any competition from rubber made out of fusel oil or any other old kind of oil." he rang a bell and a boy answered. "call lathrop," he ordered. the young chemist, lathrop, proved to be a bright and active man of the new school, though a good deal of a rubber stamp. whenever it was compatible with science and art, he readily assented to every proposition that his employer laid down. kennedy had already telephoned to the winslows and miss winslow had answered that strong had returned from boston. after a little parleying, the second visit to the laboratory was arranged and miss winslow was allowed to be present with her father, after kennedy had been assured by strong that the gruesome relics of the tragedy would be cleared away. it was in the forenoon that we arrived with borland and lathrop. i could not help noticing the cordial manner with which borland greeted miss winslow. there was something obtrusive even in his sympathy. strong, whom we met now for the first time, seemed rather suspicious of the presence of borland and his chemist, but made an effort to talk freely without telling too much. "of course you know," commenced strong after proper urging, "that it has long been the desire of chemists to synthesise rubber by a method that will make possible its cheap production on a large scale. in a general way i know what mr. cushing had done, but there are parts of the process which are covered in the patents applied for, of which i am not at liberty to speak yet." "where are the papers in the case, the documents showing the application for the patent, for instance?" asked kennedy. "in the safe, sir," replied strong. strong set to work on the combination which he had obtained from the safe deposit vault. i could see that borland and miss winslow were talking in a low tone. "are you sure that it is a fact?" i overheard him ask, though i had no idea what they were talking about. "as sure as i am that the borland rubber works are a fact," she replied. craig also seemed to have overheard, for he turned quickly. borland had taken out his penknife and was moistening the blade carefully preparing to cut into a piece of the synthetic rubber. in spite of his expressed scepticism, i could see that he was eager to learn what the product was really like. strong, meanwhile, had opened the safe and was going over the papers. a low exclamation from him brought us around the little pile of documents. he was holding a will in which nearly everything belonging to cushing was left to miss winslow. not a word was said, although i noticed that kennedy moved quickly to her side, fearing that the shock of the discovery might have a bad effect on her, but she took it with remarkable calmness. it was apparent that cushing had taken the step of his own accord and had said nothing to her about it. "what does anything amount to?" she said tremulously at last. "the dream is dead without him in it." "come," urged kennedy gently. "this is enough for to-day." an hour later we were speeding back to new york. kennedy had no apparatus to work with out at goodyear and could not improvise it. winslow agreed to keep us in touch with any new developments during the few hours that craig felt it was necessary to leave the scene of action. back again in new york, craig took a cab directly for his laboratory, leaving me marooned with instructions not to bother him for several hours. i employed the time in a little sleuthing on my own account, endeavouring to look up the records of those involved in the case. i did not discover much, except an interview that had been given at the time of the return of his expedition by borland to the star, in which he gave a graphic description of the dangers from disease that they had encountered. i mention it because, though it did not impress me much when i read it, it at once leaped into my mind when the interminable hours were over and i rejoined kennedy. he was bending over a new microscope. "this is a rubber age, walter," he began, "and the stories of men who have been interested in rubber often sound like fiction." he slipped a slide under the microscope, looked at it and then motioned to me to do the same. "here is a very peculiar culture which i have found in some of that blood," he commented. "the germs are much larger than bacteria and they can be seen with a comparatively low power microscope swiftly darting between the blood cells, brushing them aside, but not penetrating them as some parasites, like that of malaria, do. besides, spectroscope tests show the presence of a rather well-known chemical in that blood." "a poisoning, then?" i ventured. "perhaps he suffered from the disease that many rubber workers get from the bisulphide of carbon. he must have done a good deal of vulcanising of his own rubber, you know." "no," smiled craig enigmatically, "it wasn't that. it was an arsenic derivative. here's another thing. you remember the field glass i used?" he had picked it up from the table and was pointing at a little hole in the side, that had escaped my notice before. "this is what you might call a right-angled camera. i point the glass out of the window and while you think i am looking through it i am really focusing it on you and taking your picture standing there beside me and out of my apparent line of vision. it would deceive the most wary." just then a long-distance call from winslow told us that borland had been to call on miss ruth and, in as kindly a way as could be, had offered her half a million dollars for her rights in the new patent. at once it flashed over me that he was trying to get control of and suppress the invention in the interests of his own company, a thing that has been done hundreds of times. or could it all have been part of a conspiracy? and if it was his conspiracy, would he succeed in tempting his friend, miss winslow, to fall in with this glittering offer? kennedy evidently thought, also, that the time for action had come, for without a word he set to work packing his apparatus and we were again headed for goodyear. xvi the blood test we arrived late at night, or rather in the morning, but in spite of the late hour kennedy was up early urging me to help him carry the stuff over to cushing's laboratory. by the middle of the morning he was ready and had me scouring about town collecting his audience, which consisted of the winslows, borland and lathrop, dr. howe, dr. harris, strong and myself. the laboratory was darkened and kennedy took his place beside an electric moving picture apparatus. the first picture was different from anything any of us had ever seen on a screen before. it seemed to be a mass of little dancing globules. "this," explained kennedy, "is what you would call an educational moving picture, i suppose. it shows normal blood corpuscles as they are in motion in the blood of a healthy man. those little round cells are the red corpuscles and the larger irregular cells are the white corpuscles." he stopped the film. the next picture was a sort of enlarged and elongated house fly, apparently, of sombre grey color, with a narrow body, thick proboscis and wings that overlapped like the blades of a pair of shears. "this," he went on, "is a picture of the now well known tse-tse fly found over a large area of africa. it has a bite something like a horse-fly and is a perfect blood-sucker. vast territories of thickly populated, fertile country near the shores of lakes and rivers are now depopulated as a result of the death-dealing bite of these flies, more deadly than the blood-sucking, vampirish ghosts with which, in the middle ages, people supposed night air to be inhabited. for this fly carries with it germs which it leaves in the blood of its victims, which i shall show next." a new film started. "here is a picture of some blood so infected. notice that worm-like sheath of undulating membrane terminating in a slender whip-like process by which it moves about. that thing wriggling about like a minute electric eel, always in motion, is known as the trypanosome. "isn't this a marvellous picture? to see the micro-organism move, evolve and revolve in the midst of normal cells, uncoil and undulate in the fluids which they inhabit, to see them play hide and seek with the blood corpuscles and clumps of fibrin, turn, twist, and rotate as if in a cage, to see these deadly little trypanosomes moving back and forth in every direction displaying their delicate undulating membranes and shoving aside the blood cells that are in their way while by their side the leucocytes, or white corpuscles, lazily extend or retract their pseudopods of protoplasm. to see all this as it is shown before us here is to realise that we are in the presence of an unknown world, a world infinitesimally small, but as real and as complex as that about us. with the cinematograph and the ultra-microscope we can see what no other forms of photography can reproduce. "i have secured these pictures so that i can better mass up the evidence against a certain person in this room. for in the blood of one of you is now going on the fight which you have here seen portrayed by the picture machine. notice how the blood corpuscles in this infected blood have lost their smooth, glossy appearance, become granular and incapable of nourishing the tissues. the trypanosomes are fighting with the normal blood cells. here we have the lowest group of animal life, the protozoa, at work killing the highest, man." kennedy needed nothing more than the breathless stillness to convince him of the effectiveness of his method of presenting his case. "now," he resumed, "let us leave this blood-sucking, vampirish tse-tse fly for the moment. i have another revelation to make." he laid down on the table under the lights, which now flashed up again, the little hollow silver cylinder. "this little instrument," kennedy explained, "which i have here is known as a canula, a little canal, for leading off blood from the veins of one person to another--in other words, blood transfusion. modern doctors are proving themselves quite successful in its use. "of course, like everything, it has its own peculiar dangers. but the one point i wish to make is this: in the selection of a donor for transfusion, people fall into definite groups. tests of blood must be made first to see whether it 'agglutinates,' and in this respect there are four classes of persons. in our case this matter had to be neglected. for, gentlemen, there were two kinds of blood on that laboratory floor, and they do not agglutinate. this, in short, was what actually happened. an attempt was made to transfuse cushing's blood as donor to another person as recipient. a man suffering from the disease caught from the bite of the tse-tse fly--the deadly sleeping sickness so well known in africa--has deliberately tried a form of robbery which i believe to be without parallel. he has stolen the blood of another! "he stole it in a desperate attempt to stay an incurable disease. this man had used an arsenic compound called atoxyl, till his blood was filled with it and its effects on the trypanosomes nil. there was but one wild experiment more to try--the stolen blood of another." craig paused to let the horror of the crime sink into our minds. "some one in the party which went to look over the concession in the congo contracted the sleeping sickness from the bites of those blood-sucking flies. that person has now reached the stage of insanity, and his blood is full of the germs and overloaded with atoxyl. "everything had been tried and had failed. he was doomed. he saw his fortune menaced by the discovery of the way to make synthetic rubber. life and money were at stake. one night, nerved up by a fit of insane fury, with a power far beyond what one would expect in his ordinary weakened condition, he saw a light in cushing's laboratory. he stole in stealthily. he seized the inventor with his momentarily superhuman strength and choked him. as they struggled he must have shoved a sponge soaked with ether and orange essence under his nose. cushing went under. "resistance overcome by the anesthetic, he dragged the now insensible form to the work bench. frantically he must have worked. he made an incision and exposed the radial artery, the pulse. then he must have administered a local anesthetic to himself in his arm or leg. he secured a vein and pushed the cut end over this little canula. then he fitted the artery of cushing over that and the blood that was, perhaps, to save his life began flowing into his depleted veins. "who was this madman? i have watched the actions of those whom i suspected when they did not know they were being watched. i did it by using this neat little device which looks like a field glass, but is really a camera that takes pictures of things at right angles to the direction in which the glass seems to be pointed. one person, i found, had a wound on his leg, the wrapping of which he adjusted nervously when he thought no one was looking. he had difficulty in limping even a short distance to open a window." kennedy uncorked a bottle and the subtle odor of oranges mingled with ether stole through the room. "some one here will recognize that odour immediately. it is the new orange-essence vapour anesthetic, a mixture of essence of orange with ether and chloroform. the odour hidden by the orange which lingered in the laboratory, mr. winslow and mr. strong, was not isoprene, but really ether. "i am letting some of the odour escape here because in this very laboratory it was that the thing took place, and it is one of the well-known principles of psychology that odours are powerfully suggestive. in this case the odour now must suggest the terrible scene of the other night to some one before me. more than that, i have to tell that person that the blood transfusion did not and could not save him. his illness is due to a condition that is incurable and cannot be altered by transfusion of new blood. that person is just as doomed to-day as he was before he committed--" a figure was groping blindly about. the arsenic compounds with which his blood was surcharged had brought on one of the attacks of blindness to which users of the drug are subject. in his insane frenzy he was evidently reaching desperately for kennedy himself. as he groped he limped painfully from the soreness of his wound. "dr. harris," accused kennedy, avoiding the mad rush at himself, and speaking in a tone that thrilled us, "you are the man who sucked the blood of cushing into your own veins and left him to die. but the state will never be able to exact from you the penalty of your crime. nature will do that too soon for justice. gentlemen, this is the murderer of bradley cushing, a maniac, a modern scientific vampire." i regarded the broken, doomed man with mingled pity and loathing, rather than with the usual feelings one has toward a criminal. "come," said craig. "the local authorities can take care of this case now." he paused just long enough for a word of comfort to the poor, broken-hearted girl. both winslow answered with a mute look of gratitude and despair. in fact, in the confusion we were only too glad to escape any more such mournful congratulations. "well," craig remarked, as we walked quickly down the street, "if we have to wait here for a train, i prefer to wait in the railroad station. i have done my part. now my only interest is to get away before they either offer me a banquet or lynch me." actually, i think he would have preferred the novelty of dealing with a lynching party, if he had had to choose between the two. we caught a train soon, however, and fortunately it had a diner attached. kennedy whiled away the time between courses by reading the graft exposures in the city. as we rolled into the station late in the afternoon, he tossed aside the paper with an air of relief. "now for a quiet evening in the laboratory," he exclaimed, almost gleefully. by what stretch of imagination he could call that recreation, i could not see. but as for quietness, i needed it, too. i had fallen wofully behind in my record of the startling events through which he was conducting me. consequently, until late that night i pecked away at my typewriter trying to get order out of the chaos of my hastily scribbled notes. under ordinary circumstances, i remembered, the morrow would have been my day of rest on the star. i had gone far enough with kennedy to realise that on this assignment there was no such thing as rest. "district attorney carton wants to see me immediately at the criminal courts building, walter," announced kennedy, early the following morning. clothed, and as much in my right mind as possible after the arduous literary labours of the night before, i needed no urging, for carton was an old friend of all the newspaper men. i joined craig quickly in a hasty ride down-town in the rush hour. on the table before the square-jawed, close-cropped, fighting prosecutor, whom i knew already after many a long and hard-fought campaign both before and after election, lay a little package which had evidently come to him in the morning's mail by parcel-post. "what do you suppose is in that, kennedy?" he asked, tapping it gingerly. "i haven't opened it yet, but i think it's a bomb. wait--i'll have a pail of water sent in here so that you can open it, if you will. you understand such things." "no--no," hastened kennedy, "that's exactly the wrong thing to do. some of these modern chemical bombs are set off in precisely that way. no. let me dissect the thing carefully. i think you may be right. it does look as if it might be an infernal machine. you see the evident disguise of the roughly written address?" carton nodded, for it was that that had excited his suspicion in the first place. meanwhile, kennedy, without further ceremony, began carefully to remove the wrapper of brown manila paper, preserving everything as he did so. carton and i instinctively backed away. inside, craig had disclosed an oblong wooden box. "i realise that opening a bomb is dangerous business," he pursued slowly, engrossed in his work and almost oblivious to us, "but i think i can take a chance safely with this fellow. the dangerous part is what might be called drawing the fangs. no bombs are exactly safe toys to have around until they are wholly destroyed, and before you can say you have destroyed one, it is rather a ticklish business to take out the dangerous element." he had removed the cover in the deftest manner without friction, and seemingly without disturbing the contents in the least. i do not pretend to know how he did it; but the proof was that we could see him still working from our end of the room. on the inside of the cover was roughly drawn a skull and cross-bones, showing that the miscreant who sent the thing had at least a sort of grim humour. for, where the teeth should have been in the skull were innumerable match-heads. kennedy picked them out with as much sang-froid as if he were not playing jackstraws with life and death. then he removed the explosive itself and the various murderous slugs and bits of metal embedded in it, carefully separating each as if to be labelled "exhibit a," "b," and so on for a class in bomb dissection. finally, he studied the sides and bottom of the box. "evidence of chlorate-of-potash mixture," kennedy muttered to himself, still examining the bomb. "the inside was a veritable arsenal--a very unusual and clever construction." "my heavens!" breathed carton. "i would rather go through a campaign again." xvii the bomb maker we stared at each other in blank awe, at the various parts, so innocent looking in the heaps on the table, now safely separated, but together a combination ticket to perdition. "who do you suppose could have sent it?" i blurted out when i found my voice, then, suddenly recollecting the political and legal fight that carton was engaged in at the time, i added, "the white slavers?" "not a doubt," he returned laconically. "and," he exclaimed, bringing down both hands vigorously in characteristic emphasis on the arms of his office chair, "i've got to win this fight against the vice trust, as i call it, or the whole work of the district attorney's office in clearing up the city will be discredited--to say nothing of the risk the present incumbent runs at having such grateful friends about the city send marks of their affection and esteem like this." i knew something already of the situation, and carton continued thoughtfully: "all the powers of vice are fighting a last-ditch battle against me now. i think i am on the trail of the man or men higher up in this commercialised-vice business--and it is a business, big business, too. you know, i suppose, that they seem to have a string of hotels in the city, of the worst character. there is nothing that they will stop at to protect themselves. why, they are using gangs of thugs to terrorise any one who informs on them. the gunmen, of course, hate a snitch worse than poison. there have been bomb outrages, too--nearly a bomb a day lately--against some of those who look shaky and seem to be likely to do business with my office. but i'm getting closer all the time." "how do you mean?" asked kennedy. "well, one of the best witnesses, if i can break him down by pressure and promises, ought to be a man named haddon, who is running a place in the fifties, known as the mayfair. haddon knows all these people. i can get him in half an hour if you think it worth while--not here, but somewhere uptown, say at the prince henry." kennedy nodded. we had heard of haddon before, a notorious character in the white-light district. a moment later carton had telephoned to the mayfair and had found haddon. "how did you get him so that he is even considering turning state's evidence?" asked craig. "well," answered carton slowly, "i suppose it was partly through a cabaret singer and dancer, loraine keith, at the mayfair. you know you never get the truth about things in the underworld except in pieces. as much as any one, i think we have been able to use her to weave a web about him. besides, she seems to think that haddon has treated her shamefully. according to her story, he seems to have been lavishing everything on her, but lately, for some reason, has deserted her. still, even in her jealousy she does not accuse any other woman of winning him away." "perhaps it is the opposite--another man winning her," suggested craig dryly. "it's a peculiar situation," shrugged carton. "there is another man. as nearly as i can make out there is a fellow named brodie who does a dance with her. but he seems to annoy her, yet at the same time exercises a sort of fascination over her." "then she is dancing at the mayfair yet?" hastily asked craig. "yes. i told her to stay, not to excite suspicion." "and haddon knows?" "oh, no. but she has told us enough about him already so that we can worry him, apparently, just as what he can tell us would worry the others interested in the hotels. to tell the truth, i think she is a drug fiend. why, my men tell me that they have seen her take just a sniff of something and change instantly--become a willing tool." "that's the way it happens," commented kennedy. "now, i'll go up there and meet haddon," resumed carton. "after i have been with him long enough to get into his confidence, suppose you two just happen along." half an hour later kennedy and i sauntered into the prince henry, where carton had made the appointment in order to avoid suspicion that might arise if he were seen with haddon at the mayfair. the two men were waiting for us--haddon, by contrast with carton, a weak-faced, nervous man, with bulgy eyes. "mr. haddon," introduced carton, "let me present a couple of reporters from the star--off duty, so that we can talk freely before them, i can assure you. good fellows, too, haddon." the hotel and cabaret keeper smiled a sickly smile and greeted us with a covert, questioning glance. "this attack on mr. carton has unnerved me," he shivered. "if any one dares to do that to him, what will they do to me?" "don't get cold feet, haddon," urged carton. "you'll be all right. i'll swing it for you." haddon made no reply. at length he remarked: "you'll excuse me for a moment. i must telephone to my hotel." he entered a booth in the shadow of the back of the cafe, where there was a slot-machine pay-station. "i think haddon has his suspicions," remarked carton, "although he is too prudent to say anything yet." a moment later he returned. something seemed to have happened. he looked less nervous. his face was brighter and his eyes clearer. what was it, i wondered? could it be that he was playing a game with carton and had given him a double cross? i was quite surprised at his next remark. "carton," he said confidently, "i'll stick." "good," exclaimed the district attorney, as they fell into a conversation in low tones. "by the way," drawled kennedy, "i must telephone to the office in case they need me." he had risen and entered the same booth. haddon and carton were still talking earnestly. it was evident that, for some reason, haddon had lost his former halting manner. perhaps, i reasoned, the bomb episode had, after all, thrown a scare into him, and he felt that he needed protection against his own associates, who were quick to discover such dealings as carton had forced him into. i rose and lounged back to the booth and kennedy. "whom did he call?" i whispered, when craig emerged perspiring from the booth, for i knew that that was his purpose. craig glanced at haddon, who now seemed absorbed in talking to carton. "no one," he answered quickly. "central told me there had not been a call from this pay-station for half an hour." "no one?" i echoed almost incredulously. "then what did he do? something happened, all right." kennedy was evidently engrossed in his own thoughts, for he said nothing. "haddon says he wants to do some scouting about," announced carton, when we rejoined them. "there are several people whom he says he might suspect. i've arranged to meet him this afternoon to get the first part of this story about the inside working of the vice trust, and he will let me know if anything develops then. you will be at your office?" "yes, one or the other of us," returned craig, in a tone which haddon could not hear. in the meantime we took occasion to make some inquiries of our own about haddon and loraine keith. they were evidently well known in the select circle in which they travelled. haddon had many curious characteristics, chief of which to interest kennedy was his speed mania. time and again he had been arrested for exceeding the speed limit in taxicabs and in a car of his own, often in the past with loraine keith, but lately alone. it was toward the close of the afternoon that carton called up hurriedly. as kennedy hung up the receiver, i read on his face that something had gone wrong. "haddon has disappeared," he announced, "mysteriously and suddenly, without leaving so much as a clue. it seems that he found in his office a package exactly like that which was sent to carton earlier in the day. he didn't wait to say anything about it, but left. carton is bringing it over here." perhaps a quarter of an hour later, carton himself deposited the package on the laboratory table with an air of relief. we looked eagerly. it was addressed to haddon at the mayfair in the same disguised handwriting and was done up in precisely the same fashion. "lots of bombs are just scare bombs," observed craig. "but you never can tell." again kennedy had started to dissect. "ah," he went on, "this is the real thing, though, only a little different from the other. a dry battery gives a spark when the lid is slipped back. see, the explosive is in a steel pipe. sliding the lid off is supposed to explode it. why, there is enough explosive in this to have silenced a dozen haddons." "do you think he could have been kidnapped or murdered?" i asked. "what is this, anyhow--gang-war?" "or perhaps bribed?" suggested carton. "i can't say," ruminated kennedy. "but i can say this: that there is at large in this city a man of great mechanical skill and practical knowledge of electricity and explosives. he is trying to make sure of hiding something from exposure. we must find him." "and especially haddon," carton added quickly. "he is the missing link. his testimony is absolutely essential to the case i am building up." "i think i shall want to observe loraine keith without being observed," planned kennedy, with a hasty glance at his watch. "i think i'll drop around at this mayfair i have heard so much about. will you come?" "i'd better not," refused carton. "you know they all know me, and everything quits wherever i go. i'll see you soon." as we drove in a cab over to the mayfair, kennedy said nothing. i wondered how and where haddon had disappeared. had the powers of evil in the city learned that he was weakening and hurried him out of the way at the last moment? just what had loraine keith to do with it? was she in any way responsible? i felt that there were, indeed, no bounds to what a jealous woman might dare. beside the ornate grilled doorway of the carriage entrance of the mayfair stood a gilt-and-black easel with the words, "tango tea at four." although it was considerably after that time, there was a line of taxi-cabs before the place and, inside, a brave array of late-afternoon and early-evening revellers. the public dancing had ceased, and a cabaret had taken its place. we entered and sat down at one of the more inconspicuous of the little round tables. on a stage, at one side, a girl was singing one of the latest syncopated airs. "we'll just stick around a while, walter," whispered craig. "perhaps this loraine keith will come in." behind us, protected both by the music and the rustle of people coming and going, a couple talked in low tones. now and then a word floated over to me in a language which was english, sure enough, but not of a kind that i could understand. "dropped by a flatty," i caught once, then something about a "mouthpiece," and the "bulls," and "making a plant." "a dip--pickpocket--and his girl, or gun-moll, as they call them," translated kennedy. "one of their number has evidently been picked up by a detective and he looks to them for a good lawyer, or mouth-piece." besides these two there were innumerable other interesting glimpses into the life of this meeting-place for the half-and underworlds. a motion in the audience attracted me, as if some favourite performer were about to appear, and i heard the "gun-moll" whisper, "loraine keith." there she was, a petite, dark-haired, snappy-eyed girl, chic, well groomed, and gowned so daringly that every woman in the audience envied and every man craned his neck to see her better. loraine wore a tight-fitting black dress, slashed to the knee. in fact, everything was calculated to set her off at best advantage, and on the stage, at least, there was something recherche about her. yet, there was also something gross about her, too. accompanying her was a nervous-looking fellow whose washed-out face was particularly unattractive. it seemed as if the bone in his nose was going, due to the shrinkage of the blood-vessels. once, just before the dance began, i saw him rub something on the back of his hand, raise it to his nose, and sniff. then he took a sip of a liqueur. the dance began, wild from the first step, and as it developed, kennedy leaned over and whispered, "the danse des apaches." it was acrobatic. the man expressed brutish passion and jealousy; the woman, affection and fear. it seemed to tell a story--the struggle of love, the love of the woman against the brutal instincts of the thug, her lover. she was terrified as well as fascinated by him in his mad temper and tremendous superhuman strength. i wondered if the dance portrayed the fact. the music was a popular air with many rapid changes, but through all there was a constant rhythm which accorded well with the abandon of the swaying dance. indeed, i could think of nothing so much as of bill sykes and nancy as i watched these two. it was the fight of two frenzied young animals. he would approach stealthily, seize her, and whirl her about, lifting her to his shoulder. she was agile, docile, and fearful. he untied a scarf and passed it about her; she leaned against it, and they whirled giddily about. suddenly, it seemed that he became jealous. she would run; he follow and catch her. she would try to pacify him; he would become more enraged. the dance became faster and more furious. his violent efforts seemed to be to throw her to the floor, and her streaming hair now made it seem more like a fight than a dance. the audience hung breathless. it ended with her dropping exhausted, a proper finale to this lowest and most brutal dance. panting, flushed, with an unnatural light in their eyes, they descended to the audience and, scorning the roar of applause to repeat the performance, sat at a little table. i saw a couple of girls come over toward the man. "give us a deck, coke," said one, in a harsh voice. he nodded. a silver quarter gleamed momentarily from hand to hand, and he passed to one girl stealthily a small white-paper packet. others came to him, both men and women. it seemed to be an established thing. "who is that?" asked kennedy, in a low tone, of the pickpocket back of us. "coke brodie," was the laconic reply. "a cocaine fiend?" "yes, and a lobbygow for the grapevine system of selling the dope under this new law." "where does he get the supply to sell?" asked kennedy, casually. the pickpocket shrugged his shoulders. "no one knows, i suppose," kennedy commented to me. "but he gets it in spite of the added restrictions and peddles it in little packets, adulterated, and at a fabulous price for such cheap stuff. the habit is spreading like wildfire. it is a fertile means of recruiting the inmates in the vice-trust hotels. a veritable epidemic it is, too. cocaine is one of the most harmful of all habit-forming drugs. it used to be a habit of the underworld, but now it is creeping up, and gradually and surely reaching the higher strata of society. one thing that causes its spread is the ease with which it can be taken. it requires no smoking-dens, no syringe, no paraphernalia--only the drug itself." another singer had taken the place of the dancers. kennedy leaned over and whispered to the dip. "say, do you and your gun-moll want to pick up a piece of change to get that mouthpiece i heard you talking about?" the pickpocket looked at craig suspiciously. "oh, don't worry; i'm all right," laughed craig. "you see that fellow, coke brodie? i want to get something on him. if you will frame that sucker to get away with a whole front, there's a fifty in it." the dip looked, rather than spoke, his amazement. apparently kennedy satisfied his suspicions. "i'm on," he said quickly. "when he goes, i'll follow him. you keep behind us, and we'll deliver the goods." "what's it all about?" i whispered. "why," he answered, "i want to get brodie, only i don't want to figure in the thing so that he will know me or suspect anything but a plain hold-up. they will get him; take everything he has. there must be something on that man that will help us." several performers had done their turns, and the supply of the drug seemed to have been exhausted. brodie rose and, with a nod to loraine, went out, unsteadily, now that the effect of the cocaine had worn off. one wondered how this shuffling person could ever have carried through the wild dance. it was not brodie who danced. it was the drug. the dip slipped out after him, followed by the woman. we rose and followed also. across the city brodie slouched his way, with an evident purpose, it seemed, of replenishing his supply and continuing his round of peddling the stuff. he stopped under the brow of a thickly populated tenement row on the upper east side, as though this was his destination. there he stood at the gate that led down to a cellar, looking up and down as if wondering whether he was observed. we had slunk into a doorway. a woman coming down the street, swinging a chatelaine, walked close to him, spoke, and for a moment they talked. "it's the gun-moll," remarked kennedy. "she's getting brodie off his guard. this must be the root of that grapevine system, as they call it." suddenly from the shadow of the next house a stealthy figure sprang out on brodie. it was our dip, a dip no longer but a regular stick-up man, with a gun jammed into the face of his victim and a broad hand over his mouth. skilfully the woman went through brodie's pockets, her nimble fingers missing not a thing. "now--beat it," we heard the dip whisper hoarsely, "and if you raise a holler, we'll get you right, next time." brodie fled as fast as his weakened nerves would permit his shaky limbs to move. as he disappeared, the dip sent something dark hurtling over the roof of the house across the street and hurried toward us. "what was that?" i asked. "i think it was the pistol on the end of a stout cord. that is a favourite trick of the gunmen after a job. it destroys at least a part of the evidence. you can't throw a gun very far alone, you know. but with it at the end of a string you can lift it up over the roof of a tenement. if brodie squeals to a copper and these people are caught, they can't hold them under the pistol law, anyhow." the dip had caught sight of us, with his ferret eyes in the doorway. quickly kennedy passed over the money in return for the motley array of objects taken from brodie. the dip and his gun-moll disappeared into the darkness as quickly as they had emerged. there was a curious assortment--the paraphernalia of a drug fiend, old letters, a key, and several other useless articles. the pickpocket had retained the money from the sale of the dope as his own particular honorarium. "brodie has led us up to the source of his supply," remarked kennedy, thoughtfully regarding the stuff. "and the dip has given us the key to it. are you game to go in?" a glance up and down the street showed it still deserted. we wormed our way in the shadow to the cellar before which brodie had stood. the outside door was open. we entered, and craig stealthily struck a match, shading it in his hands. at one end we were confronted by a little door of mystery, barred with iron and held by an innocent enough looking padlock. it was this lock, evidently, to which the key fitted, opening the way into the subterranean vault of brick and stone. kennedy opened it and pushed back the door. there was a little square compartment, dark as pitch and delightfully cool and damp. he lighted a match, then hastily blew it out and switched on an electric bulb which it disclosed. "can't afford risks like that here," he exclaimed, carefully disposing of the match, as our eyes became accustomed to the light. on every side were pieces of gas-pipe, boxes, and paper, and on shelves were jars of various materials. there was a work-table littered with tools, pieces of wire, boxes, and scraps of metal. "my word!" exclaimed kennedy, as he surveyed the curious scene before us, "this is a regular bomb factory--one of the most amazing exhibits that the history of crime has ever produced." xviii the "coke" fiend i followed him in awe as he made a hasty inventory of what we had discovered. there were as many as a dozen finished and partly finished infernal machines of various sizes and kinds, some of tremendous destructive capacity. kennedy did not even attempt to study them. all about were high explosives, chemicals, dynamite. there was gunpowder of all varieties, antimony, blasting-powder, mercury cyanide, chloral hydrate, chlorate of potash, samples of various kinds of shot, some of the outlawed soft-nosed dumdum bullets, cartridges, shells, pieces of metal purposely left with jagged edges, platinum, aluminum, iron, steel--a conglomerate mass of stuff that would have gladdened an anarchist. kennedy was examining a little quartz-lined electric furnace, which was evidently used for heating soldering irons and other tools. everything had been done, it seemed, to prevent explosions. there were no open lights and practically no chance for heat to be communicated far among the explosives. indeed, everything had been arranged to protect the operator himself in his diabolical work. kennedy had switched on the electric furnace, and from the various pieces of metal on the table selected several. these he was placing together in a peculiar manner, and to them he attached some copper wire which lay in a corner in a roll. under the work-table, beneath the furnace, one could feel the warmth of the thing slightly. quickly he took the curious affair, which he had hastily shaped, and fastened it under the table at that point, then led the wires out through a little barred window to an air-shaft, the only means of ventilation of the place except the door. while he was working i had been gingerly inspecting the rest of the den. in a corner, just beside the door, i had found a set of shelves and a cabinet. on both were innumerable packets done up in white paper. i opened one and found it contained several pinches of a white, crystalline substance. "little portions of cocaine," commented kennedy, when i showed him what i had found. "in the slang of the fiends, 'decks.'" on the top of the cabinet he discovered a little enamelled box, much like a snuff-box, in which were also some of the white flakes. quickly he emptied them out and replaced them with others from jars which had not been made up into packets. "why, there must be hundreds of ounces of the stuff here, to say nothing of the various things they adulterate it with," remarked kennedy. "no wonder they are so careful when it is a felony even to have it in your possession in such quantities. see how careful they are about the adulteration, too. you could never tell except from the effect whether it was the pure or only a few-per-cent.-pure article." kennedy took a last look at the den, to make sure that nothing had been disturbed that would arouse suspicion. "we may as well go," he remarked. "to-morrow, i want to be free to make the connection outside with that wire in the shaft." imagine our surprise, the next morning, when a tap at our door revealed loraine keith herself. "is this professor kennedy?" she asked, gazing at us with a half-wild expression which she was making a tremendous effort to control. "because if it is, i have something to tell him that may interest mr. carton." we looked at her curiously. without her make-up she was pallid and yellow in spots, her hands trembling, cold, and sweaty, her eyes sunken and glistening, with pupils dilated, her breathing short and hurried, restless, irresolute, and careless of her personal appearance. "perhaps you wonder how i heard of you and why i have come to you," she went on. "it is because i have a confession to make. i saw mr. haddon just before he was--kidnapped." she seemed to hesitate over the word. "how did you know i was interested?" asked kennedy keenly. "i heard him mention your name with mr. carton's." "then he knew that i was more than a reporter for the star," remarked kennedy. "kidnapped, you say? how?" she shot a glance half of suspicion, half of frankness, at us. "that's what i must confess. whoever did it must have used me as a tool. mr. haddon and i used to be good friends--i would be yet." there was evident feeling in her tone which she did not have to assume. "all i remember yesterday was that, after lunch, i was in the office of the mayfair when he came in. on his desk was a package. i don't know what has become of it. but he gave one look at it, seemed to turn pale, then caught sight of me. 'loraine,' he whispered, 'we used to be good friends. forgive me for turning you down. but you don't understand. get me away from here--come with me--call a cab.' "well, i got into the cab with him. we had a chauffeur whom we used to have in the old days. we drove furiously, avoiding the traffic men. he told the driver to take us to my apartment--and--and that is the last i remember, except a scuffle in which i was dragged from the cab on one side and he on the other." she had opened her handbag and taken from it a little snuff-box, like that which we had seen in the den. "i--i can't go on," she apologised, "without this stuff." "so you are a cocaine fiend, also?" remarked kennedy. "yes, i can't help it. there is an indescribable excitement to do something great, to make a mark, that goes with it. it's soon gone, but while it lasts i can sing and dance, do anything until every part of my body begins crying for it again. i was full of the stuff when this happened yesterday; had taken too much, i guess." the change in her after she had snuffed some of the crystals was magical. from a quivering wretch she had become now a self-confident neurasthenic. "you know where that stuff will land you, i presume?" questioned kennedy. "i don't care," she laughed hollowly. "yes, i know what you are going to tell me. soon i'll be hunting for the cocaine bug, as they call it, imagining that in my skin, under the flesh, are worms crawling, perhaps see them, see the little animals running around and biting me. oh, you don't know. there are two souls to the cocainist. one is tortured by the suffering which the stuff brings; the other laughs at the fears and pains. but it brings such thoughts! it stimulates my mind, makes it work without, against my will, gives me such visions--oh, i can not go on. they would kill me if they knew i had come to you. why have i? has not haddon cast me off? what is he to me, now?" it was evident that she was growing hysterical. i wondered whether, after all, the story of the kidnapping of haddon might not be a figment of her brain, simply an hallucination due to the drug. "they?" inquired kennedy, observing her narrowly. "who?" "i can't tell. i don't know. why did i come? why did i come?" she was reaching again for the snuff-box, but kennedy restrained her. "miss keith," he remarked, "you are concealing something from me. there is some one," he paused a moment, "whom you are shielding." "no, no," she cried. "he was taken. brodie had nothing to do with it, nothing. that is what you mean. i know. this stuff increases my sensitiveness. yet i hate coke brodie--oh--let me go. i am all unstrung. let me see a doctor. to-night, when i am better, i will tell all." loraine keith had torn herself from him, had instantly taken a pinch of the fatal crystals, with that same ominous change from fear to self-confidence. what had been her purpose in coming at all? it had seemed at first to implicate brodie, but she had been quick to shield him when she saw that danger. i wondered what the fascination might be which the wretch exercised over her. "to-night--i will see you to-night," she cried, and a moment later she was gone, as unexpectedly as she had come. i looked at kennedy blankly. "what was the purpose of that outburst?" i asked. "i can't say," he replied. "it was all so incoherent that, from what i know of drug fiends, i am sure she had a deep-laid purpose in it all. it does not change my plans." two hours later we had paid a deposit on an empty flat in the tenement-house in which the bomb-maker had his headquarters, and had received a key to the apartment from the janitor. after considerable difficulty, owing to the narrowness of the air-shaft, kennedy managed to pick up the loose ends of the wire which had been led out of the little window at the base of the shaft, and had attached it to a couple of curious arrangements which he had brought with him. one looked like a large taximeter from a motor cab; the other was a diminutive gas-metre, in looks at least. attached to them were several bells and lights. he had scarcely completed installing the thing, whatever it was, when a gentle tap at the door startled me. kennedy nodded, and i opened it. it was carton. "i have had my men watching the mayfair," he announced. "there seems to be a general feeling of alarm there, now. they can't even find loraine keith. brodie, apparently, has not shown up in his usual haunts since the episode of last night." "i wonder if the long arm of this vice trust could have reached out and gathered them in, too?" i asked. "quite likely," replied carton, absorbed in watching kennedy. "what's this?" a little bell had tinkled sharply, and a light had flashed up on the attachments to the apparatus. "nothing. i was just testing it to see if it works. it does, although the end which i installed down below was necessarily only a makeshift. it is not this red light with the shrill bell that we are interested in. it is the green light and the low-toned bell. this is a thermopile." "and what is a thermopile?"' queried carton. "for the sake of one who has forgotten his physics," smiled kennedy, "i may say this is only another illustration of how all science ultimately finds practical application. you probably have forgotten that when two half-rings of dissimilar metals are joined together and one is suddenly heated or chilled, there is produced at the opposite connecting point a feeble current which will flow until the junctures are both at the same temperature. you might call this a thermo-electric thermometer, or a telethermometer, or a microthermometer, or any of a dozen names." "yes," i agreed mechanically, only vaguely guessing at what he had in mind. "the accurate measurement of temperature is still a problem of considerable difficulty," he resumed, adjusting the thermometer. "a heated mass can impart vibratory motion to the ether which fills space, and the wave-motions of ether are able to reproduce in other bodies motions similar to those by which they are caused. at this end of the line i merely measure the electromotive force developed by the difference in temperature of two similar thermo-electric junctions, opposed. we call those junctions in a thermopile 'couples,' and by getting the recording instruments sensitive enough, we can measure one one-thousandth of a degree. "becquerel was the first, i believe, to use this property. but the machine which you see here was one recently invented for registering the temperature of sea water so as to detect the approach of an iceberg. i saw no reason why it should not be used to measure heat as well as cold. "you see, down there i placed the couples of the thermopile beneath the electric furnace on the table. here i have the mechanism, operated by the feeble current from the thermopile, opening and closing switches, and actuating bells and lights. then, too, i have the recording instrument. the thing is fundamentally very simple and is based on well-known phenomena. it is not uncertain and can be tested at any time, just as i did then, when i showed a slight fall in temperature. of course it is not the slight changes i am after, not the gradual but the sudden changes in temperature." "i see," said carton. "if there is a drop, the current goes one way and we see the red light; a rise and it goes the other, and we see a green light." "exactly," agreed kennedy. "no one is going to approach that chamber down-stairs as long as he thinks any one is watching, and we do not know where they are watching. but the moment any sudden great change is registered, such as turning on that electric furnace, we shall know it here." it must have been an hour that we sat there discussing the merits of the case and speculating on the strange actions of loraine keith. suddenly the red light flashed out brilliantly. "what's that?" asked carton quickly. "i can't tell, yet," remarked kennedy. "perhaps it is nothing at all. perhaps it is a draught of cold air from opening the door. we shall have to wait and see." we bent over the little machine, straining our eyes and ears to catch the visual and audible signals which it gave. gradually the light faded, as the thermopile adjusted itself to the change in temperature. suddenly, without warning, a low-toned bell rang before us and a bright-green light flashed up. "that can have only one meaning," cried craig excitedly. "some one is down there in that inferno--perhaps the bomb-maker himself." the bell continued to ring and the light to glow, showing that whoever was there had actually started the electric furnace. what was he preparing to do? i felt that, even though we knew there was some one there, it did us little good. i, for one, had no relish for the job of bearding such a lion in his den. we looked at kennedy, wondering what he would do next. from the package in which he had brought the two registering machines he quietly took another package, wrapped up, about eighteen inches long and apparently very heavy. as he did so he kept his attention fixed on the telethermometer. was he going to wait until the bomb-maker had finished what he had come to accomplish? it was perhaps fifteen minutes after our first alarm that the signals began to weaken. "does that mean that he has gone--escaped?" inquired carton anxiously. "no. it means that his furnace is going at full power and that he has forgotten it. it is what i am waiting for. come on." seizing the package as he hurried from the room, kennedy dashed out on the street and down the outside cellar stairs, followed by us. he paused at the thick door and listened. apparently there was not a sound from the other side, except a whir of a motor and a roar which might have been from the furnace. softly he tried the door. it was locked on the inside. was the bomb-maker there still? he must be. suppose he heard us. would he hesitate a moment to send us all to perdition along with himself? how were we to get past that door? really, the deathlike stillness on the other side was more mysterious than would have been the detonation of some of the criminal's explosive. kennedy had evidently satisfied himself on one point. if we were to get into that chamber we must do it ourselves, and we must do it quickly. from the package which he carried he pulled out a stubby little cylinder, perhaps eighteen inches long, very heavy, with a short stump of a lever projecting from one side. between the stonework of a chimney and the barred door he laid it horizontally, jamming in some pieces of wood to wedge it tighter. then he began to pump on the handle vigorously. the almost impregnable door seemed slowly to bulge. still there was no sign of life from within. had the bomb-maker left before we arrived? "this is my scientific sledge-hammer," panted kennedy, as he worked the little lever backward and forward more quickly--"a hydraulic ram. there is no swinging of axes or wielding of crowbars necessary in breaking down an obstruction like this, nowadays. such things are obsolete. this little jimmy, if you want to call it that, has a power of ten tons. that ought to be enough." it seemed as if the door were slowly being crushed in before the irresistible ten-ton punch of the hydraulic ram. kennedy stopped. evidently he did not dare to crush the door in altogether. quickly he released the ram and placed it vertically. under the now-yawning door jamb he inserted a powerful claw of the ram and again he began to work the handle. a moment later the powerful door buckled, and kennedy deftly swung it outward so that it fell with a crash on the cellar floor. as the noise reverberated, there came a sound of a muttered curse from the cavern. some one was there. we pressed forward. on the floor, in the weird glare of the little furnace, lay a man and a woman, the light playing over their ghastly, set features. kennedy knelt over the man, who was nearest the door. "call a doctor, quick," he ordered, reaching over and feeling the pulse of the woman, who had half fallen out of her chair. "they will, be all right soon. they took what they thought was their usual adulterated cocaine--see, here is the box in which it was. instead, i filled the box with the pure drug. they'll come around. besides, carton needs both of them in his fight." "don't take any more," muttered the woman, half conscious. "there's something wrong with it, haddon." i looked more closely at the face in the half-darkness. it was haddon himself. "i knew he'd come back when the craving for the drug became intense enough," remarked kennedy. carton looked at kennedy in amazement. haddon was the last person in the world whom he had evidently expected to discover here. "how--what do you mean?" "the episode of the telephone booth gave me the first hint. that is the favourite stunt of the drug fiend--a few minutes alone, and he thinks no one is the wiser about his habit. then, too, there was the story about his speed mania. that is a frequent failing of the cocainist. the drug, too, was killing his interest in loraine keith--that is the last stage. "yet under its influence, just as with his lobbygow and lieutenant, brodie, he found power and inspiration. with him it took the form of bombs to protect himself in his graft." "he can't--escape this time--loraine. we'll leave it--at his house--you know--carton--" we looked quickly at the work-table. on it was a gigantic bomb of clockwork over which haddon had been working. the cocaine which was to have given him inspiration had, thanks to kennedy, overcome him. beside loraine keith were a suit-case and a gladstone. she had evidently been stuffing the corners full of their favourite nepenthe, for, as kennedy reached down and turned over the closely packed woman's finery and the few articles belonging to haddon, innumerable packets from the cabinet dropped out. "hulloa--what's this?" he exclaimed, as he came to a huge roll of bills and a mass of silver and gold coin. "trying to double-cross us all the time. that was her clever game--to give him the hours he needed to gather what money he could save and make a clean getaway. even cocaine doesn't destroy the interest of men and women in that," he concluded, turning over to carton the wealth which haddon had amassed as one of the meanest grafters of the city of graft. here was a case which i could not help letting the star have immediately. notes or no notes, it was local news of the first order. besides, anything that concerned carton was of the highest political significance. it kept me late at the office and i overslept. consequently i did not see much of craig the next morning, especially as he told me he had nothing special, having turned down a case of a robbery of a safe, on the ground that the police were much better fitted to catch ordinary yeggmen than he was. during the day, therefore, i helped in directing the following up of the haddon case for the star. then, suddenly, a new front page story crowded this one of the main headlines. with a sigh of relief, i glanced at the new thriller, found it had something to do with the navy department, and that it came from as far away as washington. there was no reason now why others could not carry on the graft story, and i left, not unwillingly. my special work just now was keeping on the trail of kennedy, and i was glad to go back to the apartment and wait for him. "i suppose you saw that despatch from washington in this afternoon's papers?" he queried, as he came in, tossing a late edition of the record down on my desk. across the front page extended a huge black scare-head: "navy's most vital secret stolen." "yes," i shrugged, "but you can't get me much excited by what the rewrite men on the record say." "why?" he asked, going directly into his own room. "well," i replied, glancing through the text of the story, "the actual facts are practically the same as in the other papers. take this, for instance, 'on the night of the celebration of the anniversary of the battle of manila there were stolen from the navy department plans which the record learns exclusively represent the greatest naval secret in the world.' so much for that paragraph--written in the office. then it goes on: "the whole secret-service machinery of the government has been put in operation. no one has been able to extract from the authorities the exact secret which was stolen, but it is believed to be an invention which will revolutionise the structure and construction of the most modern monster battleships. such knowledge, it is said, in the hands of experts might prove fatal in almost any fight in which our newer ships met others of about equal fighting power, as with it marksmen might direct a shot that would disable our ships. "it is the opinion of the experts that the theft was executed by a skilled draughtsman or other civilian employe. at any rate, the thief knew what to take and its value. there is, at least, one nation, it is asserted, which faces the problem of bringing its ships up to the standard of our own to which the plans would be very valuable. "the building had been thrown open to the public for the display of fireworks on the monument grounds before it. the plans are said to have been on one of the draughting-tables, drawn upon linen to be made into blue-prints. they are known to have been on the tables when the draughting-room was locked for the night. "the room is on the third floor of the department and has a balcony looking out on the monument. many officers and officials had their families and friends on the balcony to witness the celebration, though it is not known that any one was in the draughting-room itself. all were admitted to the building on passes. the plans were tacked to a draughting-board in the room, but when it was opened in the morning the linen sheet was gone, and so were the thumb-tacks. the plans could readily have been rolled into a small bundle and carried under a coat or wrap. "while the authorities are trying to minimise the actual loss, it is believed that this position is only an attempt to allay the great public concern." i paused. "now then," i added, picking up one of the other papers i had brought up-town myself, "take the express. it says that the plans were important, but would have been made public in a few months, anyhow. here: "the theft--or mislaying, as the department hopes it will prove to be--took place several days ago. official confirmation of the report is lacking, but from trustworthy unofficial sources it is learned that only unimportant parts of plans are missing, presumably minor structural details of battle-ship construction, and other things of a really trivial character, such as copies of naval regulations, etc. "the attempt to make a sensational connection between the loss and a controversy which is now going on with a foreign government is greatly to be deplored and is emphatically asserted to be utterly baseless. it bears traces of the jingoism of those 'interests' which are urging naval increases. "there is usually very little about a battle-ship that is not known before her keel is laid, or even before the signing of the contracts. at any rate, when it is asserted that the plans represent the dernier cri in some form of war preparation, it is well to remember that a 'last cry' is last only until there is a later. naval secrets are few, anyway, and as it takes some years to apply them, this loss cannot be of superlative value to any one. still, there is, of course, a market for such information in spite of the progress toward disarmament, but the rule in this case will be the rule as in a horse trade, 'caveat emptor.'" "so there you are," i concluded. "you pay your penny for a paper, and you take your choice." "and the star," inquired kennedy, coming to the door and adding with an aggravating grin, "the infallible?" "the star," i replied, unruffled, "hits the point squarely when it says that whether the plans were of immediate importance or not, the real point is that if they could be stolen, really important things could be taken also. for instance, 'the thought of what the thief might have stolen has caused much more alarm than the knowledge of what he has succeeded in taking.' i think it is about time those people in washington stopped the leak if--" the telephone rang insistently. "i think that's for me," exclaimed craig, bounding out of his room and forgetting his quiz of me. "hello--yes--is that you, burke? at the grand central--half an hour--all right. i'm bringing jameson. good-bye." kennedy jammed down the receiver on the hook. xix the submarine mystery "the star was not far from right, walter," he added, seriously. "if the battleship plans could be stolen, other things could be--other things were. you remember burke of the secret service? i'm going up to lookout hill on the connecticut shore of the sound with him to-night. the rewrite men on the record didn't have the facts, but they had accurate imaginations. the most vital secret that any navy ever had, that would have enabled us in a couple of years to whip the navies of the world combined against us, has been stolen." "and that is?" i asked. "the practical working-out of the newest of sciences, the science of telautomatics." "telautomatics?" i repeated. "yes. there is something weird, fascinating about the very idea. i sit up here safely in this room, turning switches, pressing buttons, depressing levers. ten miles away a vehicle, a ship, an aeroplane, a submarine obeys me. it may carry enough of the latest and most powerful explosive that modern science can invent, enough, if exploded, to rival the worst of earthquakes. yet it obeys my will. it goes where i direct it. it explodes where i want it. and it wipes off the face of the earth anything which i want annihilated. "that's telautomatics, and that is what has been stolen from our navy and dimly sensed by you clever newspaper men, from whom even the secret service can't quite hide everything. the publication of the rumour alone that the government knows it has lost something has put the secret service in a hole. what might have been done quietly and in a few days has got to be done in the glare of the limelight and with the blare of a brass band--and it has got to be done right away, too. come on, walter. i've thrown together all we shall need for one night--and it doesn't include any pajamas, either." a few minutes later we met our friend burke of the secret service at the new terminal. he had wired kennedy earlier in the day saying that he would be in new york and would call him up. "the plans, as i told you in my message," began burke, when we had seated ourselves in a compartment of the pullman, "were those of captain shirley, covering the wireless-controlled submarine. the old captain is a thoroughbred, too. i've known him in washington. comes of an old new england, family with plenty of money but more brains. for years he has been working on this science of radio-telautomatics, has all kinds of patents, which he has dedicated to the united states, too. of course the basic, pioneer patents are not his. his work has been in the practical application of them. and, kennedy, there are some secrets about his latest work that he has not patented; he has given them outright to the navy department, because they are too valuable even to patent." burke, who liked a good detective tale himself, seemed pleased at holding kennedy spellbound. "for instance," he went on, "he has on the bay up here a submarine which can be made into a crewless dirigible. he calls it the turtle, i believe, because that was the name of the first american submarine built by dr. bushnell during the revolution, even before fulton." "you have theories of your own on the case?" asked craig. "well, there are several possibilities. you know there are submarine companies in this country, bitter rivals. they might like to have those plans. then, too, there are foreign governments." he paused. though he said nothing, i felt that there was no doubt what he hinted at. at least one government occurred to me which would like the plans above all others. "once some plans of a submarine were stolen, i recall," ruminated kennedy. "but that theft, i am satisfied, was committed in behalf of a rival company." "but, kennedy," exclaimed burke, "it was bad enough when the plans were stolen. now captain shirley wires me that some one must have tampered with his model. it doesn't work right. he even believes that his own life may be threatened. and there is scarcely a real clue," he added dejectedly. "of course we are watching all the employes who had access to the draughting-room and tracing everybody who was in the building that night. i have a complete list of them. there are three or four who will bear watching. for instance, there is a young attache of one of the embassies, named nordheim." "nordheim!" i echoed, involuntarily. i had expected an oriental name. "yes, a german. i have been looking up his record, and i find that once he was connected in some way with the famous titan iron works, at kiel, germany. we began watching him day before yesterday, but suddenly he disappeared. then, there is a society woman in washington, a mrs. bayard brainard, who was at the department that night. we have been trying to find her. to-day i got word that she was summering in the cottage colony across the bay from lookout hill. at any rate, i had to go up there to see the captain, and i thought i'd kill a whole flock of birds with one stone. the chief thought, too, that if you'd take the case with us you had best start on it up there. next, you will no doubt want to go back to washington with me." lookout hill was the name of the famous old estate of the shirleys, on a point of land jutting out into long island sound and with a neighbouring point enclosing a large, deep, safe harbour. on the highest ground of the estate, with a perfect view of both harbour and sound, stood a large stone house, the home of captain shirley, of the united states navy, retired. captain shirley, a man of sixty-two or three, bronzed and wiry, met us eagerly. "so this is professor kennedy; i'm glad to meet you, sir," he welcomed, clasping craig's hand in both of his--a fine figure as he stood erect in the light of the portecochere. "what's the news from washington, burke? any clues?" "i can hardly tell," replied the secret service man, with assumed cheerfulness. "by the way, you'll have to excuse me for a few minutes while i run back into town on a little errand. meanwhile, captain, will you explain to professor kennedy just how things are? perhaps he'd better begin by seeing the turtle herself." burke had not waited longer than to take leave. "the turtle," repeated the captain, leading the way into the house. "well, i did call it that at first. but i prefer to call it the z . you know the first submarines, abroad at least, were sometimes called al, a , a , and so on. they were of the diving, plunging type, that is, they submerged on an inclined keel, nose down, like the hollands. then came the b type, in which the hydroplane appeared; the c type, in which it was more prominent, and a d type, where submergence is on a perfectly even keel, somewhat like our lakes. well, this boat of mine is a last word--the z . call it the turtle, if you like." we were standing for a moment in a wide colonial hall in which a fire was crackling in a huge brick fireplace, taking the chill off the night air. "let me give you a demonstration, first," added the captain. "perhaps z will work--perhaps not." there was an air of disappointment about the old veteran as he spoke, uncertainly now, of what a short time ago he had known to be a certainty and one of the greatest it had ever been given the inventive mind of man to know. a slip of a girl entered from the library, saw us, paused, and was about to turn back. silhouetted against the curtained door, there was health, animation, gracefulness, in every line of her wavy chestnut hair, her soft, sparkling brown eyes, her white dress and hat to match, which contrasted with the healthy glow of tan on her full neck and arms, and her dainty little white shoes, ready for anything from tennis to tango. "my daughter gladys, professor kennedy and mr. jameson," introduced the captain. "we are going to try the z again, gladys." a moment later we four were walking to the edge of the cliff where captain shirley had a sort of workshop and signal-station. he lighted the gas, for lookout hill was only on the edge of the town and boasted gas, electricity, and all modern improvements, as well as the atmosphere of old new england. "the z is moored just below us at my private dock," began the captain. "i have a shed down there where we usually keep her, but i expected you, and she is waiting, thoroughly overhauled. i have signalled to my men--fellows i can trust, too, who used to be with me in the navy--to cast her off. there--now we are ready." the captain turned a switch. instantly a couple of hundred feet below us, on the dark and rippling water, a light broke forth. another signal, and the light changed. it was moving. "the principle of the thing," said captain shirley, talking to us but watching the moving light intently, "briefly, is that i use the hertzian waves to actuate relays on the z . that is, i send a child with a message, the grown man, through the relay, so to speak, does the work. so, you see, i can sit up here and send my little david out anywhere to strike down a huge goliath. "i won't bore you, yet, with explanations of my radio-combinator, the telecommutator, the aerial coherer relay, and the rest of the technicalities of wireless control of dirigible, self-propelled vessels. they are well known, beginning with pioneers like wilson and gardner in england, roberts in australia, wirth and lirpa in germany, gabet in france, and tesla, edison, sims, and the younger hammond in our own country. "the one thing, you may not know, that has kept us back while wireless telegraphy has gone ahead so fast is that in wireless we have been able to discard coherers and relays and use detectors and microphones in their places. but in telautomatics we have to keep the coherer. that has been the barrier. the coherer until recently has been spasmodic, until we had hammond's mercury steel-disc coherer and now my own. why," he cried, "we are just on the threshold, now, of this great science which tesla has named telautomatics--the electric arm that we can stretch out through space to do our work and fight our battles." it was not difficult to feel the enthusiasm of the captain over an invention of such momentous possibilities, especially as the z was well out in the harbour now and we could see her flashing her red and green signal-lights back to us. "you see," the captain resumed, "i have twelve numbers here on the keys of this radio-combinator--forward, back, stop propeller motor, rudder right, rudder left, stop steering motor, light signals front, light signals rear, launch torpedoes, and so on. the idea is that of a delayed contact. the machinery is always ready, but it delays a few seconds until the right impulse is given, a purely mechanical problem. i take advantage of the delay to have the message repeated by a signal back to me. i can even change it, then. you can see for yourself that it really takes no experience to run the thing when all is going right. gladys has done it frequently herself. all you have to do is to pay attention, and press the right key for the necessary change. it is when things go wrong that even an expert like myself--confound it--there's something wrong!" the z had suddenly swerved. captain shirley's brow knitted. we gathered around closer, gladys next to her father and leaning anxiously over the transmitting apparatus. "i wanted to turn her to port yet she goes to starboard, and signals starboard, too. there--now--she has stopped altogether. what do you think of that?" gladys stroked the old seafarer's hand gently, as he sat silently at the table, peering with contracted brows out into the now brilliantly moonlit night. shirley looked up at his daughter, and the lines on his face relaxed as though he would hide his disappointment from her eager eyes. "confound that light! what's the matter with it?" he exclaimed, changing the subject, and glancing up at the gas-fixture. kennedy had already been intently looking at the welsbach burner overhead, which had been flickering incessantly. "that gas company!" added the captain, shaking his head in disgust, and showing annoyance over a trivial thing to hide deep concern over a greater, as some men do. "i shall use the electricity altogether after this contract with the company expires. i suppose you literary men, mr. jameson, would call that the light that failed." there was a forced air about his attempt to be facetious that did not conceal, but rather accentuated, the undercurrent of feelings in him. "on the contrary," broke in kennedy, "i shouldn't be surprised to find that it is the light that succeeded." "how do you mean?" "i wouldn't have said anything about it if you hadn't noticed it yourself. in fact, i may be wrong. it suggests something to me, but it will need a good deal of work to verify it, and then it may not be of any significance. is that the way the z has behaved always lately?" "yes, but i know that she hasn't broken down of herself," captain shirley asserted. "it never did before, not since i perfected that new coherer. and now it always does, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes after i start her out." shirley was watching the lights as they serpentined their way to us across the nearly calm water of the bay, idly toying with the now useless combinator. "wait here," he said, rising hurriedly. "i must send my motor-boat out there to pick her up and tow her in." he was gone down the flight of rustic steps on the face of the cliff before we could reply. "i wish father wouldn't take it to heart so," murmured gladys. "sometimes i fear that success or failure of this boat means life or death to him." "that is exactly why we are here," reassured kennedy, turning earnestly to her, "to help him to settle this thing at once. this is a beautiful spot," he added, as we stood on the edge of the cliff and looked far out over the tossing waves of the sound. "what is on that other point?" asked kennedy, turning again toward the harbour itself. "there is a large cottage colony there," she replied. "of course many of the houses are still closed so early in the season, but it is a beautiful place in the summer. the hotel over there is open now, though." "you must have a lively time when the season is at its height," ventured kennedy. "do you know a cottager there, a mrs. brainard?" "oh, yes, indeed. i have known her in washington for some time." "no doubt the cottagers envy you your isolation here," remarked kennedy, turning and surveying the beautifully kept grounds. "i should think it would be pleasant, too, to have an old washington friend here." "it is. we often invite our friends over for lawn-parties and other little entertainments. mrs. brainard has just arrived and has only had time to return my first visit to her, but i expect we shall have some good times this summer." it was evident, at least, that gladys was not concealing anything about her friend, whether there was any suspicion or not of her. we had gone into the house to await the return of captain shirley. burke had just returned, his face betraying that he was bursting with news. "she's here, all right," he remarked in an undertone to kennedy, "in the stamford cottage--quite an outfit. french chauffeur, two japanese servants, maids, and all." "the stamford cottage?" repeated gladys. "why, that is where mrs. brainard lives." she gave a startled glance at kennedy, as she suddenly seemed to realise that both he and the secret-service man had spoken about her friend. "yes," said burke, noting on the instant the perfect innocence of her concern. "what do you know about mrs. brainard? who, where is, mr. brainard?" "dead, i believe," gladys hesitated. "mrs. brainard has been well known in washington circles for years. indeed, i invited her with us the night of the manila display." "and mr. nordheim?" broke in burke. "n-no," she hesitated. "he was there, but i don't know as whose guest." "did he seem very friendly with. mrs. brainard?" pursued the detective. i thought i saw a shade of relief pass over her face as she answered, "yes." i could only interpret it that perhaps nordheim had been attentive to gladys herself and that she had not welcomed his attentions. "i may as well tell you," she said, at length. "it is no secret in our set, and i suppose you would find it out soon, anyhow. it is said that he is engaged to mrs. brainard--that is all." "engaged?" repeated burke. "then that would account for his being at the hotel here. at least, it would offer an excuse." gladys was not slow to note the stress that burke laid on the last word. "oh, impossible," she began hurriedly, "impossible that he could have known anything about this other matter. why, she told me he was to sail suddenly for germany and came up here for a last visit before he went, and to arrange to come back on his return. oh, he could know nothing--impossible." "why impossible?" persisted burke. "they have submarines in germany, don't they? and rival companies, too." "who have rival companies?" inquired a familiar voice. it was captain shirley, who had returned out of breath from his long climb up the steps from the shore. "the germans. i was speaking of an attache named nordheim." "who is nordheim?" inquired the captain. "you met him at the naval building, that night, don't you remember?" replied gladys. "oh, yes, i believe i do--dimly. he was the man who seemed so devoted to mrs. brainard." "i think he is, too, father," she replied hastily. "he has been suddenly called to berlin and planned to spend the last few days here, at the hotel, so as to be near her. she told me that he had been ordered back to washington again before he sailed and had had to cut his visit short." "when did you first notice the interference with the turtle?" asked burke. "i received your message this morning." "yesterday morning was the first," replied the captain. "he arrived the night before and did not leave until yesterday afternoon," remarked burke. "and we arrived to-night," put in craig quietly. "the interference is going on yet." "then the japs," i cut in, at last giving voice to the suspicion i had of the clever little orientals. "they could not have stolen the plans," asserted burke, shaking his head. "no, nordheim and mrs. brainard were the only ones who could have got into the draughting room the night of the manila celebration." "burke," said kennedy, rising, "i wish you would take me into town. there are a few messages i would like to send. you will excuse us, captain, for a few hours? good evening, miss shirley." as he bowed i heard kennedy add to her: "don't worry about your father. everything will come out all right soon." outside, in the car which burke had hired, craig added: "not to town. that was an excuse not to alarm miss shirley too much over her friend. take us over past the stamford cottage, first." the stamford cottage was on the beach, between the shore front and the road. it was not a new place but was built in the hideous style of some thirty years ago with all sorts of little turned and knobby ornaments. we paused down the road a bit, though not long enough to attract attention. there were lights on every floor of the cottage, although most of the neighbouring cottages were dark. "well protected by lightning-rods," remarked kennedy, as he looked the stamford cottage over narrowly. "we might as well drive on. keep an eye on the hotel, burke. it may be that nordheim intends to return, after all." "assuming that he has left," returned the secret-service man. "but you said he had left," said kennedy. "what do you mean?" "i hardly know myself," wearily remarked burke, on whom the strain of the case, to which we were still fresh, had begun to tell. "i only know that i called up washington after i heard he had been at the hotel, and no one at our headquarters knew that he had returned. they may have fallen down, but they were to watch both his rooms and the embassy." "h-m," mused kennedy. "why didn't you say that before?" "why, i assumed that he had gone back, until you told me there was interference to-night, too. now, until i can locate him definitely i'm all at sea--that's all." it was now getting late in the evening, but kennedy had evidently no intention of returning yet to lookout hill. we paused at the hotel, which was in the centre of the cottage colony, and flanked by a hill that ran back of the colony diagonally and from which a view of both the hotel and the cottages could be obtained. burke's inquiries developed the fact that nordheim had left very hurriedly and in some agitation. "to tell you the truth," confided the clerk, with whom burke had ingratiated himself, "i thought he acted like a man who was watched." late as it was, kennedy insisted on motoring to the railroad station and catching the last train to new york. as there seemed to be nothing that i could do at lookout hill, i accompanied him on the long and tedious ride, which brought us back to the city in the early hours of the morning. we stopped just long enough to run up to the laboratory and to secure a couple of little instruments which looked very much like small incandescent lamps in a box. then, by the earliest train from new york, we returned to lookout hill, with only such sleep as kennedy had predicted, snatched in the day coaches of the trains and during a brief wait in the station. a half-hour's freshening up with a dip in the biting cold water of the bay, breakfast with captain shirley and miss gladys, and a return to the excitement of the case, had to serve in place of rest. burke disappeared, after a hasty conference with kennedy, presumably to watch mrs. brainard, the hotel, and the stamford cottage to see who went in and out. "i've had the z brought out of its shed," remarked the captain, as we rose from the breakfast-table. "there was nothing wrong as far as i could discover last night or by a more careful inspection this morning. i'd like to have you take a look at her now, in the daylight." "i was about to suggest," remarked kennedy, as we descended the steps to the shore, "that perhaps, first, it might be well to take a short run in her with the crew, just to make sure that there is nothing wrong with the machinery." "a good idea," agreed the captain. we came to the submarine, lying alongside the dock and looking like a huge cigar. the captain preceded us down the narrow hatchway, and i followed craig. the deck was cleared, the hatch closed, and the vessel sealed. xx the wireless detector remembering jules verne's enticing picture of life on the palatial nautilus, i may as well admit that i was not prepared for a real submarine. my first impression, as i entered the hold, was that of discomfort and suffocation. i felt, too, that i was too close to too much whirring machinery. i gazed about curiously. on all sides were electrical devices and machines to operate the craft and the torpedoes. i thought, also, that the water outside was uncomfortably close; one could almost feel it. the z was low roofed, damp, with an intricate system of rods, controls, engines, tanks, stop-cocks, compasses, gauges--more things than it seemed the human mind, to say nothing of wireless, could possibly attend to at once. "the policy of secrecy which governments keep in regard to submarines," remarked the captain, running his eye over everything at once, it seemed, "has led them to be looked upon as something mysterious. but whatever you may think of telautomatics, there is really no mystery about an ordinary submarine." i did not agree with our "captain nemo," as, the examination completed, he threw in a switch. the motor started. the z hummed and trembled. the fumes of gasoline were almost suffocating at first, in spite of the prompt ventilation to clear them off. there was no escape from the smell. i had heard of "gasoline heart," but the odour only made me sick and dizzy. like most novices, i suppose, i was suffering excruciating torture. not so, kennedy. he got used to it in no time; indeed, seemed to enjoy the very discomfort. i felt that there was only one thing necessary to add to it, and that was the odour of cooking. cooking, by the way, on a submarine is uncertain and disagreeable. there was a little electric heater, i found, which might possibly have heated enough water for one cup of coffee at a time. in fact, space was economised to the utmost. only the necessaries of life were there. every inch that could be spared was given over to machinery. it was everywhere, compact, efficient--everything for running the boat under water, guiding it above and below, controlling its submersion, compressing air, firing torpedoes, and a thousand other things. it was wonderful as it was. but when one reflected that all could be done automatically, or rather telautomatically, it was simply astounding. "you see," observed captain shirley, "when she is working automatically neither the periscope nor the wireless-mast shows. the wireless impulses are carried down to her from an inconspicuous float which trails along the surface and carries a short aerial with a wire running down, like a mast, forming practically invisible antennae." as he was talking the boat was being "trimmed" by admitting water as ballast into the proper tanks. "the z ," he went on, "is a submersible, not a diving, submarine. that is to say, the rudder guides it and changes the angle of the boat. but the hydroplanes pull it up and down, two pairs of them set fore and aft of the centre of gravity. they lift or lower the boat bodily on an even keel, not by plunging and diving. i will now set the hydroplanes at ten degrees down and the horizontal rudder two degrees up, and the boat will submerge to a depth of thirty feet and run constant at that depth." he had shut off the gasoline motor and started the storage-battery electric motor, which was used when running submerged. the great motors gave out a strange, humming sound. the crew conversed in low, constrained tones. there was a slightly perceptible jar, and the boat seemed to quiver just a bit from stem to stern. in front of shirley was a gauge which showed the depth of submergence and a spirit-level which showed any inclination. "submerged," he remarked, "is like running on the surface under dense-fog conditions." i did not agree with those who have said there is no difference running submerged or on the surface. under way on the surface was one thing. but when we dived it was most unpleasant. i had been reassured at the start when i heard that there were ten compressed-air tanks under a pressure of two thousand pounds to the square inch. but only once before had i breathed compressed air and that was when one of our cases once took us down into the tunnels below the rivers of new york. it was not a new sensation, but at fifty feet depth i felt a little tingling all over my body, a pounding of the ear-drums, and just a trace of nausea. kennedy smiled as i moved about. "never mind, walter," he said. "i know how you feel on a first trip. one minute you are choking from lack of oxygen, then in another part of the boat you are exhilarated by too much of it. still," he winked, "don't forget that it is regulated." "well," i returned, "all i can say is that if war is hell, a submarine is war." i had, however, been much interested in the things about me. forward, the torpedo-discharge tubes and other apparatus about the little doors in the vessel's nose made it look somewhat like the shield used in boring a tunnel under compressed air. "ordinary torpedo-boats use the regular automobile torpedo," remarked captain shirley, coming ubiquitously up behind me. "i improve on that. i can discharge the telautomobile torpedo, and guide it either from the boat, as we are now, or from the land station where we were last night, at will." there was something more than pride in his manner. he was deadly in earnest about his invention. we had come over to the periscope, the "eye" of the submarine when she is running just under the surface, but of no use that we were below. "yes," he remarked, in answer to my half-spoken question, "that is the periscope. usually there is one fixed to look ahead and another that is movable, in order to take in what is on the sides and in the rear. i have both of those. but, in addition, i have the universal periscope, the eye that sees all around, three hundred and sixty degrees--a very clever application of an annular prism with objectives, condenser, and two eyepieces of low and high power." a call from one of the crew took him into the stern to watch the operation of something, leaving me to myself, for kennedy was roaming about on a still hunt for anything that might suggest itself. the safety devices, probably more than any other single thing, interested me, for i had read with peculiar fascination of the great disasters to the lutin, the pluviose, the farfardet, the a , the foca, the kambala, the japanese no , the german u , and others. below us i knew there was a keel that could be dropped, lightening the boat considerably. also, there was the submarine bell, immersed in a tank of water, with telephone receivers attached by which one could "listen in," for example, before rising, say, from sixty feet to twenty feet, and thus "hear" the hulls of other ships. the bell was struck by means of air pressure, and was the same as that used for submarine signalling on ships. water, being dense, is an excellent conductor of sound. even in the submarine itself, i could hear the muffled clang of the gong. then there were buoys which could be released and would fly to the surface, carrying within them a telephone, a light, and a whistle. i knew also something of the explosion dangers on a submarine, both from the fuel oil used when running on the surface, and from the storage batteries used when running submerged. once in a while a sailor would take from a jar a piece of litmus paper and expose it, showing only a slight discolouration due to carbon dioxide. that was the least of my troubles. for a few moments, also, the white mice in a cage interested me. white mice were carried because they dislike the odour of gasoline and give warning of any leakage by loud squeals. the fact was that there was so much of interest that, the first discomfort over, i was, like kennedy, beginning really to enjoy the trip. i was startled suddenly to hear the motors stop. there was no more of that interminable buzzing. the z responded promptly to the air pressure that was forcing the water out of the tanks. the gauge showed that we were gradually rising on an even keel. a man sprang up the narrow hatchway and opened the cover through which we could see a little patch of blue sky again. the gasoline motor was started, and we ran leisurely back to the dock. the trip was over--safely. as we landed i felt a sense of gladness to get away from that feeling of being cut off from the world. it was not fear of death or of the water, as nearly as i could analyse it, but merely that terrible sense of isolation from man and nature as we know it. a message from burke was waiting for kennedy at the wharf. he read it quickly, then handed it to captain shirley and myself. have just received a telegram from washington. great excitement at the embassy. cipher telegram has been despatched to the titan iron works. one of my men in washington reports a queer experience. he had been following one of the members of the embassy staff, who saw he was being shadowed, turned suddenly on the man, and exclaimed, "why are you hounding us still?" what do you make of it? no trace yet of nordheim burke. the lines in craig's face deepened in thought as he folded the message and remarked abstractedly, "she works all right when you are aboard." then he recalled himself. "let us try her again without a crew." five minutes later we had ascended to the aerial conning-tower, and all was in readiness to repeat the trial of the night before. vicious and sly the z looked in the daytime as she slipped off, under the unseen guidance of the wireless, with death hidden under her nose. just as during the first trial we had witnessed, she began by fulfilling the highest expectations. straight as an arrow she shot out of the harbour's mouth, half submerged, with her periscope sticking up and bearing the flag proudly flapping, leaving behind a wake of white foam. she turned and re-entered the harbour, obeying captain shirley's every whim, twisting in and out of the shipping much to the amazement of the old salts, who had never become used to the weird sight. she cut a figure eight, stopped, started again. suddenly i could see by the look on captain shirley's face that something was wrong. before either of us could speak, there was a spurt of water out in the harbour, a cloud of spray, and the z sank in a mass of bubbles. she had heeled over and was resting on the mud and ooze of the harbour bottom. the water had closed over her, and she was gone. instantly all the terrible details of the sinking of the lutin and other submarines flashed over me. i fancied i could see on the z the overturned accumulators. i imagined the stifling fumes, the struggle for breath in the suddenly darkened hull. almost as if it had happened half an hour ago, i saw it. "thank god for telautomatics," i murmured, as the thought swept over me of what we had escaped. "no one was aboard her, at least." chlorine was escaping rapidly from the overturned storage batteries, for a grave danger lurks in the presence of sea water, in a submarine, in combination with any of the sulphuric acid. salt water and sulphuric acid produce chlorine gas, and a pint of it inside a good-sized submarine would be sufficient to render unconscious the crew of a boat. i began to realise the risks we had run, which my confidence in captain shirley had minimised. i wondered whether hydrogen in dangerous quantities might not be given off, and with the short-circuiting of the batteries perhaps explode. nothing more happened, however. all kinds of theories suggested themselves. perhaps in some way the gasoline motor had been started while the boat was depressed, the "gas" had escaped, combined with air, and a spark had caused an explosion. there were so many possibilities that it staggered me. captain shirley sat stunned. yet here was the one great question, whence had come the impulse that had sent the famous z to her fate? "could it have been through something internal?" i asked. "could a current from one of the batteries have influenced the receiving apparatus?" "no," replied the captain mechanically. "i have a secret method of protecting my receiving instruments from such impulses within the hull." kennedy was sitting silently in the corner, oblivious to us up to this point. "but not to impulses from outside the hull," he broke in. unobserved, he had been bending over one of the little instruments which had kept us up all night and bad cost a tedious trip to new york and back. "what's that?" i asked. "this? this is a little instrument known as the audion, a wireless electric-wave detector." "outside the hull?" repeated shirley, still dazed. "yes," cried kennedy excitedly. "i got my first clue from that flickering welsbach mantle last night. of course it flickered from the wireless we were using, but it kept on. you know in the gas-mantle there is matter in a most mobile and tenuous state, very sensitive to heat and sound vibrations. "now, the audion, as you see, consists of two platinum wings, parallel to the plane of a bowed filament of an incandescent light in a vacuum. it was invented by dr. lee deforest to detect wireless. when the light is turned on and the little tantalum filament glows, it is ready for business. "it can be used for all systems of wireless--singing spark, quenched spark, arc sets, telephone sets; in fact, it will detect a wireless wave from whatever source it is sent. it is so susceptible that a man with one attached to an ordinary steel-rod umbrella on a rainy night can pick up wireless messages that are being transmitted within some hundreds of miles radius." the audion buzzed. "there--see? our wireless is not working. but with the audion you can see that some wireless is, and a fairly near and powerful source it is, too." kennedy was absorbed in watching the audion. suddenly he turned and faced us. he had evidently reached a conclusion. "captain," he cried, "can you send a wireless message? yes? well, this is to burke. he is over there back of the hotel on the hill with some of his men. he has one there who understands wireless, and to whom i have given another audion. quick, before this other wireless cuts in on us again. i want others to get the message as well as burke. send this: 'have your men watch the railroad station and every road to it. surround the stamford cottage. there is some wireless interference from that direction.'" as shirley, with a half-insane light in his eyes, flashed the message mechanically through space, craig rose and signalled to the house. under the portecochere i saw a waiting automobile, which an instant later tore up the broken-stone path and whirled around almost on two wheels near the edge of the cliff. glowing with health and excitement, gladys shirley was at the wheel herself. in spite of the tenseness of the situation, i could not help stopping to admire the change in the graceful, girlish figure of the night before, which was now all lithe energy and alertness in her eager devotion to carrying out the minutest detail of kennedy's plan to aid her father. "excellent, miss shirley," exclaimed kennedy, "but when i asked burke to have you keep a car in readiness, i had no idea you would drive it yourself." "i like it," she remonstrated, as he offered to take the wheel. "please--please--let me drive. i shall go crazy if i'm not doing something. i saw the z go down. what was it? who--" "captain," called craig. "quick--into the car. we must hurry. to the stamford house, miss shirley. no one can get away from it before we arrive. it is surrounded." everything was quiet, apparently, about the house as our wild ride around the edge of the harbour ended under the deft guidance of gladys shirley. here and there, behind a hedge or tree, i could see a lurking secret-service man. burke joined us from behind a barn next door. "not a soul has gone in or out," he whispered. "there does not seem to be a sign of life there." craig and burke had by this time reached the broad veranda. they did not wait to ring the bell, but carried the door down literally off its hinges. we followed closely. a scream from the drawing-room brought us to a halt. it was mrs. brainard, tall, almost imperial in her loose morning gown, her dark eyes snapping fire at the sudden intrusion. i could not tell whether she had really noticed that the house was watched or was acting a part. "what does this mean?" she demanded. "what--gladys--you--" "florence--tell them--it isn't so--is it? you don't know a thing about those plans of father's that were--stolen--that night." "where is nordheim?" interjected burke quickly, a little of his "third degree" training getting the upper hand. "nordheim?" "yes--you know. tell me. is he here?" "here? isn't it bad enough to hound him, without hounding me, too? will you merciless detectives drive us all from, place to place with your brutal suspicions?" "merciless?" inquired burke, smiling with sarcasm. "who has been hounding him?" "you know very well what i mean," she repeated, drawing herself up to her full height and patting gladys's hand to reassure her. "read that message on the table." burke picked up a yellow telegram dated new york, two days before. it was as i feared when i left you. the secret service must have rummaged my baggage both here and at the hotel. they have taken some very valuable papers of mine. "secret service--rummage baggage?" repeated burke, himself now in perplexity. "that is news to me. we have rummaged no trunks or bags, least of all nordheim's. in fact, we have never been able to find them at all." "upstairs, burke--the servants' quarters," interrupted craig impatiently. "we are wasting time here." mrs. brainard offered no protest. i began to think that the whole thing was indeed a surprise to her, and that she had, in fact, been reading, instead of making a studied effort to appear surprised at our intrusion. room after room was flung open without finding any one, until we reached the attic, which had been finished off into several rooms. one door was closed. craig opened it cautiously. it was pitch dark in spite of the broad daylight outside. we entered gingerly. on the floor lay two dark piles of something. my foot touched one of them. i drew back in horror at the feeling. it was the body of a man. kennedy struck a light, and as he bent over in its little circle of radiance, he disclosed a ghastly scene. "hari-kiri!" he ejaculated. "they must have got my message to burke and have seen that the house was surrounded." the two japanese servants had committed suicide. "wh-what does it all mean?" gasped mrs. brainard, who had followed us upstairs with gladys. burke's lip curled slightly and he was about to speak. "it means," hastened kennedy, "that you have been double crossed, mrs. brainard. nordheim stole those plans of captain shirley's submarine for his titan iron works. then the japs stole them from his baggage at the hotel. he thought the secret service had them. the japs waited here just long enough to try the plans against the z herself--to destroy captain shirley's work by his own method of destruction. it was clever, clever. it would make his labours seem like a failure and would discourage others from keeping up the experiments. they had planned to steal a march on the world. every time the z was out they worked up here with their improvised wireless until they found the wave-length shirley was using. it took fifteen or twenty minutes, but they managed, finally, to interfere so that they sent the submarine to the bottom of the harbour. instead of being the criminal, burke, mrs. brainard is the victim, the victim both of nordheim and of her servants." craig had thrown open a window and had dropped down on his knees before a little stove by which the room was heated. he was poking eagerly in a pile of charred paper and linen. "shirley," he cried, "your secret is safe, even though the duplicate plans were stolen. there will be no more interference." the captain seized craig by both hands and wrung them like the handle of a pump. "oh, thank you--thank you--thank you," cried gladys, running up and almost dancing with joy at the change in her father. "i--i could almost--kiss you!" "i could let you," twinkled craig, promptly, as she blushed deeply. "thank you, too, mrs. brainard," he added, turning to acknowledge her congratulations also. "i am glad i have been able to be of service to you." "won't you come back to the house for dinner?" urged the captain. kennedy looked at me and smiled. "walter," he said, "this is no place for two old bachelors like us." then turning, he added, "many thanks, sir,--but, seriously, last night we slept principally in day coaches. really i must turn the case over to burke now and get back to the city to-night early." they insisted on accompanying us to the station, and there the congratulations were done all over again. "why," exclaimed kennedy, as we settled ourselves in the pullman after waving a final good-bye, "i shall be afraid to go back to that town again. i--i almost did kiss her!" then his face settled into its usual stern lines, although softened, i thought. i am sure that it was not the new england landscape, with its quaint stone fences, that he looked at out of the window, but the recollection of the bright dashing figure of gladys shirley. it was seldom that a girl made so forcible an impression on kennedy, i know, for on our return he fairly dived into work, like the z herself, and i did not see him all the next day until just before dinner time. then he came in and spent half an hour restoring his acid-stained fingers to something like human semblance. he said nothing about his research work of the day, and i was just about to remark that a day had passed without its usual fresh alarum and excursion, when a tap on the door buzzer was followed by the entrance of our old friend andrews, head of the great eastern life insurance company's own detective service. "kennedy," he began, "i have a startling case for you. can you help me out with it?" as he sat down heavily, he pulled from his immense black wallet some scraps of paper and newspaper cuttings. "you recall, i suppose," he went on, unfolding the papers without waiting for an answer, "the recent death of young montague phelps, at woodbine, just outside the city?" kennedy nodded. the death of phelps, about ten days before, had attracted nation-wide attention because of the heroic fight for life he had made against what the doctors admitted had puzzled them--a new and baffling manifestation of coma. they had laboured hard to keep him awake, but had not succeeded, and after several days of lying in a comatose state he had finally succumbed. it was one of those strange but rather frequent cases of long sleeps reported in the newspapers, although it was by no means one which might be classed as record-breaking. the interest in phelps lay, a great deal, in the fact that the young man had married the popular dancer, anginette petrovska, a few months previously. his honeymoon trip around the world had suddenly been interrupted, while the couple were crossing siberia, by the news of the failure of the phelps banking-house in wall street and the practical wiping-out of his fortune. he had returned, only to fall a victim to a greater misfortune. "a few days before his death," continued andrews, measuring his words carefully, "i, or rather the great eastern, which had been secretly investigating the case, received this letter. what do you think of it?" he spread out on the table a crumpled note in a palpably disguised handwriting: to whom it may concern: you would do well to look into the death of montague phelps, jr. i accuse no one, assert nothing. but when a young man apparently in the best of health, drops off so mysteriously and even the physician in the case can give no very convincing information, that case warrants attention. i know what i know. an outsider. xxi the ghouls "h-m," mused kennedy, weighing the contents of the note carefully, "one of the family, i'll be bound--unless the whole thing is a hoax. by the way, who else is there in the immediate family?" "only a brother, dana phelps, younger and somewhat inclined to wildness, i believe. at least, his father did not trust him with a large inheritance, but left most of his money in trust. but before we go any further, read that." andrews pulled from the papers a newspaper cutting on which he had drawn a circle about the following item. as we read, he eyed us sharply. phelps tomb desecrated last night, john shaughnessy, a night watchman employed by the town of woodbine, while on his rounds, was attracted by noises as of a violent struggle near the back road in the woodbine cemetery, on the outskirts of the town. he had varied his regular rounds because of the recent depredations of motor-car yeggmen who had timed him in pulling off several jobs lately. as he hurried toward the large mausoleum of the phelps family, he saw two figures slink away in opposite directions in the darkness. one of them, he asserts positively, seemed to be a woman in black, the other a man whom he could not see clearly. they readily eluded pursuit in the shadows, and a moment later he heard the whir of a high-powered car, apparently bearing them away. at the tomb there was every evidence of a struggle. things had been thrown about; the casket had been broken open, but the body of montague phelps, jr., which had been interred there about ten days ago, was not touched or mutilated. it was a shocking and extraordinary violation. shaughnessy believes that some personal jewels may have been buried with phelps and that the thieves were after them, that they fought over the loot, and in the midst of the fight were scared away. the vault is of peculiar construction, a costly tomb in which repose the bodies of the late montague phelps, sr., of his wife, and now of his eldest son. the raid had evidently been carefully planned to coincide with a time when shaughnessy would ordinarily have been on the other side of the town. the entrance to the tomb had been barred, but during the commotion the ghouls were surprised and managed to escape without accomplishing their object and leaving no trace. mrs. phelps, when informed of the vandalism, was shocked, and has been in a very nervous state since the tomb was forced open. the local authorities seem extremely anxious that every precaution should be taken to prevent a repetition of the ghoulish visit to the tomb, but as yet the phelps family has taken no steps. "are you aware of any scandal, any skeleton in the closet in the family?" asked craig, looking up. "no--not yet," considered andrews. "as soon as i heard of the vandalism, i began to wonder what could have happened in the phelps tomb, as far as our company's interests were concerned. you see, that was yesterday. to-day this letter came along," he added, laying down a second very dirty and wrinkled note beside the first. it was quite patently written by a different person from the first; its purport was different, indeed quite the opposite of the other. "it was sent to mrs. phelps," explained andrews, "and she gave it out herself to the police." do not show this to the police. unless you leave $ in gold in the old stump in the swamp across from the cemetery, you will have reason to regret it. if you respect the memory of the dead, do this, and do it quietly. black hand. "well," i ejaculated, "that's cool. what threat would be used to back this demand on the phelpses?" "here's the situation," resumed andrews, puffing violently on his inevitable cigar and toying with the letters and clippings. "we have already held up payment of the half-million dollars of insurance to the widow as long as we can consistently do so. but we must pay soon, scandal or not, unless we can get something more than mere conjecture." "you are already holding it up?" queried craig. "yes. you see, we investigate thoroughly every suspicious death. in most cases, no body is found. this case is different in that respect. there is a body, and it is the body of the insured, apparently. but a death like this, involving the least mystery, receives careful examination, especially if, as in this case, it has recently been covered by heavy policies. my work has often served to reverse the decision of doctors and coroners' juries. "an insurance detective, as you can readily appreciate, kennedy, soon comes to recognise the characteristics in the crimes with which he deals. for example, writing of the insurance plotted for rarely precedes the conspiracy to defraud. that is, i know of few cases in which a policy originally taken out in good faith has subsequently become the means of a swindle. "in outright-murder cases, the assassin induces the victim to take out insurance in his favour. in suicide cases, the insured does so himself. just after his return home, young phelps, who carried fifty thousand dollars already, applied for and was granted one of the largest policies we have ever written--half a million." "was it incontestible without the suicide clause?" asked kennedy. "yes," replied andrews, "and suicide is the first and easiest theory. why, you have no idea how common the crime of suicide for the sake of the life insurance is becoming. nowadays, we insurance men almost believe that every one who contemplates ending his existence takes out a policy so as to make his life, which is useless to him, a benefit, at least, to some one--and a nightmare to the insurance detective." "i know," i cut in, for i recalled having been rather interested in the phelps case at the time, "but i thought the doctors said finally that death was due to heart failure." "doctor forden who signed the papers said so," corrected andrews. "heart failure--what does that mean? as well say breath failure, or nerve failure. i'll tell you what kind of failure i think it was. it was money failure. hard times and poor investments struck phelps before he really knew how to handle his small fortune. it called him home and--pouf!--he is off--to leave to his family a cool half-million by his death. but did he do it himself or did some one else do it? that's the question." "what is your theory," inquired kennedy absently, "assuming there is no scandal hidden in the life of phelps before or after he married the russian dancer?" "i don't know, kennedy," confessed andrews. "i have had so many theories and have changed them so rapidly that all i lay claim to believing, outside of the bald facts that i have stated, is that there must have been some poison. i rather sense it, feel that there is no doubt of it, in fact. that is why i have come to you. i want you to clear it up, one way or another. the company has no interest except in getting at the truth." "the body is really there?" asked kennedy. "you saw it?" "it was there no later than this afternoon, and in an almost perfect state of preservation, too." kennedy seemed to be looking at and through andrews as if he would hypnotise the truth out of him. "let me see," he said quickly. "it is not very late now. can we visit the mausoleum to-night?" "easily. my car is down-stairs. woodbine is not far, and you'll find it a very attractive suburb, aside from this mystery." andrews lost no time in getting us out to woodbine, and on the fringe of the little town, one of the wealthiest around the city, he deposited us at the least likely place of all, the cemetery. a visit to a cemetery is none too enjoyable even on a bright day. in the early night it is positively uncanny. what was gruesome in the daylight became doubly so under the shroud of darkness. we made our way into the grounds through a gate, and i, at least, even with all the enlightenment of modern science, could not restrain a weird and creepy sensation. "here is the phelps tomb," directed andrews, pausing beside a marble structure of grecian lines and pulling out a duplicate key of a new lock which had been placed on the heavy door of grated iron. as we entered, it was with a shudder at the damp odour of decay. kennedy had brought his little electric bull's-eye, and, as he flashed it about, we could see at a glance that the reports had not been exaggerated. everything showed marks of a struggle. some of the ornaments had been broken, and the coffin itself had been forced open. "i have had things kept just as we found them," explained andrews. kennedy peered into the broken coffin long and attentively. with a little effort i, too, followed the course of the circle of light. the body was, as andrews had said, in an excellent, indeed a perfect, state of preservation. there were, strange to say, no marks of decay. "strange, very strange," muttered kennedy to himself. "could it have been some medical students, body-snatchers?" i asked musingly. "or was it simply a piece of vandalism? i wonder if there could have been any jewels buried with him, as shaughnessy said? that would make the motive plain robbery." "there were no jewels," said andrews, his mind not on the first part of my question, but watching kennedy intently. craig had dropped on his knees on the damp, mildewed floor, and bringing his bull's-eye close to the stones, was examining some spots here and there. "there could not have been any substitution?" i whispered, with, my mind still on the broken coffin. "that would cover up the evidence of a poisoning, you know." "no," replied andrews positively, "although bodies can be obtained cheaply enough from a morgue, ostensibly for medical purposes. no, that is phelps, all right." "well, then," i persisted, "body-snatchers, medical students?" "not likely, for the same reason," he rejected. we bent over closer to watch kennedy. apparently he had found a number of round, flat spots with little spatters beside them. he was carefully trying to scrape them up with as little of the surrounding mould as possible. suddenly, without warning, there was a noise outside, as if a person were moving through the underbrush. it was fearsome in its suddenness. was it human or wraith? kennedy darted to the door in time to see a shadow glide silently away, lost in the darkness of the fine old willows. some one had approached the mausoleum for a second time, not knowing we were there, and had escaped. down the road we could hear the purr of an almost silent motor. "somebody is trying to get in to conceal something here," muttered kennedy, stifling his disappointment at not getting a closer view of the intruder. "then it was not a suicide," i exclaimed. "it was a murder!" craig shook his head sententiously. evidently he not prepared yet to talk. with another look at the body in the broken casket he remarked: "to-morrow i want to call on mrs. phelps and doctor forden, and, if it is possible to find him, dana phelps. meanwhile, andrews, if you and walter will stand guard here, there is an apparatus which i should like to get from my laboratory and set up here before it is too late." it was far past the witching hour of midnight, when graveyards proverbially yawn, before craig returned in the car. nothing had happened in the meantime except those usual eery noises that one may hear in the country at night anywhere. our visitor of the early evening seemed to have been scared away for good. inside the mausoleum, kennedy set up a peculiar machine which he attached to the electric-light circuit in the street by a long wire which he ran loosely over the ground. part of the apparatus consisted of an elongated box lined with lead, to which were several other attachments, the nature of which i did not understand, and a crank-handle. "what's that?" asked andrews curiously, as craig set up a screen between the apparatus and the body. "this is a calcium-tungsten screen," remarked kennedy, adjusting now what i know to be a crookes' tube on the other side of the body itself, so that the order was: the tube, the body, the screen, and the oblong box. without a further word we continued to watch him. at last, the apparatus adjusted apparently to his satisfaction, he brought out a jar of thick white liquid and a bottle of powder. "buttermilk and a couple of ounces of bismuth sub-carbonate," he remarked, as he mixed some in a glass, and with a pump forced it down the throat of the body, now lying so that the abdomen was almost flat against the screen. he turned a switch and the peculiar bluish effulgence, which always appears when a crookes' tube is being used, burst forth, accompanied by the droning of his induction-coil and the welcome smell of ozone produced by the electrical discharge in the almost fetid air of the tomb. meanwhile, he was gradually turning the handle of the crank attached to the oblong box. he seemed so engrossed in the delicateness of the operation that we did not question him, in fact did not move. for andrews, at least, it was enough to know that he had succeeded in enlisting kennedy's services. well along toward morning it was before kennedy had concluded his tests, whatever they were, and had packed away his paraphernalia. "i'm afraid it will take me two or three days to get at this evidence, even now," he remarked, impatient at even the limitations science put on his activity. we had started back for a quick run to the city and rest. "but, anyhow, it will give us a chance to do some investigating along other lines." early the next day, in spite of the late session of the night before, kennedy started me with him on a second visit to woodbine. this time he was armed with a letter of introduction from andrews to mrs. phelps. she proved to be a young woman of most extraordinary grace and beauty, with a superb carriage such as only years of closest training under the best dancers of the world could give. there was a peculiar velvety softness about her flesh and skin, a witching stoop to her shoulders that was decidedly continental, and in her deep, soulful eyes a half-wistful look that was most alluring. in fact, she was as attractive a widow as the best fifth avenue dealers in mourning goods could have produced. i knew that 'ginette phelps had been, both as dancer and wife, always the centre of a group of actors, artists, and men of letters as well as of the world and affairs. the phelpses had lived well, although they were not extremely wealthy, as fortunes go. when the blow fell, i could well fancy that the loss of his money had been most serious to young montague, who had showered everything as lavishly as he was able upon his captivating bride. mrs. phelps did not seem to be overjoyed at receiving us, yet made no open effort to refuse. "how long ago did the coma first show itself?" asked kennedy, after our introductions were completed. "was your husband a man of neurotic tendency, as far as you could judge?" "oh, i couldn't say when it began," she answered, in a voice that was soft and musical and under perfect control. "the doctor would know that better. no, he was not neurotic, i think." "did you ever see mr. phelps take any drugs--not habitually, but just before this sleep came on?" kennedy was seeking his information in a manner and tone that would cause as little offence as possible "oh, no," she hastened. "no, never--absolutely." "you called in dr. forden the last night?" "yes, he had been montague's physician many years ago, you know." "i see," remarked kennedy, who was thrusting about aimlessly to get her off her guard. "by the way, you know there is a great deal of gossip about the almost perfect state of preservation of the body, mrs. phelps. i see it was not embalmed." she bit her lip and looked at kennedy sharply. "why, why do you and mr. andrews worry me? can't you see doctor forden?" in her annoyance i fancied that there was a surprising lack of sorrow. she seemed preoccupied. i could not escape the feeling that she was putting some obstacle in our way, or that from the day of the discovery of the vandalism, some one had been making an effort to keep the real facts concealed. was she shielding some one? it flashed over me that perhaps, after all, she had submitted to the blackmail and had buried the money at the appointed place. there seemed to be little use in pursuing the inquiry, so we excused ourselves, much, i thought, to her relief. we found doctor forden, who lived on the same street as the phelpses several squares away, most fortunately at home. forden was an extremely interesting man, as is, indeed, the rule with physicians. i could not but fancy, however, that his hearty assurance that he would be glad to talk freely on the case was somewhat forced. "you were sent for by mrs. phelps, that last night, i believe, while phelps was still alive?" asked kennedy. "yes. during the day it had been impossible to arouse him, and that night, when mrs. phelps and the nurse found him sinking even deeper into the comatose state, i was summoned again. he was beyond hope then. i did everything i could, but he died a few moments after i arrived." "did you try artificial respiration?" asked kennedy. "n-no," replied forden. "i telephoned here for my respirator, but by the time it arrived at the house it was too late. nothing had been omitted while he was still struggling with the spark of life. when that went out what was the use?" "you were his personal physician?" "yes." "had you ever noticed that he took any drug?" doctor forden shot a quick glance at kennedy. "of course not. he was not a drug fiend." "i didn't mean that he was addicted to any drug. but had he taken anything lately, either of his own volition or with the advice or knowledge of any one else?" "of course not." "there's another strange thing i wish to ask your opinion about," pursued kennedy, not to be rebuffed. "i have seen his body. it is in an excellent state of preservation, almost lifelike. and yet i understand, or at least it seems, that it was not embalmed." "you'll have to ask the undertaker about that," answered the doctor brusquely. it was evident that he was getting more and more constrained in his answers. kennedy did not seem to mind it, but to me it seemed that he must be hiding something. was there some secret which medical ethics kept locked in his breast? kennedy had risen and excused himself. the interviews had not resulted in much, i felt, yet kennedy did not seem to care. back in the city again, he buried himself in his laboratory for the rest of the day, most of the time in his dark room, where he was developing photographic plates or films, i did not know which. during the afternoon andrews dropped in for a few moments to report that he had nothing to add to what had already developed. he was not much impressed by the interviews. "there's just one thing i want to speak about, though," he said at length, unburdening his mind. "that tomb and the swamp, too, ought to be watched. last night showed me that there seems to be a regular nocturnal visitor and that we cannot depend on that town night watchman to scare him off. yet if we watch up there, he will be warned and will lie low. how can we watch both places at once and yet remain hidden?" kennedy nodded approval of the suggestion. "i'll fix that," he replied, anxious to return to his photographic labours. "meet me, both of you, on the road from the station at woodbine, just as it is getting dusk." without another word he disappeared into the dark room. we met him that night as he had requested. he had come up to woodbine in the baggage-car of the train with a powerful dog, for all the world like a huge, grey wolf. "down, schaef," he ordered, as the dog began to show an uncanny interest in me. "let me introduce my new dog-detective," he chuckled. "she has a wonderful record as a police-dog." we were making our way now through the thickening shadows of the town to the outskirts. "she's a german sheep-dog, a schaferhund," he explained. "for my part, it is the english bloodhound in the open country and the sheep-dog in the city and the suburbs." schaef seemed to have many of the characteristics of the wild, prehistoric animal, among them the full, upright ears of the wild dog which are such a great help to it. she was a fine, alert, upstanding dog, hardy, fierce, and literally untiring, of a tawny light brown like a lioness, about the same size and somewhat of the type of the smooth-coated collie, broad of chest and with a full brush of tail. untamed though she seemed, she was perfectly under kennedy's control, and rendered him absolute and unreasoning obedience. at the cemetery we established a strict watch about the phelps mausoleum and the swamp which lay across the road, not a difficult thing to do as far as concealment went, owing to the foliage. still, for the same reason, it was hard to cover the whole ground. in the shadow of a thicket we waited. now and then we could hear schaef scouting about in the underbrush, crouching and hiding, watching and guarding. as the hours of waiting in the heavily laden night air wore on, i wondered whether our vigil in this weird place would be rewarded. the soughing of the night wind in the evergreens, mournful at best, was doubly so now. hour after hour we waited patiently. at last there was a slight noise from the direction opposite the mausoleum and toward the swamp next to the cemetery. kennedy reached out and drew us back into the shadow deeper. "some one is prowling about, approaching the mausoleum on that side, i think," he whispered. instantly there recurred to me the thought i had had earlier in the day that perhaps, after all, the five thousand dollars of hush money, for whatever purpose it might be extorted, had been buried in the swamp by mrs. phelps in her anxiety. had that been what she was concealing? perhaps the blackmailer had come to reconnoitre, and, if the money was there, to take it away. schaef, who had been near us, was sniffing eagerly. from our hiding-place we could just see her. she had heard the sounds, too, even before we had, and for an instant stood with every muscle tense. then, like an arrow, she darted into the underbrush. an instant later, the sharp crack of a revolver rang out. schaef kept right on, never stopping a second, except, perhaps, for surprise. "crack!" almost in her face came a second spit of fire in the darkness, and a bullet crashed through the leaves and buried itself in a tree with a ping. the intruder's marksmanship was poor, but the dog paid no attention to it. "one of the few animals that show no fear of gunfire," muttered kennedy, in undisguised admiration. "g-r-r-r," we heard from the police-dog. "she has made a leap at the hand that holds the gun," cried kennedy, now rising and moving rapidly in the same direction. "she has been taught that a man once badly bitten in the hand is nearly out of the fight." we followed, too. as we approached we were just in time to see schaef running in and out between the legs of a man who had heard us approach and was hastily making tracks for the road. as he tripped, she lunged for his back. kennedy blew shrilly on a police whistle. reluctantly, schaef let go. one could see that with all her canine instinct she wanted to "get" that man. her jaws were open, as, with longing eyes, she stood over the prostrate form in the grass. the whistle was a signal, and she had been taught to obey unquestioningly. "don't move until we get to you, or you are a dead man," shouted kennedy, pulling an automatic as he ran. "are you hurt?" there was no answer, but as we approached, the man moved, ever so little, through curiosity to see his pursuers. schaef shot forward. again the whistle sounded and she dropped back. we bent over to seize him as kennedy secured the dog. "she's a devil," ground out the prone figure on the grass. "dana phelps!" exclaimed andrews, as the man turned his face toward us. "what are you doing, mixed up in this?" suddenly there was a movement in the rear, toward the mausoleum itself. we turned, but it was too late. two dark figures slunk through the gloom, bearing something between them. kennedy slipped the leash off schaef and she shot out like a unchained bolt of lightning. there was the whir of a high-powered machine which must have sneaked up with the muffler on during the excitement. they had taken a desperate chance and had succeeded. they were gone! xxii the x-ray "movies" still holding dana phelps between us, we hurried toward the tomb and entered. while our attention had been diverted in the direction of the swamp, the body of montague phelps had been stolen. dana phelps was still deliberately brushing off his clothes. had he been in league with them, executing a flank movement to divert our attention? or had it all been pure chance? "well?" demanded andrews. "well?" replied dana. kennedy said nothing, and i felt that, with our capture, the mystery seemed to have deepened rather than cleared. as andrews and phelps faced each other, i noticed that the latter was now and then endeavouring to cover his wrist, where the dog had torn his coat sleeve. "are you hurt badly?" inquired kennedy. dana said nothing, but backed away. kennedy advanced, insisting on looking at the wounds. as he looked he disclosed a semicircle of marks. "not a dog bite," he whispered, turning to me and fumbling in his pocket. "besides, those marks are a couple of days old. they have scabs on them." he had pulled out a pencil and a piece of paper, and, unknown to phelps, was writing in the darkness. i leaned over. near the point, in the tube through which the point for writing was, protruded a small accumulator and tiny electric lamp which threw a little disc of light, so small that it could be hidden by the hand, yet quite sufficient to guide craig in moving the point of his pencil for the proper formation of whatever he was recording on the surface of the paper. "an electric-light pencil," he remarked laconically, in an undertone. "who were the others?" demanded andrews of dana. there was a pause as though he were debating whether or not to answer at all. "i don't know," he said at length. "i wish i did." "you don't know?" queried andrews, with incredulity. "no, i say i wish i did know. you and your dog interrupted me just as i was about to find out, too." we looked at each other in amazement. andrews was frankly skeptical of the coolness of the young man. kennedy said nothing for some moments. "i see you don't want to talk," he put in shortly. "nothing to talk about," grunted dana, in disgust. "then why are you here?" "nothing but conjecture. no facts, only suspicions," said dana, half to himself. "you expect us to believe that?" insinuated andrews. "i can't help what you believe. that is the fact." "and you were not with them?" "no." "you'll be within call, if we let you go now, any time that we want you?" interrupted kennedy, much to the surprise of andrews. "i shall stay in woodbine as long as there is any hope of clearing up this case. if you want me, i suppose i shall have to stay anyhow, even if there is a clue somewhere else." "i'll take your word for it," offered kennedy. "i'll give it." i must say that i rather liked the young chap, although i could make nothing out of him. as dana phelps disappeared down the road, andrews turned to kennedy. "what did you do that for?" he asked, half critically. "because we can watch him, anyway," answered craig, with a significant glance at the now empty casket. "have him shadowed, andrews. it may lead to something and it may not. but in any case don't let him get out of reach." "here we are in a worse mystery than ever," grumbled andrews. "we have caught a prisoner, but the body is gone, and we can't even show that he was an accomplice." "what were you writing?" i asked craig, endeavouring to change the subject to one more promising. "just copying the peculiar shape of those marks on phelps' arm. perhaps we can improve on the finger-print method of identification. those were the marks of human teeth." he was glancing casually at his sketch as he displayed it to us. i wondered whether he really expected to obtain proof of the identity of at least one of the ghouls by the tooth-marks. "it shows eight teeth, one of them decayed," he remarked. "by the way, there's no use watching here any longer. i have some more work to do in the laboratory which will keep me another day. to-morrow night i shall be ready. andrews, in the mean time i leave the shadowing of dana to you, and with the help of jameson i want you to arrange to have all those connected with the case at my laboratory to-morrow night without fail." andrews and i had to do some clever scheming to bring pressure to bear on the various persons interested to insure their attendance, now that craig was ready to act. of course there was no difficulty in getting dana phelps. andrews's shadows reported nothing in his actions of the following day that indicated anything. mrs. phelps came down to town by train and doctor forden motored in. andrews even took the precaution to secure shaughnessy and the trained nurse, miss tracy, who had been with montague phelps during his illness but had not contributed anything toward untangling the case. andrews and myself completed the little audience. we found kennedy heating a large mass of some composition such as dentists use in taking impressions of the teeth. "i shall be ready in a moment," he excused himself, still bending over his bunsen flame. "by the way, mr. phelps, if you will permit me." he had detached a wad of the softened material. phelps, taken by surprise, allowed him to make an impression of his teeth, almost before he realised what kennedy was doing. the precedent set, so to speak, kennedy approached doctor forden. he demurred, but finally consented. mrs. phelps followed, then the nurse, and even shaughnessy. with a quick glance at each impression, kennedy laid them aside to harden. "i am ready to begin," he remarked at length, turning to a peculiar looking instrument, something like three telescopes pointing at a centre in which was a series of glass prisms. "these five senses of ours are pretty dull detectives sometimes," kennedy began. "but i find that when we are able to call in outside aid we usually find that there are no more mysteries." he placed something in a test-tube in line before one of the barrels of the telescopes, near a brilliant electric light. "what do you see, walter?" he asked, indicating an eyepiece. i looked. "a series of lines," i replied. "what is it?" "that," he explained, "is a spectroscope, and those are the lines of the absorption spectrum. each of those lines, by its presence, denotes a different substance. now, on the pavement of the phelps mausoleum i found, you will recall, some roundish spots. i have made a very diluted solution of them which is placed in this tube. "the applicability of the spectroscope to the differentiation of various substances is too well known to need explanation. its value lies in the exact nature of the evidence furnished. even the very dilute solution which i have been able to make of the material scraped from these spots gives characteristic absorption bands between the d and e lines, as they are called. their wave-lengths are between and . it is such a distinct absorption spectrum that it is possible to determine with certainty that the fluid actually contains a certain substance, even though the microscope might fail to give sure proof. blood--human blood--that was what those stains were." he paused. "the spectra of the blood pigments," he added, "of the extremely minute quantities of blood and the decomposition products of hemoglobin in the blood are here infallibly shown, varying very distinctly with the chemical changes which the pigments may undergo." whose blood was it? i asked myself. was it of some one who had visited the tomb, who was surprised there or surprised some one else there? i was hardly ready for kennedy's quick remark. "there were two kinds of blood there. one was contained in the spots on the floor all about the mausoleum. there are marks on the arm of dana phelps which he probably might say were made by the teeth of my police-dog, schaef. they are human tooth-marks, however. he was bitten by some one in a struggle. it was his blood on the floor of the mausoleum. whose were the teeth?" kennedy fingered the now set impressions, then resumed: "before i answer that question, what else does the spectroscope show? i found some spots near the coffin, which has been broken open by a heavy object. it had slipped and had injured the body of montague phelps. from the injury some drops had oozed. my spectroscope tells me that that, too, is blood. the blood and other muscular and nervous fluids of the body had remained in an aqueous condition instead of becoming pectous. that is a remarkable circumstance." it flashed over me what kennedy had been driving at in his inquiry regarding embalming. if the poisons of the embalming fluid had not been injected, he had now clear proof regarding anything his spectroscope discovered. "i had expected to find a poison, perhaps an alkaloid," he continued slowly, as he outlined his discoveries by the use of one of the most fascinating branches of modern science, spectroscopy. "in cases of poisoning by these substances, the spectroscope often has obvious advantages over chemical methods, for minute amounts will produce a well-defined spectrum. the spectroscope 'spots' the substance, to use a police idiom, the moment the case is turned over to it. there was no poison there." he had raised his voice to emphasise the startling revelation. "instead, i found an extraordinary amount of the substance and products of glycogen. the liver, where this substance is stored, is literally surcharged in the body of phelps." he had started his moving-picture machine. "here i have one of the latest developments in the moving-picture art," he resumed, "an x-ray moving picture, a feat which was until recently visionary, a science now in its infancy, bearing the formidable names of biorontgenography, or kinematoradiography." kennedy was holding his little audience breathless as he proceeded. i fancied i could see anginette phelps give a little shudder at the prospect of looking into the very interior of a human body. but she was pale with the fascination of it. neither forden nor the nurse looked to the right or to the left. dana phelps was open-eyed with wonder. "in one x-ray photograph, or even in several," continued kennedy, "it is difficult to discover slight motions. not so in a moving picture. for instance, here i have a picture which will show you a living body in all its moving details." on the screen before us was projected a huge shadowgraph of a chest and abdomen. we could see the vertebrae of the spinal column, the ribs, and the various organs. "it is difficult to get a series of photographs directly from a fluorescent screen," kennedy went on. "i overcome the difficulty by having lenses of sufficient rapidity to photograph even faint images on that screen. it is better than the so-called serial method, by which a number of separate x-ray pictures are taken and then pieced together and rephotographed to make the film. i can focus the x-rays first on the screen by means of a special quartz objective which i have devised. then i take the pictures. "here, you see, are the lungs in slow or rapid respiration. there is the rhythmically beating heart, distinctly pulsating in perfect outline. there is the liver, moving up and down with the diaphragm, the intestines, and the stomach. you can see the bones moving with the limbs, as well as the inner visceral life. all that is hidden to the eye by the flesh is now made visible in striking manner." never have i seen an audience at the "movies" so thrilled as we were now, as kennedy swayed our interest at his will. i had been dividing my attention between kennedy and the extraordinary beauty of the famous russian dancer. i forgot anginette phelps entirely. kennedy placed another film in the holder. "you are now looking into the body of montague phelps," he announced suddenly. we leaned forward eagerly. mrs. phelps gave a half-suppressed gasp. what was the secret hidden in it? there was the stomach, a curved sack something like a bagpipe or a badly made boot, with a tiny canal at the toe connecting it with the small intestine. there were the heart and lungs. "i have rendered the stomach visible," resumed kennedy, "made it 'metallic,' so to speak, by injecting a solution of bismuth in buttermilk, the usual method, by which it becomes more impervious to the x-rays and hence darker in the skiagraph. i took these pictures not at the rate of fourteen or so a second, like the others, but at intervals of a few seconds. i did that so that, when i run them off, i get a sort of compressed moving picture. what you see in a short space of time actually took much longer to occur. i could have either kind of picture, but i prefer the latter. "for, you will take notice that there is movement here--of the heart, of the lungs, of the stomach--faint, imperceptible under ordinary circumstances, but nevertheless, movement." he was pointing at the lungs. "a single peristaltic contraction takes place normally in a very few seconds. here it takes minutes. and the stomach. notice what the bismuth mixture shows. there is a very slow series of regular wave-contractions from the fundus to the pylorus. ordinarily one wave takes ten seconds to traverse it; here it is so slow as almost to be unnoticed." what was the implication of his startling, almost gruesome, discovery? i saw it clearly, yet hung on his words, afraid to admit even to myself the logical interpretation of what i saw. "reconstruct the case," continued craig excitedly. "mr. phelps, always a bon vivant and now so situated by marriage that he must be so, comes back to america to find his personal fortune--gone. "what was left? he did as many have done. he took out a new large policy on his life. how was he to profit by it? others have committed suicide, have died to win. cases are common now where men have ended their lives under such circumstances by swallowing bichloride-of-mercury tablets, a favourite method, it seems, lately. "but phelps did not want to die to win. life was too sweet to him. he had another scheme." kennedy dropped his voice. "one of the most fascinating problems in speculation as to the future of the race under the influence of science is that of suspended animation. the usual attitude is one of reserve or scepticism. there is no necessity for it. records exist of cases where vital functions have been practically suspended, with no food and little air. every day science is getting closer to the control of metabolism. in the trance the body functions are so slowed as to simulate death. you have heard of the indian fakirs who bury themselves alive and are dug up days later? you have doubted it. but there is nothing improbable in it. "experiments have been made with toads which have been imprisoned in porous rock where they could get the necessary air. they have lived for months in a stupor. in impervious rock they have died. frozen fish can revive; bears and other animals hibernate. there are all gradations from ordinary sleep to the torpor of death. science can slow down almost to a standstill the vital processes so that excretions disappear and respiration and heart-beat are almost nil. "what the indian fakir does in a cataleptic condition may be duplicated. it is not incredible that they may possess some vegetable extract by which they perform their as yet unexplained feats of prolonged living burial. for, if an animal free from disease is subjected to the action of some chemical and physical agencies which have the property of reducing to the extreme limit the motor forces and nervous stimulus, the body of even a warm-blooded animal may be brought down to a condition so closely resembling death that the most careful examination may fail to detect any signs of life. the heart will continue working regularly at low tension, supplying muscles and other parts with sufficient blood to sustain molecular life, and the stomach would naturally react to artificial stimulus. at any time before decomposition of tissue has set in, the heart might be made to resume its work and life come back. "phelps had travelled extensively. in siberia he must undoubtedly have heard of the buriats, a tribe of natives who hibernate, almost like the animals, during the winters, succumbing to a long sleep known as the 'leshka.' he must have heard of the experiments of professor bakhmetieff, who studied the buriats and found that they subsisted on foods rich in glycogen, a substance in the liver which science has discovered makes possible life during suspended animation. he must have heard of 'anabiose,' as the famous russian calls it, by which consciousness can be totally removed and respiration and digestion cease almost completely." "but--the body--is gone!" some one interrupted. i turned. it was dana phelps, now leaning forward in wide-eyed excitement. "yes," exclaimed craig. "time was passing rapidly. the insurance had not been paid. he had expected to be revived and to disappear with anginette phelps long before this. should the confederates of phelps wait? they did not dare. to wait longer might be to sacrifice him, if indeed they had not taken a long chance already. besides, you yourself had your suspicions and had written the insurance company hinting at murder." dana nodded, involuntarily confessing. "you were watching them, as well as the insurance investigator, mr. andrews. it was an awful dilemma. what was to be done? he must be resuscitated at any risk. "ah--an idea! rifle the grave--that was the way to solve it. that would still leave it possible to collect the insurance, too. the blackmail letter about the five thousand dollars was only a blind, to lay on the mythical black hand the blame for the desecration. brought into light, humidity, and warmth, the body would recover consciousness and the life-functions resume their normal state after the anabiotic coma into which phelps had drugged himself. "but the very first night the supposed ghouls were discovered. dana phelps, already suspicious regarding the death of his brother, wondering at the lack of sentiment which mrs. phelps showed, since she felt that her husband was not really dead--dana was there. his suspicions were confirmed, he thought. montague had been, in reality, murdered, and his murderers were now making away with the evidence. he fought with the ghouls, yet apparently, in the darkness, he did not discover their identity. the struggle was bitter, but they were two to one. dana was bitten by one of them. here are the marks of teeth--teeth--of a woman." anginette phelps was sobbing convulsively. she had risen and was facing doctor forden with outstretched hands. "tell them!" she cried wildly. forden seemed to have maintained his composure only by a superhuman effort. "the--body is--at my office," he said, as we faced him with deathlike stillness. "phelps had told us to get him within ten days. we did get him, finally. gentlemen, you, who were seeking murderers, are, in effect, murderers. you kept us away two days too long. it was too late. we could not revive him. phelps is really dead!" "the deuce!" exclaimed andrews, "the policy is incontestible!" as he turned to us in disgust, his eyes fell on anginette phelps, sobered down by the terrible tragedy and nearly a physical wreck from real grief. "still," he added hastily, "we'll pay without a protest." she did not even hear him. it seemed that the butterfly in her was crushed, as dr. forden and miss tracy gently led her away. they had all left, and the laboratory was again in its normal state of silence, except for the occasional step of kennedy as he stowed away the apparatus he had used. "i must say that i was one of the most surprised in the room at the outcome of that case," i confessed at length. "i fully expected an arrest." he said nothing, but went on methodically restoring his apparatus to its proper place. "what a peculiar life you lead, craig," i pursued reflectively. "one day it is a case that ends with such a bright spot in our lives as the recollection of the shirleys; the next goes to the other extreme of gruesomeness and one can hardly think about it without a shudder. and then, through it all, you go with the high speed power of a racing motor." "that last case appealed to me, like many others," he ruminated, "just because it was so unusual, so gruesome, as you call it." he reached into the pocket of his coat, hung over the back of a chair. "now, here's another most unusual case, apparently. it begins, really, at the other end, so to speak, with the conviction, begins at the very place where we detectives send a man as the last act of our little dramas." "what?" i gasped, "another case before even this one is fairly cleaned up? craig--you are impossible. you get worse instead of better." "read it," he said, simply. kennedy handed me a letter in the angular hand affected by many women. it was dated at sing sing, or rather ossining. craig seemed to appreciate the surprise which my face must have betrayed at the curious combination of circumstances. "nearly always there is the wife or mother of a condemned man who lives in the shadow of the prison," he remarked quietly, adding, "where she can look down at the grim walls, hoping and fearing." i said nothing, for the letter spoke for itself. i have read of your success as a scientific detective and hope that you will pardon me for writing to you, but it is a matter of life or death for one who is dearer to me than all the world. perhaps you recall reading of the trial and conviction of my husband, sanford godwin, at east point. the case did not attract much attention in new york papers, although he was defended by an able lawyer from the city. since the trial, i have taken up my residence here in ossining in order to be near him. as i write i can see the cold, grey walls of the state prison that holds all that is dear to me. day after day, i have watched and waited, hoped against hope. the courts are so slow, and lawyers are so technical. there have been executions since i came here, too--and i shudder at them. will this appeal be denied, also? my husband was accused of murdering by poison--hemlock, they alleged--his adoptive parent, the retired merchant, parker godwin, whose family name he took when he was a boy. after the death of the old man, a later will was discovered in which my husband's inheritance was reduced to a small annuity. the other heirs, the elmores, asserted, and the state made out its case on the assumption, that the new will furnished a motive for killing old mr. godwin, and that only by accident had it been discovered. sanford is innocent. he could not have done it. it is not in him to do such a thing. i am only a woman, but about some things i know more than all the lawyers and scientists, and i know that he is innocent. i cannot write all. my heart is too full. cannot you come and advise me? even if you cannot take up the case to which i have devoted my life, tell me what to do. i am enclosing a check for expenses, all i can spare at present. sincerely yours, nella godwin. "are you going?" i asked, watching kennedy as he tapped the check thoughtfully on the desk. "i can hardly resist an appeal like that," he replied, absently replacing the check in the envelope with the letter. xxiii the death house in the early forenoon, we were on our way by train "up the river" to sing sing, where, at the station, a line of old-fashioned cabs and red-faced cabbies greeted us, for the town itself is hilly. the house to which we had been directed was on the hill, and from its windows one could look down on the barracks-like pile of stone with the evil little black-barred slits of windows, below and perhaps a quarter of a mile away. there was no need to be told what it was. its very atmosphere breathed the word "prison." even the ugly clutter of tall-chimneyed workshops did not destroy it. every stone, every grill, every glint of a sentry's rifle spelt "prison." mrs. godwin was a pale, slight little woman, in whose face shone an indomitable spirit, unconquered even by the slow torture of her lonely vigil. except for such few hours that she had to engage in her simple household duties, with now and then a short walk in the country, she was always watching that bleak stone house of atonement. yet, though her spirit was unconquered, it needed no physician to tell one that the dimming of the lights at the prison on the morning set for the execution would fill two graves instead of one. for she had come to know that this sudden dimming of the corridor lights, and then their almost as sudden flaring-up, had a terrible meaning, well known to the men inside. hers was no less an agony than that of the men in the curtained cells, since she had learned that when the lights grow dim at dawn at sing sing, it means that the electric power has been borrowed for just that little while to send a body straining against the straps of the electric chair, snuffing out the life of a man. to-day she had evidently been watching in both directions, watching eagerly the carriages as they climbed the hill, as well as in the direction of the prison. "how can i ever thank you, professor kennedy," she greeted us at the door, keeping back with difficulty the tears that showed how much it meant to have any one interest himself in her husband's case. there was that gentleness about mrs. godwin that comes only to those who have suffered much. "it has been a long fight," she began, as we talked in her modest little sitting-room, into which the sun streamed brightly with no thought of the cold shadows in the grim building below. "oh, and such a hard, heartbreaking fight! often it seems as if we had exhausted every means at our disposal, and yet we shall never give up. why cannot we make the world see our case as we see it? everything seems to have conspired against us--and yet i cannot, i will not believe that the law and the science that have condemned him are the last words in law and science." "you said in your letter that the courts were so slow and the lawyers so--" "yes, so cold, so technical. they do not seem to realise that a human life is at stake. with them it is almost like a game in which we are the pawns. and sometimes i fear, in spite of what the lawyers say, that without some new evidence, it--it will go hard with him." "you have not given up hope in the appeal?" asked kennedy gently. "it is merely on technicalities of the law," she replied with quiet fortitude, "that is, as nearly as i can make out from the language of the papers. our lawyer is salo kahn, of the big firm of criminal lawyers, smith, kahn." "conine," mused kennedy, half to himself. i could not tell whether he was thinking of what he repeated or of the little woman. "yes, the active principle of hemlock," she went on. "that was what the experts discovered, they swore. in the pure state, i believe, it is more poisonous than anything except the cyanides. and it was absolutely scientific evidence. they repeated the tests in court. there was no doubt of it. but, oh, he did not do it. some one else did it. he did not--he could not." kennedy said nothing for a few minutes, but from his tone when he did speak it was evident that he was deeply touched. "since our marriage we lived with old mr. godwin in the historic godwin house at east point," she resumed, as he renewed his questioning. "sanford--that was my husband's real last name until he came as a boy to work for mr. godwin in the office of the factory and was adopted by his employer--sanford and i kept house for him. "about a year ago he began to grow feeble and seldom went to the factory, which sanford managed for him. one night mr. godwin was taken suddenly ill. i don't know how long he had been ill before we heard him groaning, but he died almost before we could summon a doctor. there was really nothing suspicious about it, but there had always been a great deal of jealousy of my husband in the town and especially among the few distant relatives of mr. godwin. what must have started as an idle, gossipy rumour developed into a serious charge that my husband had hastened his old guardian's death. "the original will--the will, i call it--had been placed in the safe of the factory several years ago. but when the gossip in the town grew bitter, one day when we were out, some private detectives entered the house with a warrant--and they did actually find a will, another will about which we knew nothing, dated later than the first and hidden with some papers in the back of a closet, or sort of fire proof box, built into the wall of the library. the second will was identical with the first in language except that its terms were reversed and instead of being the residuary legatee, sanford was given a comparatively small annuity, and the elmores were made residuary legatees instead of annuitants." "and who are these elmores?" asked kennedy curiously. "there are three, two grandnephews and a grandniece, bradford, lambert, and their sister miriam." "and they live--" "in east point, also. old mr. godwin was not very friendly with his sister, whose grandchildren they were. they were the only other heirs living, and although sanford never had anything to do with it, i think they always imagined that he tried to prejudice the old man against them." "i shall want to see the elmores, or at least some one who represents them, as well as the district attorney up there who conducted the case. but now that i am here, i wonder if it is possible that i could bring any influence to bear to see your husband?" mrs. godwin sighed. "once a month," she replied, "i leave this window, walk to the prison, where the warden is very kind to me, and then i can see sanford. of course there are bars between us besides the regular screen. but i can have an hour's talk, and in those talks he has described to me exactly every detail of his life in the--the prison. we have even agreed on certain hours when we think of each other. in those hours i know almost what he is thinking." she paused to collect herself. "perhaps there may be some way if i plead with the warden. perhaps--you may be considered his counsel now--you may see him." a half hour later we sat in the big registry room of the prison and talked with the big-hearted, big-handed warden. every argument that kennedy could summon was brought to bear. he even talked over long distance with the lawyers in new york. at last the rules were relaxed and kennedy was admitted on some technicality as counsel. counsel can see the condemned as often as necessary. we were conducted down a flight of steps and past huge steel-barred doors, along corridors and through the regular prison until at last we were in what the prison officials called the section for the condemned. every one else calls this secret heart of the grim place, the death house. it is made up of two rows of cells, some eighteen or twenty in all, a little more modern in construction than the twelve hundred archaic caverns that pass for cells in the main prison. at each end of the corridor sat a guard, armed, with eyes never off the rows of cells day or night. in the wall, on one side, was a door--the little green door--the door from the death house to the death chamber. while kennedy was talking to the prisoner, a guard volunteered to show me the death chamber and the "chair." no other furniture was there in the little brick house of one room except this awful chair, of yellow oak with broad, leather straps. there it stood, the sole article in the brightly varnished room of about twenty-five feet square with walls of clean blue, this grim acolyte of modern scientific death. there were the wet electrodes that are fastened to the legs through slits in the trousers at the calves; above was the pipe-like fixture, like a gruesome helmet of leather that fits over the head, carrying the other electrode. back of the condemned was the switch which lets loose a lethal store of energy, and back of that the prison morgue where the bodies are taken. i looked about. in the wall to the left toward the death house was also a door, on this side yellow. somehow i could not get from my mind the fascination of that door--the threshold of the grave. meanwhile kennedy sat in the little cage and talked with the convicted man across the three-foot distance between cell and screen. i did not see him at that time, but kennedy repeated afterward what passed, and it so impressed me that i will set it down as if i had been present. sanford godwin was a tall, ashen-faced man, in the prison pallor of whose face was written the determination of despair, a man in whose blue eyes was a queer, half-insane light of hope. one knew that if it had not been for the little woman at the window at the top of the hill, the hope would probably long ago have faded. but this man knew she was always there, thinking, watching, eagerly planning in aid of any new scheme in the long fight for freedom. "the alkaloid was present, that is certain," he told kennedy. "my wife has told you that. it was scientifically proved. there is no use in attacking that." later on he remarked: "perhaps you think it strange that one in the very shadow of the death chair"--the word stuck in his throat--"can talk so impersonally of his own case. sometimes i think it is not my case, but some one else's. and then--that door." he shuddered and turned away from it. on one side was life, such as it was; on the other, instant death. no wonder he pleaded with kennedy. "why, walter," exclaimed craig, as we walked back to the warden's office to telephone to town for a car to take us up to east point, "whenever he looks out of that cage he sees it. he may close his eyes--and still see it. when he exercises, he sees it. thinking by day and dreaming by night, it is always there. think of the terrible hours that man must pass, knowing of the little woman eating her heart out. is he really guilty? i must find out. if he is not, i never saw a greater tragedy than this slow, remorseless approach of death, in that daily, hourly shadow of the little green door." east point was a queer old town on the upper hudson, with a varying assortment of industries. just outside, the old house of the godwins stood on a bluff overlooking the majestic river. kennedy had wanted to see it before any one suspected his mission, and a note from mrs. godwin to a friend had been sufficient. carefully he went over the deserted and now half-wrecked house, for the authorities had spared nothing in their search for poison, even going over the garden and the lawns in the hope of finding some of the poisonous shrub, hemlock, which it was contended had been used to put an end to mr. godwin. as yet nothing had been done to put the house in order again and, as we walked about, we noticed a pile of old tins in the yard which had not been removed. kennedy turned them over with his stick. then he picked one up and examined it attentively. "h-m--a blown can," he remarked. "blown?" i repeated. "yes. when the contents of a tin begin to deteriorate they sometimes give off gases which press out the ends of the tin. you can see how these ends bulge." our next visit was to the district attorney, a young man, gordon kilgore, who seemed not unwilling to discuss the case frankly. "i want to make arrangements for disinterring the body," explained kennedy. "would you fight such a move?" "not at all, not at all," he answered brusquely. "simply make the arrangements through kahn. i shall interpose no objection. it is the strongest, most impregnable part of the case, the discovery of the poison. if you can break that down you will do more than any one else has dared to hope. but it can't be done. the proof was too strong. of course it is none of my business, but i'd advise some other point of attack." i must confess to a feeling of disappointment when kennedy announced after leaving kilgore that, for the present, there was nothing more to be done at east point until kahn had made the arrangements for reopening the grave. we motored back to ossining, and kennedy tried to be reassuring to mrs. godwin. "by the way," he remarked, just before we left, "you used a good deal of canned goods at the godwin house, didn't you?" "yes, but not more than other people, i think," she said. "do you recall using any that were--well, perhaps not exactly spoiled, but that had anything peculiar about them?" "i remember once we thought we found some cans that seemed to have been attacked by mice--at least they smelt so, though how mice could get through a tin can we couldn't see." "mice?" queried kennedy. "had a mousey smell? that's interesting. well, mrs. godwin, keep up a good heart. depend on me. what you have told me to-day has made me more than interested in your case. i shall waste no time in letting you know when anything encouraging develops." craig had never had much patience with red tape that barred the way to the truth, yet there were times when law and legal procedure had to be respected, no matter how much they hampered, and this was one of them. the next day the order was obtained permitting the opening again of the grave of old mr. godwin. the body was exhumed, and kennedy set about his examination of what secrets it might hide. meanwhile, it seemed to me that the suspense was terrible. kennedy was moving slowly, i thought. not even the courts themselves could have been more deliberate. also, he was keeping much to himself. still, for another whole day, there was the slow, inevitable approach of the thing that now, i, too, had come to dread--the handing down of the final decision on the appeal. yet what could craig do otherwise, i asked myself. i had become deeply interested in the case by this time and spent the time reading all the evidence, hundreds of pages of it. it was cold, hard, brutal, scientific fact, and as i read i felt that hope faded for the ashen-faced man and the pallid little woman. it seemed the last word in science. was there any way of escape? impatient as i was, i often wondered what must have been the suspense of those to whom the case meant everything. "how are the tests coming along?" i ventured one night, after kahn had arranged for the uncovering of the grave. it was now two days since kennedy had gone up to east point to superintend the exhumation and had returned to the city with the materials which had caused him to keep later hours in the laboratory than i had ever known even the indefatigable craig to spend on a stretch before. he shook his head doubtfully. "walter," he admitted, "i'm afraid i have reached the limit on the line of investigation i had planned at the start." i looked at him in dismay. "what then?" i managed to gasp. "i am going up to east point again to-morrow to look over that house and start a new line. you can go." no urging was needed, and the following day saw us again on the ground. the house, as i have said, had been almost torn to pieces in the search for the will and the poison evidence. as before, we went to it unannounced, and this time we had no difficulty in getting in. kennedy, who had brought with him a large package, made his way directly to a sort of drawing-room next to the large library, in the closet of which the will had been discovered. he unwrapped the package and took from it a huge brace and bit, the bit a long, thin, murderous looking affair such as might have come from a burglar's kit. i regarded it much in that light. "what's the lay?" i asked, as he tapped over the walls to ascertain of just what they were composed. without a word he was now down on his knees, drilling a hole in the plaster and lath. when he struck an obstruction he stopped, removed the bit, inserted another, and began again. "are you going to put in a detectaphone?" i asked again. he shook his head. "a detectaphone wouldn't be of any use here," he replied. "no one is going to do any talking in that room." again the brace and bit were at work. at last the wall had been penetrated, and he quickly removed every trace from the other side that would have attracted attention to a little hole in an obscure corner of the flowered wall-paper. next, he drew out what looked like a long putty-blower, perhaps a foot long and three-eighths of an inch in diameter. "what's that?" i asked, as he rose after carefully inserting it. "look through it," he replied simply, still at work on some other apparatus he had brought. i looked. in spite of the smallness of the opening at the other end, i was amazed to find that i could see nearly the whole room on the other side of the wall. "it's a detectascope," he explained, "a tube with a fish-eye lens which i had an expert optician make for me." "a fish-eye lens?" i repeated. "yes. the focus may be altered in range so that any one in the room may be seen and recognised and any action of his may be detected. the original of this was devised by gaillard smith, the adapter of the detectaphone. the instrument is something like the cytoscope, which the doctors use to look into the human interior. now, look through it again. do you see the closet?" again i looked. "yes," i said, "but will one of us have to watch here all the time?" he had been working on a black box in the meantime, and now he began to set it up, adjusting it to the hole in the wall which he enlarged on our side. "no, that is my own improvement on it. you remember once we used a quick-shutter camera with an electric attachment, which moved the shutter on the contact of a person with an object in the room? well, this camera has that quick shutter. but, in addition, i have adapted to the detectascope an invention by professor robert wood, of johns hopkins. he has devised a fish-eye camera that 'sees' over a radius of one hundred and eighty degrees--not only straight in front, but over half a circle, every point in that room. "you know the refracting power of a drop of water. since it is a globe, it refracts the light which reaches it from all directions. if it is placed like the lens of a camera, as dr. wood tried it, so that one-half of it catches the light, all the light caught will be refracted through it. fishes, too, have a wide range of vision. some have eyes that see over half a circle. so the lens gets its name. ordinary cameras, because of the flatness of their lenses, have a range of only a few degrees, the widest in use, i believe, taking in only ninety-six, or a little more than a quarter of a circle. so, you see, my detectascope has a range almost twice as wide as that of any other." though i did not know what he expected to discover and knew that it was useless to ask, the thing seemed very interesting. craig did not pause, however, to enlarge on the new machine, but gathered up his tools and announced that our next step would be a visit to a lawyer whom the elmores had retained as their personal counsel to look after their interests, now that the district attorney seemed to hare cleared up the criminal end of the case. hollins was one of the prominent attorneys of east point, and before the election of kilgore as prosecutor had been his partner. unlike kilgore, we found him especially uncommunicative and inclined to resent our presence in the case as intruders. the interview did not seem to me to be productive of anything. in fact, it seemed as if craig were giving hollins much more than he was getting. "i shall be in town over night," remarked craig. "in fact, i am thinking of going over the library up at the godwin house soon, very carefully." he spoke casually. "there may be, you know, some finger-prints on the walls around that closet which might prove interesting." a quick look from hollins was the only answer. in fact, it was seldom that he uttered more than a monosyllable as we talked over the various aspects of the case. a half-hour later, when he had left and had gone to the hotel, i asked kennedy suspiciously, "why did you expose your hand to hollins, craig?" he laughed. "oh, walter," he remonstrated, "don't you know that it is nearly always useless to look for finger-prints, except under some circumstances, even a few days afterward? this is months, not days. why on iron and steel they last with tolerable certainty only a short time, and not much longer on silver, glass, or wood. but they are seldom permanent unless they are made with ink or blood or something that leaves a more or less indelible mark. that was a 'plant.'" "but what do you expect to gain by it?" "well," he replied enigmatically, "no one is necessarily honest." it was late in the afternoon when kennedy again visited the godwin house and examined the camera. without a word he pulled the detectascope from the wall and carried the whole thing to the developing-room of the local photographer. there he set to work on the film and i watched him in silence. he seemed very much excited as he watched the film develop, until at last he held it up, dripping, to the red light. "some one has entered that room this afternoon and attempted to wipe off the walls and woodwork of that closet, as i expected," he exclaimed. "who was it?" i asked, leaning over. kennedy said nothing, but pointed to a figure on the film. i bent closer. it was the figure of a woman. "miriam!" i exclaimed in surprise. xxiv the final day i looked aghast at him. if it had been either bradford or lambert, both of whom we had come to know since kennedy had interested himself in the case, or even hollins or kilgore, i should not have been surprised. but miriam! "how could she have any connection with the case?" i asked incredulously. kennedy did not attempt to explain. "it is a fatal mistake, walter, for a detective to assume that he knows what anybody would do in any given circumstances. the only safe course for him is to find out what the persons in question did do. people are always doing the unexpected. this is a case of it, as you see. i am merely trying to get back at facts. come; i think we might as well not stay over night, after all. i should like to drop off on the way back to the city to see mrs. godwin." as we rode up the hill i was surprised to see that there was no one at the window, nor did any one seem to pay attention to our knocking at the door. kennedy turned the knob quickly and strode in. seated in a chair, as white as a wraith from the grave, was mrs. godwin, staring straight ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. "what's the matter?" demanded kennedy, leaping to her side and grasping her icy hand. the stare on her face seemed to change slightly as she recognised him. "walter--some water--and a little brandy--if there is any. tell me--what has happened?" from her lap a yellow telegram had fluttered to the floor, but before he could pick it up, she gasped, "the appeal--it has been denied." kennedy picked up the paper. it was a message, unsigned, but not from kahn, as its wording and in fact the circumstances plainly showed. "the execution is set for the week beginning the fifth," she continued, in the same hollow, mechanical voice. "my god--that's next monday!" she had risen now and was pacing the room. "no! i'm not going to faint. i wish i could. i wish i could cry. i wish i could do something. oh, those elmores--they must have sent it. no one would have been so cruel but they." she stopped and gazed wildly out of the window at the prison. neither of us knew what to say for the moment. "many times from this window," she cried, "i have seen a man walk out of that prison gate. i always watch to see what he does, though i know it is no use. if he stands in the free air, stops short, and looks up suddenly, taking a long look at every house--i hope. but he always turns for a quick, backward look at the prison and goes half running down the hill. they always stop in that fashion, when the steel door opens outward. yet i have always looked and hoped. but i can hope no more--no more. the last chance is gone." "no--not the last chance," exclaimed craig, springing to her side lest she should fall. then he added gently, "you must come with me to east point--immediately." "what--leave him here--alone--in the last days? no--no--no. never. i must see him. i wonder if they have told him yet." it was evident that she had lost faith in kennedy, in everybody, now. "mrs. godwin," he urged. "come--you must. it is a last chance." eagerly he was pouring out the story of the discovery of the afternoon by the little detectascope. "miriam?" she repeated, dazed. "she--know anything--it can't be. no--don't raise a false hope now." "it is the last chance," he urged again. "come. there is not an hour to waste now." there was no delay, no deliberation about kennedy now. he had been forced out into the open by the course of events, and he meant to take advantage of every precious moment. down the hill our car sped to the town, with mrs. godwin still protesting, but hardly realising what was going on. regardless of tolls, kennedy called up his laboratory in new york and had two of his most careful students pack up the stuff which he described minutely to be carried to east point immediately by train. kahn, too, was at last found and summoned to meet us there also. miles never seemed longer than they did to us as we tore over the country from ossining to east point, a silent party, yet keyed up by an excitement that none of us had ever felt before. impatiently we awaited the arrival of the men from kennedy's laboratory, while we made mrs. godwin as comfortable as possible in a room at the hotel. in one of the parlours kennedy was improvising a laboratory as best he could. meanwhile, kahn had arrived, and together we were seeking those whose connection with, or interest in, the case made necessary their presence. it was well along toward midnight before the hasty conference had been gathered; besides mrs. godwin, salo kahn, and ourselves, the three elmores, kilgore, and hollins. strange though it was, the room seemed to me almost to have assumed the familiar look of the laboratory in new york. there was the same clutter of tubes and jars on the tables, but above all that same feeling of suspense in the air which i had come to associate with the clearing up of a case. there was something else in the air, too. it was a peculiar mousey smell, disagreeable, and one which made it a relief to have kennedy begin in a low voice to tell why he had called us together so hastily. "i shall start," announced kennedy, "at the point where the state left off--with the proof that mr. godwin died of conine, or hemlock poisoning. conine, as every chemist knows, has a long and well-known history. it was the first alkaloid to be synthesised. here is a sample, this colourless, oily fluid. no doubt you have noticed the mousey odour in this room. as little as one part of conine to fifty thousand of water gives off that odour--it is characteristic. "i have proceeded with extraordinary caution in my investigation of this case," he went on. "in fact, there would have been no value in it, otherwise, for the experts for the people seem to have established the presence of conine in the body with absolute certainty." he paused and we waited expectantly. "i have had the body exhumed and have repeated the tests. the alkaloid which i discovered had given precisely the same results as in their tests." my heart sank. what was he doing--convicting the man over again? "there is one other test which i tried," he continued, "but which i can not take time to duplicate tonight. it was testified at the trial that conine, the active principle of hemlock, is intensely poisonous. no chemical antidote is known. a fifth of a grain has serious results; a drop is fatal. an injection of a most minute quantity of real conine will kill a mouse, for instance, almost instantly. but the conine which i have isolated in the body is inert!" it came like a bombshell to the prosecution, so bewildering was the discovery. "inert?" cried kilgore and hollins almost together. "it can't be. you are making sport of the best chemical experts that money could obtain. inert? read the evidence--read the books." "on the contrary," resumed craig, ignoring the interruption, "all the reactions obtained by the experts have been duplicated by me. but, in addition, i tried this one test which they did not try. i repeat: the conine isolated in the body is inert." we were too perplexed to question him. "alkaloids," he continued quietly, "as you know, have names that end in 'in' or 'ine'--morphine, strychnine, and so on. now there are two kinds of alkaloids which are sometimes called vegetable and animal. moreover, there is a large class of which we are learning much which are called the ptomaines--from ptoma, a corpse. ptomaine poisoning, as every one knows, results when we eat food that has begun to decay. "ptomaines are chemical compounds of an alkaloidal nature formed in protein substances during putrefaction. they are purely chemical bodies and differ from the toxins. there are also what are called leucomaines, formed in living tissues, and when not given off by the body they produce auto-intoxication. "there are more than three score ptomaines, and half of them are poisonous. in fact, illness due to eating infected foods is much more common than is generally supposed. often there is only one case in a number of those eating the food, due merely to that person's inability to throw off the poison. such cases are difficult to distinguish. they are usually supposed to be gastro-enteritis. ptomaines, as their name shows, are found in dead bodies. they are found in all dead matter after a time, whether it is decayed food or a decaying corpse. "no general reaction is known by which the ptomaines can be distinguished from the vegetable alkaloids. but we know that animal alkaloids always develop either as a result of decay of food or of the decay of the body itself." at one stroke kennedy had reopened the closed case and had placed the experts at sea. "i find that there is an animal conine as well as the true conine," he hammered out. "the truth of this matter is that the experts have confounded vegetable conine with cadaveric conine. that raises an interesting question. assuming the presence of conine, where did it come from?" he paused and began a new line of attack. "as the use of canned goods becomes more and more extensive, ptomaine poisoning is more frequent. in canning, the cans are heated. they are composed of thin sheets of iron coated with tin, the seams pressed and soldered with a thin line of solder. they are filled with cooked food, sterilised, and closed. the bacteria are usually all killed, but now and then, the apparatus does not work, and they develop in the can. that results in a 'blown can'--the ends bulge a little bit. on opening, a gas escapes, the food has a bad odour and a bad taste. sometimes people say that the tin and lead poison them; in practically all cases the poisoning is of bacterial, not metallic, origin. mr. godwin may have died of poisoning, probably did. but it was ptomaine poisoning. the blown cans which i have discovered would indicate that." i was following him closely, yet though this seemed to explain a part of the case, it was far from explaining all. "then followed," he hurried on, "the development of the usual ptomaines in the body itself. these, i may say, had no relation to the cause of death itself. the putrefactive germs began their attack. whatever there may have been in the body before, certainly they produced a cadaveric ptomaine conine. for many animal tissues and fluids, especially if somewhat decomposed, yield not infrequently compounds of an oily nature with a mousey odour, fuming with hydrochloric acid and in short, acting just like conine. there is ample evidence, i have found, that conine or a substance possessing most, if not all, of its properties is at times actually produced in animal tissues by decomposition. and the fact is, i believe, that a number of cases have arisen, in which the poisonous alkaloid was at first supposed to have been discovered which were really mistakes." the idea was startling in the extreme. here was kennedy, as it were, overturning what had been considered the last word in science as it had been laid down by the experts for the prosecution, opinions so impregnable that courts and juries had not hesitated to condemn a man to death. "there have been cases," craig went on solemnly, "and i believe this to be one, where death has been pronounced to have been caused by wilful administration of a vegetable alkaloid, which toxicologists would now put down as ptomaine-poisoning cases. innocent people have possibly already suffered and may in the future. but medical experts--" he laid especial stress on the word--"are much more alive to the danger of mistake than formerly. this was a case where the danger was not considered, either through carelessness, ignorance, or prejudice. "indeed, ptomaines are present probably to a greater or less extent in every organ which is submitted to the toxicologist for examination. if he is ignorant of the nature of these substances, he may easily mistake them for vegetable alkaloids. he may report a given poison present when it is not present. it is even yet a new line of inquiry which has only recently been followed, and the information is still comparatively small and inadequate. "it is very difficult, perhaps impossible, for the chemist to state absolutely that he has detected true conine. before he can do it, the symptoms and the post-mortem appearance must agree; analysis must be made before, not after, decomposition sets in, and the amount of the poison found must be sufficient to experiment with, not merely to react to a few usual tests. "what the experts asserted so positively, i would not dare to assert. was he killed by ordinary ptomaine poisoning, and had conine, or rather its double, developed first in his food along with other ptomaines that were not inert? or did the cadaveric conine develop only in the body after death? chemistry alone can not decide the question so glibly as the experts did. further proof must be sought other sciences must come to our aid." i was sitting next to mrs. godwin. as kennedy's words rang out, her hand, trembling with emotion, pressed my arm. i turned quickly to see if she needed assistance. her face was radiant. all the fees for big cases in the world could never have compensated kennedy for the mute, unrestrained gratitude which the little woman shot at him. kennedy saw it, and in the quick shifting of his eyes to my face, i read that he relied on me to take care of mrs. godwin while he plunged again into the clearing up of the mystery. "i have here the will--the second one," he snapped out, turning and facing the others in the room. craig turned a switch in an apparatus which his students had brought from new york. from a tube on the table came a peculiar bluish light. "this," he explained, "is a source of ultraviolet rays. they are not the bluish light which you see, but rays contained in it which you can not see. "ultraviolet rays have recently been found very valuable in the examination of questioned documents. by the use of a lens made of quartz covered with a thin film of metallic silver, there has been developed a practical means of making photographs by the invisible rays of light above the spectrum--these ultraviolet rays. the quartz lens is necessary, because these rays will not pass through ordinary glass, while the silver film acts as a screen to cut off the ordinary light rays and those below the spectrum. by this means, most white objects are photographed black and even transparent objects like glass are black. "i obtained the copy of this will, but under the condition from the surrogate that absolutely nothing must be done to it to change a fibre of the paper or a line of a letter. it was a difficult condition. while there are chemicals which are frequently resorted to for testing the authenticity of disputed documents such as wills and deeds, their use frequently injures or destroys the paper under test. so far as i could determine, the document also defied the microscope. "but ultraviolet photography does not affect the document tested in any way, and it has lately been used practically in detecting forgeries. i have photographed the last page of the will with its signatures, and here it is. what the eye itself can not see, the invisible light reveals." he was holding the document and the copy, just an instant, as if considering how to announce with best effect what he had discovered. "in order to unravel this mystery," he resumed, looking up and facing the elmores, kilgore, and hollins squarely, "i decided to find out whether any one had had access to that closet where the will was hidden. it was long ago, and there seemed to be little that i could do. i knew it was useless to look for fingerprints. "so i used what we detectives now call the law of suggestion. i questioned closely one who was in touch with all those who might have had such access. i hinted broadly at seeking fingerprints which might lead to the identity of one who had entered the house unknown to the godwins, and placed a document where private detectives would subsequently find it under suspicious circumstances. "naturally, it would seem to one who was guilty of such an act, or knew of it, that there might, after all, be finger-prints. i tried it. i found out through this little tube, the detectascope, that one really entered the room after that, and tried to wipe off any supposed finger-prints that might still remain. that settled it. the second will was a forgery, and the person who entered that room so stealthily this afternoon knows that it is a forgery." as kennedy slapped down on the table the film from his camera, which had been concealed, mrs. godwin turned her now large and unnaturally bright eyes and met those of the other woman in the room. "oh--oh--heaven help us--me, i mean!" cried miriam, unable to bear the strain of the turn of events longer. "i knew there would be retribution--i knew--i knew--" mrs. godwin was on her feet in a moment. "once my intuition was not wrong though all science and law was against me," she pleaded with kennedy. there was a gentleness in her tone that fell like a soft rain on the surging passions of those who had wronged her so shamefully. "professor kennedy, miriam could not have forged--" kennedy smiled. "science was not against you, mrs. godwin. ignorance was against you. and your intuition does not go contrary to science this time, either." it was a splendid exhibition of fine feeling which kennedy waited to have impressed on the elmores, as though burning it into their minds. "miriam elmore knew that her brothers had forged a will and hidden it. to expose them was to convict them of a crime. she kept their secret, which was the secret of all three. she even tried to hide the finger-prints which would have branded her brothers. "for ptomaine poisoning had unexpectedly hastened the end of old mr. godwin. then gossip and the 'scientists' did the rest. it was accidental, but bradford and lambert elmore were willing to let events take their course and declare genuine the forgery which they had made so skilfully, even though it convicted an innocent man of murder and killed his faithful wife. as soon as the courts can be set in motion to correct an error of science by the truth of later science, sing sing will lose one prisoner from the death house and gain two forgers in his place." mrs. godwin stood before us, radiant. but as kennedy's last words sank into her mind, her face clouded. "must--must it be an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth?" she pleaded eagerly. "must that grim prison take in others, even if my husband goes free?" kennedy looked at her long and earnestly, as if to let the beauty of her character, trained by its long suffering, impress itself on his mind indelibly. he shook his head slowly. "i'm afraid there is no other way, mrs. godwin," he said gently taking her arm and leaving the others to be dealt with by a constable whom he had dozing in the hotel lobby. "kahn is going up to albany to get the pardon--there can be no doubt about it now," he added. "mrs. godwin, if you care to do so, you may stay here at the hotel, or you may go down with us on the midnight train as far as ossining. i will wire ahead for a conveyance to meet you at the station. mr. jameson and i must go on to new york." "the nearer i am to sanford now, the happier i shall be," she answered, bravely keeping back the tears of happiness. the ride down to new york, after our train left ossining, was accomplished in a day coach in which our fellow passengers slept in every conceivable attitude of discomfort. yet late, or rather early, as it was, we found plenty of life still in the great city that never sleeps. tired, exhausted, i was at least glad to feel that finally we were at home. "craig," i yawned, as i began to throw off my clothes, "i'm ready to sleep a week." there was no answer. i looked up at him almost resentfully. he had picked up the mail that lay under our letter slot and was going through it as eagerly as if the clock registered p.m. instead of a.m. "let me see," i mumbled sleepily, checking over my notes, "how many days have we been at it?" i turned the pages slowly, after the manner in which my mind was working. "it was the twenty-sixth when you got that letter from ossining," i calculated, "and to-day makes the thirtieth. my heavens--is there still another day of it? is there no rest for the wicked?" kennedy looked up and laughed. he was pointing at the calendar on the desk before him. "there are only thirty days in the month," he remarked slowly. "thank the lord," i exclaimed. "i'm all in!" he tipped his desk-chair back and bit the amber of his meerchaum contemplatively. "but to-day is the first," he drawled, turning the leaf on the calendar with just a flicker of a smile. the end room number and other detective stories by anna katharine greene author of "the mystery of the hasty arrow," "the golden slipper," "that affair next door," etc. a. l. burt company publishers new york published by arrangement with dodd, mead & company copyright, , by anna katharine green copyright, , , by the crowell publishing co. copyright, , by abbott & briggs inc. copyright, , by dodd, mead & company _as "masterpieces of mystery"_ contents page i room number ii midnight in beauchamp row iii the ruby and the caldron iv the little steel coils v the staircase at heart's delight vi the amethyst box vii the grey lady viii the thief ix the house in the mist room number i "what door is that? you've opened all the others; why do you pass that one by?" "oh, that! that's only number . 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 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 contradiction came. instead, he appeared to read confirmation there of the landlord's plain and unembittered statement. the dull blue paper with its 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 noiseless 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 picturesquesness of age and the english traditions of its original builder. though so near two thriving towns, it retained its own quality of apparent remoteness from city life and city ways. this in a measure was made possible by the nearness of the 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 traveller, so that while the house might from some reason 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 extension, 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 considered the most undesirable part of the house, and number 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 location on a perfectly straight road) had for its southern aspect the road and a broad expanse beyond of varied landscape which made the front rooms cheerful 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 daylight still struggled feebly in, and it was in this conflicting 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 determined the future action of the man i have introduced to you as not quite satisfied with the appearances 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 an outraged soul, conscious of its rights and instinctively alert to maintain them. the landlord at sight of the rebuke thus given to their intrusion, stepped forward with a conciliatory 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 questions 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 compassion 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 simple, natural elegance of the woman caught, as he believed, in a net of dreadful tragedy, roused himself at this direct question, and bowing with an assumption of dignity far from encouraging to the man and woman anxiously watching him, replied: "we will hear what she has to say, of course, 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 forehead, 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, notwithstanding; 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 arrived 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. hammersmith 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 to her room. ask anybody and everybody who was around the tavern last night. i'm not the only one to say that miss demarest came in alone. all will tell you that she arrived here without escort of any kind; declined supper, but wanted a room, and when i hesitated to give it to her, said by way of explanation of her lack of a companion that she had had trouble in chester and had left town very hurriedly for her home. that her mother was coming to meet her and would probably arrive here very soon. that when this occurred i was to notify her; but if a gentleman called instead, i was to be very careful not to admit that any such person as herself was in the house. indeed, to avoid any such possibility she prayed that her name might be left off the register--a favour which i was slow in granting her, but which i finally did, as you can see for yourselves." "oh!" came in indignant exclamation from the young woman before them. "i understand my position now. this man has a bad conscience. he has something to hide, or he would not take to lying about little things like that. i never asked him to allow me to leave my name off the register. on the contrary i wrote my name in it and my mother's name, too. let him bring the book here and you will see." "we have seen," responded the coroner. "we looked in the register ourselves. your names are not there." the flush of indignation which had crimsoned her cheeks faded till she looked as startling and individual 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 before 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!" 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 arrant knavery. but when he forced himself to consider 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 coroner. "i shall have to mention a circumstance very mortifying to myself," she proceeded, with a sudden effort at self-control, which commanded the admiration 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 have the comforts she had been used to and could no longer afford. for this purpose i sought a situation in chester, and found one in a family i had rather not name." a momentary tremor, quickly suppressed, betrayed the agitation which this allusion 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 surroundings. 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 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 evening 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 perplexities 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 employer'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 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. hammersmith could see the effort she made to recall that simple scene. he found himself trying to recall it, too--the old-fashioned, smoke-begrimed office, with its one long window toward the road and the glass-paned door leading into the hall of entrance. 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, 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 fashionable 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 companion 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 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 distressed." "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 wavered and she ceased. "go on," ordered the coroner impatiently. "tell your story. it contradicts that of the landlord 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 her. when we went to our rooms a woman accompanied 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 herself. mr. hammersmith, at sight of her open, not unpleasing face, understood for the first time the decided attitude of the coroner. if this woman corroborated 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 myself. and what is more, she seemed entirely composed at the time, and i never thought of suspecting the least thing wrong. yet her mother lay all that time in the wood----" "silence!" 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 began to take off my hat. but i wasn't quite satisfied 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 moment 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 woman, 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----" "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 conspiracy. 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 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 unscrupulous 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 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 desisted from further interference. "i remember its appearance perfectly. i remember 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 landlord, leading the way into the passage communicating with the extension. "oh!" she murmured, as she noted the increased interest in both the coroner and his companion; "we shall find it here." "do you recognise the hall?" asked the coroner 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?" "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 demarest 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. suddenly both paused. she had lost the thread of her intention before opening a single door. "i thought i could go straight to it," she declared. "i shall have to open all the doors, as we did in the other hall." "let me help you," proffered mr. hammersmith. she accepted his aid, and the search recommenced 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. hammersmith stoop to insert the key. he, on his part, as the door fell back, watched 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 furniture 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. hammersmith'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----" "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 sarcastic 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." "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 disinterested 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 important character. now we know that she wasn't. look at the matter as it presents itself to an unprejudiced mind. a young and susceptible girl falls in love with a man, who is at once a gentleman and a scamp. she may have tried to resist her feelings, and she may not have. your judgment 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 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 acknowledges 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 responsible. 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 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 expected 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 departure, 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 immediate death. now, mr. hammersmith, stop a minute and grasp the situation. if, as i believe at this point in the inquiry, miss demarest had encountered a passionate opposition to her desires from this upright and thoughtful mother, the spectacle of this mother lying dead before her, with all opposition 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 emotions. fancies took the place of facts, and by the time she reached this house had so woven themselves 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 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 occurrence. 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 notion 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 somewhat to blame for leaving them lying around in her room, often without locking the door. but when 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 domestics were dismissed, and finally one of the permanent 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." 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 hidden 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 on the rear corridor." "i'm sorry, but number 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 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 install himself in these desolate quarters. but before doing so he walked straight to the small parlour 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 appeared in the doorway, but that of the landlady. "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 consider 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 communicate the fact to me. you will find _me_ in number ." 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 that smile, and she forgot to drop her hand which had been stretched out in an attempted gesture. "number ," 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 staircase. 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 tavern, 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 remembered 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 hammersmith made up his mind to speak to her as soon as the least opportunity offered. "where is ?" 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 ," blurted out jake. "i am. but where is ?" "round there," said she. "a lady's in there now. the one----" "come on," urged jake. "huldah, you may go now. i'll show the gentleman his room." huldah dropped her head, and began to move off, but not before hammersmith had caught her eye. "thirty-two," he formed with his lips, showing her a scrap of paper which he held in his hand. he thought she nodded, but he could not be sure. nevertheless, he ventured to lay the scrap down on a small table he was passing, and when he again looked back, saw that it was gone and huldah with it. but whither, he could not be quite sure. there was always a risk in these attempts, and he only half trusted the girl. she might carry it to , and she might carry it to quimby. in the first case, miss demarest would know that she had an active and watchful friend in the house; in the other, the dubious landlord would but receive an open instead of veiled intimation that the young deputy had his eye on him and was not to be fooled by appearances and the lack of evidence to support his honest convictions. they had done little more than he had suggested to make number habitable. as the door swung open under jake's impatient hand, the half-lighted hollow of the almost empty room gaped uninvitingly before them, with just a wooden-bottomed chair and a rickety table added to the small cot-bed which had been almost its sole furnishing when he saw it last. the walls, bare as his hand, stretched without relief from baseboard to ceiling, and the floor from door to window showed an unbroken 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 hammersmith. 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 curiously 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 before 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 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 disappointment 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 seem so. 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 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 distract 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 dominated with all the force of an unfettered fancy. the pictures which his imagination thus brought before him were startling and never to be forgotten. 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 hurrying 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 before him. limitless, with the blazing colours of the arid sand topped by a cloudless sky, it revealed 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 unavailing 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, 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 sickening collapse in which life, wealth, and innumerable beating human hearts went down into the unseen 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 somewhere 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 continually 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 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 effectually. 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, uttering 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 surviving the inroad of smoke which was fast becoming 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 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 staggered 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 fumbled 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 swooping up from below of a column of deadly smoke which seemed to cut off all hope of his saving himself 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 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 already 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 so! a sudden change of wind had come to his rescue, and for the moment 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 her seemed to argue that she was. what deviltry! and, ah! what a confession of guilt on the part of the vile man who had planned this abominable end for the two persons whose evidence he dreaded. helpless with horror, he became a man again in his indignation. such villainy should not succeed. he would fight not only for his own life, but for this woman's. miss demarest was doubtless safe. yet he wished he were sure of it; he could work with so much better heart. her window was not visible from where he crouched. it was on the other side of the house. if she screamed, he would not be able to hear her. he must trust her to providence. but his dream! his dream! the power of it was still upon him; a forerunner of fate, a picture possibly of her doom. the hesitation which this awful thought caused him warned him that not in this way could he make himself effective. the woman he saw stood in need of his help, and to her he must make his way. the bustle which now took place in the yards beneath, the sudden shouts and the hurried throwing up of windows all over the house showed that the alarm had now become general. another moment, and the appalling cry--the most appalling which leaves human lips--of fire! fire! rang from end to end of the threatened building. it was followed by women's shrieks and men's curses and then--by flames. "she will hear, she will wake now," he thought, with his whole heart pulling him her way. but he did not desist from his intention to drop his 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 courage? 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 bedpost. 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 supports, 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 already 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 the yard with a ladder. he could see their faces. how they glared in the red light. help and determination 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 escape, 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. it 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 begun to leap above the gutter. she looks down, sees 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! some one is shooting 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 latter. bullets do not always strike the mark, as witness the two they had escaped. besides, there 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 suffering; 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! come on!" rose in yells from below, but there was no movement in him. "we can't wait. the wall will fall," rose affrightedly from below. but he simply clung and the doom of flame and collapsing timbers was rushing 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 support, hung for one instant suspended, then dropped softly into the blanket which a dozen eager hands held out for him. 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 toward 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 hindering 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 coming. i'm willing to tell now. i was afraid before." they stared at her with all the wonder of uncomprehending 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 lighting 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 nethermost 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!" the friendly hand fell; both women started upright 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, shivering 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 evidently 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 forehead 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 rescuing one of the women." "the miserable cur! you arrested him, of 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 unaccounted for." "lost in the fire?" "we don't think so. he was the incendiary and she, undoubtedly, his accomplice. they would certainly 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 listened 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. 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 confront 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 unnatural 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 sternness. "at what time did this fire start?" he asked. jake had a harsh voice, but he mellowed it wonderfully as he replied: "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 answers well enough. how came you to be completely 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, horrified! 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 forlorn shake of his head. the coroner glanced at hammersmith. what sort of fellow was this! a 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-humoured silly? hammersmith answered the appeal by a nod toward 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?" "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 shoulders drooped; but only for a moment. with something 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 satisfaction, so the barrel had been pointing at hammersmith. "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 inquisitor. hammersmith realised the difficulties of the situation and repeated the gesture he had previously made toward the door leading into an adjoining compartment. the coroner nodded as before 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 such as you have been through quickens the conscience 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 insinuating smile with which the artful rascal awaited her words? it gave every evidence of doing so, for her 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 quimby'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 trembled 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?" "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 between 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 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 opinion 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 hardworking 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 declared. "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. "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 , 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." "why?" "because of a very curious circumstance connected 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, she!" 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 contradiction 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 huldah'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 baffled 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." hammersmith did so. the garment mentioned lay across a small table which formed the sole furnishing 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 , 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, gazing 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 remembered.[a] [footnote a: 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.] "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, 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 careful 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 attention 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 hammersmith 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," whispered hammersmith. "then we must trick him into showing her his real feelings." "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 hubbub without. "it's quimby, quimby!" declared hammersmith in his sudden excitement. but again he was mistaken. it was not the landlord, 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 quimby!" 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 simultaneously both started back for the outhouse they had just left. huldah was standing in the doorway, surveying the group before her with trembling, half-parted lips. "jealous!" muttered hammersmith. "providence has done our little trick for us. she will talk now. look! she's beckoning to us." 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 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 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?" "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! 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 looking at her from the open door. "oh, jake!" she wailed out, "why weren't you 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 declared, 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." suddenly 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 addition. 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 good humour and affectionate suggestion. at fourteen he was ready for any crime, but he was mercifully 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 person 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 peremptorily. 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 movements, 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 ," 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 was never given to guests. it was little more than a closet and was not even furnished. a cot had been put in that very afternoon, but only to meet a special emergency. a long-impending conference was going to be held between him and his employers subsequent to closing up time, and he had planned this impromptu 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 should have reached them--to the small closet so hastily prepared for the clerk. mrs. quimby accompanied her, and afterward visited her again for the purpose of carrying her a bowl and some water. it was then she encountered 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 certain 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 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 accumulated 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 midnight 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 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 happened. 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 perfectly secure. the jewels were brought out of mrs. quimby's bedroom and laid on the desk. the securities 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 diamond-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, 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 overmastering 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 supernatural 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 under 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 impenetrable curtain over a horror half sensed, yet all the greater for its mystery. the silence--the terror--the unspeakable sense 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 remained unbroken. the silence was absolute. the figure which they had believed themselves to have seen had been a dream, an imagination of their overwrought 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 experienced, 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 smothered 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 daybreak." "get a light, you fool!" commanded quimby, but not without a tremble in his usually mild tone. hard breathing from jake, but no other response, 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 candle '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 unseen 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 groping advance and the sudden clatter and clink of bottles 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 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 welcome, movement on the floor behind, and to the dragging sound of mrs. quimby's skirt and petticoat 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 hollow 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 immeasurable 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 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!" 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 office floor, then at the securities showing above the edge of his pocket. "were we not close enough to discovery, without drawing the attention of the police by such an 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 indescribable 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 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, answered 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 unusual 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 daughter?" quimby stood silent; then with a sidelong leer, and in a tone smooth as oil, but freighted with purpose, "the mother first; we'll look after the daughter 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 master 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 difficulty with her," he muttered broodingly. "who saw these two come in?" then it came out that no one but themselves had been present at their arrival. further consultation developed that the use to which number 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, unreached by ordinary sympathies, they felt the furtive skulking back, step by step, along ways commonplace 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 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, together 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 something that will upset our whole plan and possibly hang us. miss demarest visited her mother in number and noticed the room well, and particularly 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 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 astonishing 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-possession 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 . 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 demarest. 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 discoveries 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 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 husband'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 . 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 windows it had a lonesome look at night, notwithstanding the crimson hall-light which shone through the leaves of its vine-covered doorway. ned chivers lived in it with his six months' married 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 th of december, --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 reason it was not to be thus to-night, and, indignant, alarmed almost, at the prospect of a lonesome evening 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 resist 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. talcott 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 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, "perhaps you would rather hide it yourself; women always 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 confined 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." "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 murmured. 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 cheerfulness 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 absence, 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 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 pointing 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 snowstorm." but he vowed that it would not snow before morning 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 herself 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 neighbour. 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 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 herself 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 husband'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 there came a faint sound from the door at its further 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 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 greeting. "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, suppressing 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 deterred 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. 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, leastwise 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 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 dashing into the sitting-room she made a feint of dragging 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 advantage of the moment's respite from his none too encouraging presence she unbarred the door and cheerfully 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 persistency 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 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 overlooking 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 isolated as if the house stood in the centre of a desolate western plain. "i have no trust but in god," she murmured as she came from the window. and, nerved to meet her fate, she crossed to the kitchen. it was now half-past ten. two hours and a half must elapse before her husband could possibly arrive. she set her teeth at the thought and walked resolutely 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 pantry," 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 before 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 husband'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, surveyed her with a momentary fierceness. but, as she did not let her own glance quail, but continued to meet his gaze with what she meant for an ingratiating smile, he subdued this outward manifestation of passion, and, chuckling to hide his embarrassment, began backing into the entry, leering in evident enjoyment 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 suddenly 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 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 acknowledge 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 assailant to reappear, she never knew. she was conscious only of a sort of apathy that made movement difficult 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 between 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 outlived this night she would strip them all off and be done with them. 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 succumbed 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 resolution 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 desperate 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. "keep de trash," he growled. "i want de company's money. you've got it--two thousand dollars. show me where it is, that's all, and i won't trouble you long after i close on it." "but it's not in the house," she cried. "i swear it is not in the house. do you think mr. chivers would leave me here alone with two thousand dollars to guard?" but the negro, swearing that she lied, leaped into the room, and tearing open the cupboard above her husband's desk, seized the bag from the corner where they had put it. "he brought it in this," he muttered, and tried to force the bag open, but finding this impossible he took out a heavy knife and cut a big hole in its side. instantly there fell out the pile of old receipts with which they had stuffed it, and seeing these he stamped with rage, and flinging them at her in one great handful, rushed to the drawers below, emptied them, and, finding nothing, attacked the bookcase. "the money is somewhere here. you can't fool me," he yelled. "i saw the spot your eyes lit on when i first came into the room. is it behind these books?" he growled, pulling them out and throwing them helter-skelter over the floor. "women is smart in the hiding business. is it behind these books, i say?" they had been, or rather had been placed between the books, but she had taken them away, as we know, and he soon began to realise that his search was bringing him nothing. leaving the 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 unconsciousness was but momentary, for when she woke again to her surroundings she found the tramp still standing 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 sure there is no life in him." and, hardly knowing 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 stooping 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 obedient tramp could respond, she had torn off the woolly wig disfiguring the dead man's head, and seeing 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 contemplated 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 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 disappointed in his own plans has never been determined. mrs. chivers herself thinks he was actuated by a rude sort of gratitude. the ruby and the caldron (copyright, , 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 discreet. 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 his name as jennings." "very good. good-bye." "good-bye." a pretty piece of work! should i send hendricks or should i send hicks? hendricks was clever and hicks discreet, but neither united both qualifications in the measure demanded by the sensible 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 watching 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 entrance. slipping round to this man's side, i listened to what he was saying. it was simple, but very explicit. "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 impossible. 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_ proceeded 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 open, i entered without ceremony, and speedily found myself in the midst of twenty or more coloured 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. burton, 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 followed, which ended in its being picked up by one of the students, and brought back as far as the driveway 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 sweetheart, 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 accompanied 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 was rearing in a way that threatened to overturn the light buggy to which it was attached. as the occupants 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 excitement, 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 recurred 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 moment 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!" 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 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 remember, 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 forgotten. 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 imperative 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 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 entering, 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 questioning 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 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, perhaps 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 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 remembered, 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 disposition 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 now. "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 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 scruples, and would do my best to recover the ruby without inflicting undue annoyance upon the innocent. then i inquired whether it was known that a detective 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 carriage 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 toward the drawing-room. i had left my overcoat behind me, and always being well dressed, i did not present so bad an appearance. still, i was not in party attire, and naturally could not pass for a guest even if i had wanted to, which i did not. i felt that i must rely on insight 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 spiritless, 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 hundreds 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. 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 himself. he is quite upset. not even mrs. burton can comfort him. my son--oh, there is harrison!" 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 showing anxiety, betrayed no deeper emotion than the occasion naturally called for. "have you any suggestions to offer? i understand 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 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 responsibilities 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 scrutinisingly on his face--"a universal search, not of places, but of persons. but it is a harsh measure." "a most disagreeable one," he emphasised, flushing. "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 mention the ladies." "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 between. 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 offensive 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 containing 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 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." "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 questioning 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 myself 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 striking 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 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 certain scruples to obtain a little extra money. this imposing figure might be that of a millionaire's daughter; how, then, could i associate her, even in my own mind, with theft? i decided that i must see her face before giving answer to these doubts. she did not seem inclined to turn. she had raised the shade from before the wintry panes and was engaged in looking out. her attitude was not that of one simply enjoying a moment's respite from the dance. it was rather that of an absorbed mind brooding upon what gave little or no pleasure; and as i further gazed and noted the droop of her lovely shoulders and the languor visible in her whole bearing, i saw that a full glimpse of her features was imperative. moving forward, i came upon her suddenly. "excuse me, miss smith," i boldly exclaimed; then paused, for she had turned instinctively, and i had seen that for which i had risked this daring move. "your pardon," i hastily apologised. "i mistook you for another young lady," and drew back with a low bow to let her pass, for i saw that her mind was bent on escape. and i did not wonder at this, for her eyes were streaming with tears, and her face, which was doubtless a pretty one under ordinary conditions, looked so distorted with distracting emotions that she was no fit subject for any man's eye, let alone that of a hard-hearted officer of the law on the lookout for the guilty hand which had just appropriated a 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 amenable 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 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 succeeded in finding anything." "she? when? who saw her?" "i cannot answer all these questions at once," i said, smiling. "she was seen to do this--no matter by whom--while you were stepping down from the carriage. as you preceded her, you naturally did not observe this action, which was fortunate, perhaps, as you would scarcely have known what to do or say about it." "yes, i should," she retorted with a most unexpected 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 answer my former question? what troubles miss glover? can you tell me?" "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 preoccupied 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 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 something 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 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 occurred, 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 concerned. 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 sympathy for her, which forbade harsh measures. i was sure, from the glimpse i had caught of her face, that 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 opportunity 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 certain deference i thought would please them: "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 excitement 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 wondered. 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 recovered, 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 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 consequently 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 insisted 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 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 instinctively 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 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 inwardly recoil, and it was in as gentle a manner as 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." "i?" 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 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 spasmodically. "yes," she cried, after a moment; "my dressmaker'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 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 extremely 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 believe 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 girl? certainly, all other possibilities had been exhausted, and her story of the bill, even if accepted, would never quite exonerate her from secret suspicion while that elusive jewel remained unfound. "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 appeared 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. ashley, 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 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 outstretched 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 recovered, laid it, with many expressions of thankfulness, in mrs. burton's now eagerly outstretched palm, and advancing towards us, greeted miss glover with a smile. "congratulate me," he prayed. "all our troubles 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 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 indications, 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, accompanied 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 morning, 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 exclamation: "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 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 exclaimed: "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-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 preparatory 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 prying 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 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 me. "is there anything i can do to serve you?" i asked, rising. she cast me a childlike look full of trust and candour 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 two weeks ago. five days later i received an affectionate letter from him, in which he promised to come back the next day; and the news so delighted me that i accepted an invitation to the theatre from some intimate friends of ours. the next morning i naturally felt fatigued and rose late; but i was very cheerful, for i expected my husband at noon. and now comes the perplexing mystery. in the course of dressing myself i stepped to my bureau, and seeing a small newspaper slip attached to the cushion by a pin, i drew it off and read it. it was a death notice, and my hair rose and my limbs failed me as i took in its fatal and incredible words. "'died this day at the colonnade, james forsythe de witt holmes. new york papers please copy.' "james forsythe de witt holmes was my husband, and his last letter, which was at that very moment lying beside the cushion, had been dated from the colonnade. was i dreaming or under the spell of some frightful hallucination which led me to misread the name on the slip of paper before me? i could not determine. my head, throat, and chest seemed bound about with iron, so that i could neither speak nor breathe with freedom, and, suffering thus, i stood staring at this demoniacal bit of paper which in an instant had brought the shadow of death upon my happy life. nor was i at all relieved when a little later i flew with the notice into a neighbour's apartment, and praying her to read it to me, found that my eyes had not deceived me and that the name 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 husband 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. summoning 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 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 respond to the summons of the bellboy which led to so early a discovery of his death. he had never complained of any distress in breathing, and we had always considered him a perfectly healthy man; but 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 earnestness 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 philadelphia 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 explanation 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 before this and now felt justified in showing my interest. "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 household 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 subject 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 uncertainty surrounding this matter is killing me and will make my sorrow quite unendurable if i cannot obtain relief from it." "i do not wonder," i began, struck by the note of truth in her tones. "and i shall certainly do what i can for you. but before we go any further, let us examine this scrap of newspaper and see what we can make out of it." i had already noted two or three points in connection with it to which i now proceeded to direct her attention. "have you compared this notice," i pursued, "with such others as you find every day in the papers?" "no," was her eager answer. "is it not like them all----" "read," was my quiet interruption. "'on this day at the colonnade'--on what day? the date is usually given in all the bona fide notices i have seen." "is it?" she asked, her eyes, moist with unshed tears, opening widely in her astonishment. "look in the papers on your return home and see. then the print. observe that the type is identical on both sides of this make-believe clipping, while in fact there is always a perceptible difference between that used in the obituary column and that to be found in the columns devoted to other matter. notice also," i continued, holding up the scrap of paper between her and the light, "that the alignment on one side is not exactly parallel with that on the other; a discrepancy which would not exist if 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 countenance. 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 deprecatory look. "for me the mystery deepens, and becomes 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. 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 advertisement 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 before?" "probably, but in pinning it to the cushion, it was the obituary notice that chanced to come uppermost. oh, why should i not have remembered this till now! can you understand my forgetting a matter of so much importance?" "yes," i allowed, after a momentary consideration of her ingenuous countenance. "the words you read in the morning were so startling that they disconnected 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 recollection?" "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 surmises. 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. "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 suggested. "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 peculiar 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 forgive 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 perceiving 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 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? 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 mixing with the wedding guests, suddenly appeared before 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 remembering 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----" 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 poison 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 doctor's certificate given her in philadelphia was correct, the body was again interred. but i was not satisfied; 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 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 preceding 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 besides 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 contrary, we are assured that he died from natural causes. but the incident of the newspaper slip outweighs, in my mind, the doctor's conclusions, and until the mystery surrounding that obituary notice has been satisfactorily explained by its author i shall hold to the theory that your husband has been made away with in some strange and seemingly unaccountable 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 anything 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," she sadly murmured, 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. 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 observed, moving the rings up and down in a vain endeavour 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 proceeding 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. 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 whereabouts of her quondam lover, i had nothing to aid me in my search for him, save her rather vague description of his personal appearance and the fact that he was constantly interrupted in speaking by a low, choking cough. however, my natural perseverance carried me through. after seeing and interviewing 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 desperate hatred of his fellows, that i began to entertain hopes of his being the person i was in search of. but determined to be sure of this before proceeding 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 attention 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 recognise 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 authorities. he was a man-about-town, living, to all appearances, 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 hungry look alarming to the timid and provoking alms from the benevolent. needless to say that he rejected 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 decidedly 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 politeness, but with a grudging attention which betrayed 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 impression 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 difficulty. 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 penetration. but what device? i knew of none, nor through two days and nights of strenuous thought did i receive 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 inspiration indoors or out; and feeling my health suffer from the constant irritation of my recurring disappointment, 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 moment. 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 juncture. 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 returned 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 himself where he was likely to be found at all times of the day and night. i immediately acted upon this knowledge. assuming a slight disguise, i repeated my former stroll through printing house square, looking into each doorway as i passed. john graham 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 uttering 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 slinking 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 convenient 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?" stammered john graham, ignoring the other's gesture and pointing with a trembling hand at the insignificant bit of wire between them. "didn't it drop from your coat-pocket?" inquired 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 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 behind him. i began to think that he was but attempting 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 presence. 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 could not face that semblance of his haunting thought; and turning away he cowered down on the neighbouring curbstone, where he sat for several minutes, 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 restaurant 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 inevitable 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 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 condition 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 overlooking 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 contrast to the nature of the business which had led me there. as they also served to light the room, i proceeded 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 forward, 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 opportunity 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 betrayed 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 starting 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 he became speechless and reeled back. it was another of the steel coils. "good god!" fell at last from his stiff and working 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 between 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 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 bitterness. "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 compromise 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 nothing but the twilight dusk remained in the room and on the countenance of this doomed and despairing man. the staircase at heart's delight in the spring of --, 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 governor'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 th 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 valuables 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. consequently, 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 results as you will hear, for another victim to be reported 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 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 arranged, 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 powers 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 he knew of but one way in which i could hope to get such an amount, and that if i was too squeamish to adopt it, i had made a mistake in coming to his shop, which was no missionary institution, etc., etc. "not wishing to irritate him, for there was menace in his eye, i asked, with a certain weak show of being sorry for my former heat, whereabouts in grand street i should find this groll. "the retort was quick. 'groll is not his name,' said he, 'and grand street is not where you are to go to find him. i threw out a bait to see if you would snap at it, but i find you timid, and therefore advise you to drop the matter entirely.' "i was quite willing to do so, and answered him to this effect; whereupon, with a side glance i did not understand, but which made me more or less uneasy in regard to his intentions towards me, he motioned to the men who held my arms to let go their hold, which they at once did. "'we have your signature,' growled the old man as i went out. 'if you peach on us or trouble us in any way we will show it to your father and that will put an end to all your hopes of future fortune.' then raising his voice, he shouted to the girl in the outer office, 'let the young man see what he has signed.' "she smiled and again brought forward the book in which i had so recklessly placed my name, and there at the top of the page i read these words: 'for moneys received, i agree to notify rube goodman, 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 proceeding upon my errand, into the character of the heirs who had inherited the property of elwood henderson 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. it was a significant discovery, and increased, if possible, 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 consideration, 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 gent----" "any one whose name is written here?" she interposed, 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 instantly 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 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 diabolical 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 confidence 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 courage to come again himself?" he softly suggested, with just the suspicion of an ironical laugh. "thought, perhaps, i would exact too much commission; or make him pay too roundly for his impertinent assurance." i shrugged my shoulders, but vouchsafed no immediate 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 understanding, 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. making 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 rendezvous; 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 adventure, 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 flapping 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 devoted 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 despicable 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 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 surroundings, 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 fellows who were lounging on the other side of the fence. these were so evidently accomplices that i wondered 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 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 before 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 promised 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 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, evidently 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 character and dress which enabled me to make my way undetected to the house of my young patron, where 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 contemplating 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 encounter 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 habiliments and wearing the guise of the wealthy old gentleman 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. 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 possessed, 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 circumstances 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 headquarters. 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 narrow side street near by, no sound disturbed the somewhat 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 criminality was upon the house, and that i had been conscious 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 moment 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 inspection 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 characters 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 consumptive, 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 i was jeopardising my life to understand. but i allowed none of the repugnance with which he inspired 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 comprehended, "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 opportunity." "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 comfortable 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 suggested, "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 another 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 make a scandal, i pray, for my house has the name of being quiet." "yes," thought i, "too quiet!" and for an instant 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 manifestly 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 developments 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 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 suddenly 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 shutting 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 wondered at its use, and was only relieved of extreme apprehension at the prison-like appearance of the 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 whispered, 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 towards 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 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 i 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 overwhelmed 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 gruesome 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 intently, 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 evident goal for all wearers of the blue ribbon. stepping back into the middle of the room, i carefully 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 darkness, 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. perhaps 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 overwhelmed, 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 immediately, i was too anxious to catch these villains at work. 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 determined 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 arrangements 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 before me and stepped out. though i could see nothing, i remembered the narrow landing at the top of the stairs, and, stretching out my arms, i felt for 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 bewildered senses appeared such--till i struck a yielding 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 i 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 second 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 from my head, and the tag of blue ribbon still clinging 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 constructed 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 adventure, 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, including 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 transferable from one to the other, naturally gave the impression that there was but one door. when this adroit villain called my attention to the little window 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, connecting the two similar landings without, explains 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 sinclair, 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 moon. 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 circumstances 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 anticipations, 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 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 disturbed." "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 restraints 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 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 unpleasant. 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 magnificent newport villa for this wedding and its attendant 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 so!--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----" "don't beat about the bush! speak up! what's the matter?" he gave me an odd look full of gloom--a look i felt the force of, though i could not interpret it; then, coming closer, though there was no one within hearing--possibly no one any nearer than the drawing-room below--he whispered in my ear: "i have lost a little vial of the deadliest drug ever compounded--a venetian curiosity, which i was foolish enough to take out and show the ladies, because the little box which holds it is such an exquisite example of jeweller's work. there's death in its taste, almost in its smell; and it's out of my hands, and----" "well, i'll tell you how to fix that up," i put in with my usual frank decision. "order the music stopped; call everybody into the drawing-room, and explain the dangerous nature of this toy. after which, if anything happens, it will not be your fault, but that of the person who has so thoughtlessly appropriated it." his eyes, which had been resting eagerly on mine, shifted aside in visible embarrassment. "impossible! it would only aggravate matters, or, rather, would not relieve my fears at all. the person who took it knew its nature very well, and that person----" "oh, then you know who took it!" i broke in in increasing astonishment. "i thought from your manner that----" "no," he moodily corrected, "i do not know 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 intentness, 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 present 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 surrounding the gem. instantly the tiniest of lids flew back, revealing a crystal flask of such minute proportions that the usual astonishment followed its disclosure. "'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 impressively 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 behind me, which, while faint enough to elude the attention of any ear less sensitive than my own, contained 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 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 gilbertine or--or----" "i cannot; as god lives, i cannot! i was too dazed, too confounded by the unexpected circumstance, 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 half-hour later, i found this box missing from the cabinet where i had hastily thrust it at the peremptory summons of our hostess, i knew that i had not misunderstood the nature of the cry i had heard; that it was indeed one of secret longing, and that the hand had simply taken what the heart desired. if a death occurs in this house to-night----" "sinclair, you are mad!" i exclaimed with great violence. no lesser word would fit either the intensity of my feeling or the confused state of my mind. "death _here_! where all are so happy! remember your bride's ingenuous face! remember the candid expression of dorothy's eye--her smile, her noble ways! you exaggerate the situation. you neither understand aright the simple expression of surprise you heard, nor the feminine frolic which led these girls to carry off this romantic specimen of italian deviltry." "you are losing time," was his simple comment. "every minute we allow to pass in inaction only brings the danger nearer." "what! you imagine----" "i imagine nothing. i simply know that one of these girls has in her possession the means of terminating life in an instant; that the girl so having it is not happy; and that if anything happens to-night it will be because we rested supine in the face of a very real and possible danger. now, as gilbertine has never given me reason to doubt either her affection for myself or her satisfaction in our approaching union, i have allowed myself----" "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, preposterous 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 dependence 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 pressure aright? had it necessarily meant love? might it not have sprung from a sudden desperate resolution 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 mistaken my darling's feelings? was her heart still cold, her affection unwon? or--thought insupportable!--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 import 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 approach 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." "yet this jewel must be recovered. listen, sinclair. 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 frankness 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 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 assured 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 ourselves in a condition to descend among our friends without attracting any closer attention than was naturally 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 progress. "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 terrace. 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 behind one of the great pillars forming a colonnade down the hall, and, crossing to where the music-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?" "no." "you were at the breakfast-table yesterday morning?" "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 person?" "i do. we laughed at the time; he made it seem so tragic and preposterous. i do not feel like laughing 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 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 protested. "he did not even call the vision he encountered a woman. it was a wraith, you remember, 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 recognised, 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?" "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 unnecessarily! 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 people at night. there were two or three elderly people in the party, notably the husband and the brother of 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 sinclair 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 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. i stood contemplating the sleeping figure before me. "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 impressions, is far from lacking intelligence, eyed us with sleepy indifference for a moment, then rose ponderously 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 courteous gentleman bowed, hemmed, and smiled a very polite but unmeaning smile. evidently 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 firelight always makes me sleepy. but if i can help you," he cried, starting forward, but almost immediately 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, 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 distress 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 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 sinclair's eye. "dorothy's dress is grey to-night; but mr. armstrong'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 gilbertine will give me the chance to speak to her." "you will have an easier task than i," was my 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 moment'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 sumptuous 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 eloquent with a subdued heart language. but they were held in check by an infinite discretion. never 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 fluttering 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 somewhere 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 separate 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 perfectly 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, mortal 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 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----" "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 assured 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 encouraging, 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 making for the little room into which beaton had vanished 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 approached the doorway, and was about to enter, 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 understand in what way i had displeased her, for we always had met amicably before, i seized upon this sign of displeasure on her part as explanatory, perhaps, 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 remarked: "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 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 desperation. "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: "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 arm. "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 companion my attention was again called to her hands, which she held clenched at her sides. i was stepping into the room when my impulse was again checked. another person was sitting there, a person i had been most anxious to see ever since my last interview with sinclair. it was gilbertine murray, sitting alone in an attitude of deep, and possibly not altogether happy thought. i paused to study the sweet face. truly she was a beautiful woman. i had never before realised how beautiful. her rich colouring, her noble traits, and the spirited air which gave her such marked distinction, bespoke at once an ardent nature and a pure soul. i did not wonder that sinclair had succumbed to charms so pronounced and uncommon, and as i gazed longer and noted the tremulous droop of her ripe lips and the far-away look of eyes which had created a great stir in the social world when they first flashed upon it, i felt that if sinclair could see her now he would never doubt her again, despite the fact that the attitude into which she had fallen was one of great fatigue, if not despondency. she held a fan in her hand, and as i stood looking at her she dropped it. as she stooped to pick it up her eyes met mine, and a startling change passed over her. springing up, she held out her hands in wordless appeal, then let them drop again as if conscious that i would not be likely to understand either herself or her mood. she was very beautiful. entering the room, i approached her. had sinclair managed to have his little conversation with her? something must have happened, for never had i seen her in such a state of suppressed excitement, 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 advance 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--something 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; evidently 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. i did not find him at his post, nor could any one tell where he had vanished. it was plain that his conduct was looked upon as strange, and i felt some anxiety lest it should appear more so before the evening was over. i found him at last in his room, sitting with his head buried in his arms. he started up as i entered. "well?" he asked sharply. "i have learned nothing decisive." "nor i." "i exchanged some words with both ladies and i tackled beaton; but the matter remains just about where it was. it may have been dorothy who took the box and it may have been gilbertine. but there seems to be greater reason for suspecting dorothy. she lives a terrible life with that aunt." "and gilbertine is on the point of escaping that bondage. i know; i have thought of that. walter, you are a generous fellow;" and for a moment sinclair looked relieved. before i could speak, however, he was sunk again in his old despondency. "but the doubt," he cried--"the doubt! how can i go through this rehearsal with such a doubt in my mind? i cannot and will not. go, tell them i am ill, and cannot come down again to-night. god knows you will tell no untruth." i saw that he was quite beside himself, but ventured upon one remonstrance. "it will be unwise to rouse comment," i said. "if that box was taken for the death it holds, the one restraint most likely to act upon the young girl 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 precipitate 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 oozing 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 distracted 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 mockery of this rehearsal." "can you go through the ceremony of marriage?" "i must--if nothing happens to-night." "and then?" i spoke involuntarily. i was thinking not of him, 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 separated, 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!--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 before 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. why was i on my feet? had i heard anything? 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. 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 matter? 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." sinclair uttered a sigh of the greatest relief that ever burst from a man's overcharged breast. "tell her we will find out what it means," he answered kindly, drawing me rapidly away. by this time mr. and mrs. armstrong were aroused, and i could hear the slow and hesitating tones of the former in the passage behind us. "let us hasten," whispered sinclair, "our eyes must be the first to see what lies behind that partly-opened door." i shivered. the door he had designated was dorothy's. sinclair reached it first and pushed it open. pressing up behind him, i cast a fearful look over his shoulder. only emptiness confronted us. dorothy was not in the little chamber. with an impulsive gesture sinclair pointed to the bed--it had not been lain in--then to the gas--it was still burning. the communicating-room, in which mrs. lansing slept, was also lighted, but silent as the one in which we stood. this last fact struck us as the most incomprehensible of all. mrs. lansing was not the woman to sleep through a disturbance. where was she, then? and why did we not hear her strident and aggressive tones rising in angry remonstrance at our intrusion? had she followed her niece from the room? should we in another minute encounter her ponderous figure in the group of people we could now hear hurrying toward us? i was for retreating and hunting the house over for dorothy. 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 repulsive. 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 intelligence. 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 almost 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 consciousness 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 appearance 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 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 probability 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 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. "not too many of you," was his final adjuration, as, giving me a look, he slipped out into the hall. i followed him immediately. he had gained the moon-lighted corridor near his own door, where he stood awaiting me with something in his hand. as i approached, he drew me to the window and showed me what it was. it was the amethyst box, open and empty, and beside it, shining with a yellow instead of a purple light, the little vial void of the one drop which used to sparkle within it. "i found the vial in the bed with the old woman," said he. "the box i saw glittering among dorothy's locks before she fell. that was why i lifted her." v three o'clock in the morning as he spoke, youth with its brilliant hopes, illusions, and beliefs, passed from me, never to return in the same measure again. i stared at the glimmering amethyst, i stared at the empty vial, and, as a full realisation of all his words implied seized my benumbed faculties, i felt the icy chill of some grisly horror moving among the roots of my hair, lifting it on my forehead and filling my whole being with shrinking and dismay. sinclair, with a quick movement, replaced the tiny flask in its old receptacle, and then, thrusting the whole out of sight, seized my hand and wrung it. "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 demanded, when i regained control of my speech. "i do not know." "what are you going to do with--with dorothy?" 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, she! simple expectation. unconsciously i shook my head. "it is the least we can do," he gently persisted. "come, we must not be seen with our heads together--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 emergency. with streaming hair and tightly-clutched kimono, she was gesticulating wildly and bemoaning 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 disappointment 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 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 position 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 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 confidence 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 comfortable 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." 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 gilbertine." "and i? do you mean me to be present at an interview so painful--nay, so serious and so threatening? 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 preserved. 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 moment. i must hear what this young girl has to say in response to my questions. remember, i am the owner of the flask whose contents killed the old woman!" "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 contemplated 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 impatience 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? 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? as they stepped within the rays of the solitary 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 dominant 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 interview 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 express to you, in the presence of your cousin, my sympathy for the bereavement which in an instant has robbed you both of a lifelong guardian. i also wish to say, in the light of this sad event, that i am ready, if propriety so exacts, to postpone the ceremony which i hoped would unite our lives to-day. your wish shall be my wish, gilbertine; though i would suggest that possibly you never more needed the sympathy and protection which only a husband can give than you do to-day." he told me afterward that he was so taken up with the effect of this suggestion on gilbertine that he forgot to look at dorothy, though the hint he strove to convey of impending trouble was meant as much for her as for his affianced bride. in another moment he regretted this, especially when he saw that dorothy had changed her attitude, and was now looking away from them both. "what do you say, gilbertine?" he asked earnestly, as she sat flushing and paling before him. "nothing. i have not thought--it is a question for others to decide--others who know what is right better than i. i appreciate your consideration," she suddenly burst out, "and should be glad to tell you at this moment what to expect. but--give me a little time--let me see you later--in the morning, mr. sinclair, after we are all somewhat rested, and when i can see you quite alone." dorothy rose. "shall i go?" she asked. sinclair advanced, and with quiet protest touched 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 comfortable 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 conservatory door behind him. i am not surprised that gilbertine wondered at her peremptory bridegroom. when sinclair re-entered the library, he found dorothy standing with her hand on the knob of the door leading into the hall. her head was bent thoughtfully forward, as though she were inwardly debating whether to stand her ground or fly. sinclair gave her no further opportunity for hesitation. advancing rapidly, he laid his hand gently on hers, and with a gravity which must have impressed her, quietly remarked: "i must ask you to stay and hear what i have to say. i wished to spare gilbertine; would that i could spare you! but circumstances forbid. you know and i know that your aunt did not die of apoplexy." she gave a violent start, and her lips parted. if the hand under his clasp had been cold, it was now icy. he let his own slip from the contact. "you know!" she echoed, trembling and pallid, her released hand flying instinctively to her hair. "yes; you need not feel about for the little box. i took it from its hiding-place when i laid you fainting on the bed. here it is." he drew it from his pocket and showed it to her. she hardly glanced at it; her eyes were fixed in terror on his face, and her lips seemed to be trying in vain to formulate some inquiry. he tried to be merciful. "i missed it many hours ago from the shelf yonder 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. "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 continually 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 acknowledged, as she saw the flush rise to his cheek. "i took it; but with no worse motive than the dishonest 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 sufferings 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: "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 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. 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 fingering 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 suspicions 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?" "dorothy had the empty box; but the vial! the vial!--that had been taken by a previous hand. do you remember the white silk train which mr. armstrong saw slipping from this room? i cannot talk, walter; my duty leads me _there_." he pointed towards the conservatory. i drew back and asked if i should take up my watch again outside the door. he shook his head. "it makes no difference; nothing makes any difference. but if you want to please me, stay here." i at once sank into a chair. he made a great effort and advanced to the conservatory door. i studiously looked another way; my heart was breaking with sympathy for him. but in another instant i was on my feet. i could hear him rushing about among the palms. presently i heard his voice shout out the wild cry: "she is gone! i forgot the other door communicating with the hall." i crossed the floor and entered where he stood gazing down at an empty seat and a trail of scattered roses. never shall i forget his face. the dimness of the spot could not hide his deep, unspeakable emotions. to him this flight bore but one interpretation--guilt. i did not advocate sinclair's pressing the matter further that night. i saw that he was exhausted, and that any further movement would tax him beyond his strength. we therefore separated immediately after leaving the library, and i found my way to my 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 walking 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 nothing 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 unsealed. "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 impelled. 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 immediately made myself as presentable as a night of unprecedented 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 breakfast-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 comment, 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 somewhere near three o'clock. the third i did not know, 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 amiable 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 nothing 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 perceived 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 breakfast. 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 breakfast, and lingered about in the hall until every one had passed me, even little miss lane, who had come down unperceived while i was watching mr. armstrong'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 ourselves, 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. indeed, 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 showing 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 usually ruddy aspect of my host's face deepened, 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, frightened by some noise she heard, she fled back, and vanished again in the region of the little staircase. 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 involuntary. 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 business," 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. 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 return, 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 tremble 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. 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 embarrassment 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 question 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 irresistible 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, humouring her in the hope of learning what i wished to know. "does miss murray still cherish the expectation 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 disappointment in some attic corner. think of that for gilbertine murray! but even that is better than----" the sentence trailed away into an indistinguishable murmur, the murmur into silence. was it because 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 appearance 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 camerden, 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. viii gilbertine speaks knowing my darling's innocence, i felt the insult shown her in my heart of hearts, and might in the heat of the moment have been betrayed into an unwise utterance of my indignation, if at that moment i had not encountered the eye of mr. armstrong fixed on me from the rear hall. in the mingled surprise and distress he displayed, i saw that it was not from any indiscretion of his that this feeling against her had started. he had not betrayed the trust i had placed in him, yet the murmur had gone about which virtually ostracised her, and instead of confronting the eager looks of friends, she found herself met by averted glances and coldly turned backs, and soon by an almost empty hall. she flushed as she realised the effect of her presence, and cast me an agonised look which, without her expectation, perhaps, roused every instinct of chivalry within me. advancing, i met her at the foot of the stairs, and with one quick word seemed to restore her to herself. "be patient!" i whispered. "to-morrow they will all be around you again. perhaps sooner. go into the conservatory and wait." she gave me a grateful pressure of the hand, while i bounded upstairs, determined that nothing should stop me from finding gilbertine, and giving her the letter with which sinclair had entrusted me. but this was more easily planned than accomplished. 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 restlessly 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 before 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 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. withdrawing 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 dutton 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," i suggested. "mr. sinclair is there, and if she is not on her way to join him now, she certainly will be soon." without a word dutton caught up the letters and made for the stairs. left to await the result, i found myself so worked upon that i wondered how much longer i should be able to endure these shifts of feeling and constantly recurring moments of extreme suspense. to escape the torture of my own thoughts, or, possibly, to get some idea of how dorothy was sustaining an ordeal which was fast destroying my own self-possession, i prepared to go downstairs. what was my astonishment, in passing the little boudoir on the second floor, to find its door ajar and the place empty. either the interview between sinclair and gilbertine had been very much curtailed, or it had not yet taken place. with a heart heavy with forebodings i no longer sought to analyse, i made my way down, and reached the lower step of the great staircase just as a half-dozen girls, rushing from different quarters of the hall, surrounded the heavy form of mr. armstrong coming from his own little room. their questions made a small hubbub. with a good-natured gesture he put them all back, and, raising his voice, said to the assembled crowd: "it has been decided by miss murray that, under the circumstances, it will be wiser for her to postpone the celebration of her marriage to some time and place less fraught with mournful suggestions. a telegram has just been sent to the bishop to that effect, and while we all suffer from this disappointment, 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 then 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; another door had opened down the hall, another person had stepped upon the scene, and miss murray, 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 dorothy 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 ingenuously as he did every other emotion, glanced up at the light figure hovering over them from the staircase, and made out to answer: "this gentleman has every right, miss murray. he is the coroner of the town, accustomed to inquire into all cases of sudden death." "then," she vehemently rejoined, her pale cheeks breaking out into a scarlet flush, above which her eyes shone with an almost unearthly brilliancy, "do not summon dorothy camerden. she is not the witness you want. i am. i am the one who uttered that scream; i am the one who saw our aunt die. dorothy cannot tell you what took place in her room and at her bedside, for dorothy was not there; but _i_ can." amazed, not as others were, at the assertion itself, but at the manner and publicity of the utterance, i contemplated this surprising girl in ever-increasing wonder. always beautiful, always spirited and proud, she looked at that moment as if nothing in the shape of fear, or even contumely, could touch her. she faced the astonishment of her best friends with absolute fearlessness, and before the general murmur could break into words, added: "i feel it my duty to speak thus publicly, because, by keeping silent so long, i have allowed a false impression to go about. stunned with terror, i found it impossible to speak during that first shock. besides, i was in a measure to blame for the catastrophe itself, and lacked courage to own it. it was i who took the little crystal flask into my aunt's room. i had been fascinated by it from the first, 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 amusement 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 impatience, 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 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 movement, 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 contact 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 astonishment 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 before. 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 determining its contents by tasting them. as i caught sight of this fatal action, and beheld the one drop, which mr. sinclair had said was enough to kill a man, slip from its hiding-place of centuries into her open throat, i felt as if the poison had entered my own veins; i could neither speak nor move. but when, an instant later, i met the look which spread suddenly over her face--a look of horror and hatred, accusing horror and unspeakable hatred mingled with what i dimly felt must mean death--an agonised cry burst from my lips, after which, panic-stricken, i flew, as if for life, back by the way i had come, to my own room. this was a great mistake. i should have remained with my aunt and boldly met the results of the tragedy which my folly had brought about. but terror knows no law, and having once yielded to the instinct of concealment, i knew no other course than to continue to maintain an apparent ignorance of what had just occurred. with chattering teeth and an awful numbness at my heart, i tore off my wrapper and slid into bed. miss lane had not wakened, but every one else had, and the hall was full of people. this terrified me still more, and for the moment i felt that i could never own the truth and bring down upon myself all this wonder and curiosity. so i allowed a wrong impression of the event to go about, for which act of cowardice i now ask the pardon of every one here, as i have already asked that of mr. sinclair and of our kind friend mr. armstrong." she paused, and stood for a moment confronting 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 information 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 sinclair'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 background; 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 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 question; 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? doubtless. but it would be better, perhaps, for me to make sure. approaching the place by the small door connecting 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 staircase, leaving word with him that if anybody wanted her she would be found in the small boudoir over the porch. i thanked him, and was on my way to join her when mr. armstrong called me. he must have kept me a half-hour in his room discussing every aspect of the affair and apologising for the necessity which he now felt of bidding farewell to most of his guests, among whom, he was careful to state, he did not include me. then, when i thought this topic exhausted, he began to talk about his wife, and what this dreadful occurrence was to her, and how he despaired of ever reconciling her to the fact that it had been considered necessary to call in a coroner. then he spoke of sinclair, but with some constraint and a more careful choice of words, at which, realising that i was to reap nothing from this interview, only suffer strong and continued irritation at a delay which was costing me the inestimable privilege of being the first to tell dorothy of her re-establishment in every one's good opinion, i exerted myself for release, and to such good purpose that i presently found myself again in the hall, where the first person i ran against was sinclair. he started, and so did i, at this unexpected encounter. then we stood still, and i stared at him in amazement, for everything about the man was changed, and--inexplicable fact!--in nothing was this change more marked than in his attitude toward myself. yet he tried to be friendly and meet me on the old footing, and observed as soon as we found ourselves beyond the hearing of others: "you heard what gilbertine said. there is no reason for doubting her words. _i_ do not doubt them, and you will show yourself my friend by not doubting them either." then, with some impetuosity 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--indefinitely. 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 provoked 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 immediately 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 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 gilbertine 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 had been closed, so that it was with difficulty i detected the slight, black-robed figure which lay face down among the cushions of a lounge. she had evidently 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 conventionalities, 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 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 themselves upon my attention, which not only made me bewail my own blindness, but which served to explain the peculiar attitude always maintained towards me by dorothy, and many other things which a moment 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 accents: "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 unnecessary a crime, and this morning----" 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 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 serious, 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, deepening, 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 of her many miseries, and that it was i who had placed her there. overcome with pity, but conscious also of a profound respect, i endeavoured to utter some futile words, which she at once put an end to by an appealing 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 dorothy. does dorothy love you?" my answer was an honest one. "i have dared to hope so, despite the little opportunity she has given me to express my feelings. she has always held me back, and that very decidedly, or my devotion would have been apparent to everybody." "oh, dorothy!" regret, sorrow, infinite tenderness, all were audible 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 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 involuntary, 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 approached, 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 palliation 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 awkwardness 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. meanwhile, 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 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 he expected to make his wife. you see what girls are. how i despise myself now for this miserable frivolity! "all this time i knew that i was not my aunt's only niece; that dorothy camerden, whom i had never met, was as closely related to her as myself. true to her heartless code, my aunt had placed us in separate schools, and not till she found that i was to leave her, and that soon there would be nobody to see that her dresses were bought with discretion, and her person attended to with something like care, did she send for dorothy. i shall never forget my first impression of her. i had been told that i need not expect much in the way of beauty and style, but from my first glimpse of her dear face i saw that my soul's friend had come, and that, marriage or no marriage, i need never be solitary again. "i do not think i made as favourable an impression on my cousin as she did on me. dorothy was new to elaborate dressing and to all the follies of fashionable life, and her look had more of awe than expectation in it. but i gave her a hearty kiss, and in a week she was as brilliantly equipped as myself. "i loved her, but, from blindness of eye or an overwhelming egotism which god has certainly punished, i did not consider her beautiful. this i must acknowledge to you, if only to complete my humiliation. i never imagined for a moment, even after i became the daily witness of your many attentions to her, that it was on her account you visited the house so often. i had been so petted and spoiled 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, immediately 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 closing 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 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 unburden 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 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 instead 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 herself 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 envied; 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 why i stole into the library, took it down and hid it in my hair. i never thought to look inside; i did not pause to think that it was the flask and not the box she wanted, and consequently felt convinced of her safety so long as i kept the latter successfully concealed in my hair. you know the rest." yes, i knew it. how she opened the box in her room and found it empty. how she flew to gilbertine's room, and, finding the door unlocked, looked in, and saw miss lane lying there asleep, but no gilbertine. how her alarm grew at this, and how, forgetting that her cousin often stole to her room by means of the connecting balcony, she had wandered over the house in the hope of coming upon gilbertine in one of the downstairs rooms. how her mind misgave her before she had entered the great hall, and how she turned back only to hear that awful scream go up as she was setting foot upon the spiral stair. i had heard it all before, and could imagine her terror and dismay; and why she found it impossible to proceed any further, but clung to the stair-rail, half alive and half dead, till she was found there by those seeking her, and taken up to her aunt's room. but she never told me, and i do not yet know, what her thoughts or feelings were when, instead of seeing her cousin outstretched in death on the bed they led her to, she beheld the lifeless figure of her aunt. the reserve she maintained on this point has always been respected by me. let it continue to be so. when, therefore, she said, "you know the rest," 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 toward 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. 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 understood 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 favourite, 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 niece had come to live with mrs. lansing in new york. had it always been the latter's wish, then, to enrich the one and slight the other? it would seem so; but why should the slighted one have been gilbertine? the only explanation i ever heard given was the partiality which mrs. lansing felt for dorothy's mother, or, rather, her lack of affection for gilbertine's. whether or not this is the true one, the discrimination she showed in her will put poor gilbertine in a very unfortunate position. at least, it would have done so if sinclair, with an adroitness worthy of his love, had not proved to her that a break at this time in their supposed relations would reflect most seriously upon his disinterestedness, and thus secured for himself opportunities for urging his suit which ended, as such opportunities often do, in a renewal of their engagement. but this time with mutual love as its basis. this was evident to any one who saw them together. but how the magic was wrought--how this hard-to-be-won heart learned at last its true allegiance i did not know till later, and then it was told me by gilbertine herself. i had been married for some months and she for some weeks, when one evening chance threw us together. instantly, and as if she had waited for this hour, she turned upon me with the beautiful smile which has been hers ever since her new happiness came to her, and said: "you once gave me some very good advice, mr. worthington; but it was not that which led me to realise mr. sinclair's affection. it was a short conversation 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, 'always.' but after that do i need to say why i am a wife--why i am _his_ wife?" the grey lady 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 comfortable. 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 quietly, as mechanically even, as if i had not raised my voice, and before i could grasp the fact that she was melting from before me flitted through the hall to the front door and so out, leaving behind on the palm of my hand the "feel" of her wool dress, which i had just managed to touch. not understanding her or myself or the strange thrill awakened by this contact, i tore open the front door and looked out, expecting, of course, to see her on the steps or on the sidewalk in front. but there was no one of her appearance visible, and i came back questioning whether i was the victim of a hallucination or just an everyday fool. to satisfy myself on this important question i looked about for the hallboy, with the intention of asking him if he had seen any such person go out, but that young and inconsequent scamp was missing from his post as usual and there was no one within sight to appeal to. there was nothing to do but to re-enter my rooms, where my attention was immediately arrested by the sight of my wife sitting up in bed and surveying me with a look of unmistakable astonishment. "who was that woman?" she asked. "and how came she in here?" so she had seen her too. "what woman, lydia? i have not let in any woman. did you think there was a woman in this room?" "not in that room," she answered hoarsely, "but in this one. i saw her just now passing through the folding doors. wilbur, i am frightened. see how my hands shake. do you think i am sick enough to imagine things?" i knew she was not, but i did not say so. i thought it would be better for her to think herself under some such delusion. "you were dozing," said i. "if you had seen a woman here you could tell me how she looked." "and i can," my wife broke in excitedly. "she was like the ghosts we read of, only that her dress and the veil or drapery she wore were all grey. didn't you see her? you must have seen her. she went right by you--a grey woman, all grey; a lady, wilbur, and slightly lame. could i have dreamed all that?" "you must have!" i protested, shaking the door leading directly into the hall so she might see it was locked, and even showing her the key to it lying in its accustomed place behind the bureau cushion. yet i was in no satisfied condition myself, for she had described with the greatest accuracy the very person i had myself seen. had we been alike the victims of a spiritual manifestation? this was tuesday. on friday my question seemed to receive an answer. i had been downtown, as usual, and on returning found a crowd assembled in front of my lodging-house. a woman had been run over and was being carried into our rooms. in the glimpse i caught of her i saw that she was middle-aged and was wrapped in a long black cloak. later this cloak fell off, as her hat had done long 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 almost 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 misgiving. she showed more feeling than i had anticipated. 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 bedside, 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 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 forewarning 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 ourselves, and into which no live woman could have entered without our knowledge, something--was it my natural good sense?--recoiled before a supernatural explanation of this, and i found myself 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 impossible be made possible and the unexplainable receive a solution satisfying to a rational mind? i determined to make an effort to accomplish this, if only to relieve the mind of my wife, who had not recovered 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 entrance 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 inconspicuous 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 appearance 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 was, as i have said, locked. here, then, was a mystery; but it was one worth solving. my first step was to recall all that i had heard of the actual woman who had been buried from our rooms. her name, as ascertained in the cheap boarding-house to which she was traced, was helmuth, and she was, so far as any one knew, without friends or relatives in the city. to those who saw her daily she was a harmless, slightly demented woman with money enough to live above want, but not enough to warrant her boasting talk about the rich things she was going to buy some day and the beautiful presents she would soon be in a position to give away. the money found on her person was sufficient to bury her, but no papers were in her possession nor any letters calculated to throw light upon her past life. her lameness had been caused by paralysis, but the date of her attack was not known. finding no clue in this to what i wished to learn, i went back to our old rooms, which had not been let since our departure, and sought for one there, and, strangely enough, found it. i thought i knew everything there was to be known about the apartment we had lived in two months, but one little fact had escaped me which, under the scrutiny that i now gave it, became apparent. this was simply that the key which opened the hall door of the bedroom and which we had seldom if ever used was not as old a key as that of the corresponding door in the parlour, 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 elegance 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 making a show out of flimsy silk a shopgirl would hesitate 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 mysterious visitor that i resolved to pursue my investigations 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 was, as i soon found, to talk about the l'hommedieus. 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 different 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 morbidly 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 supper together in the front parlour you have so lately occupied. it was a very ordinary supper, for the 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 sudden 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 urbane 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 day----' "'thank you,' said he, with a bright smile, 'but i will finish my business now and with you, seeing that mr. l'hommedieu is not at home. years ago--i am sure you have heard your husband mention my name--i borrowed quite a sum of money from him, which i have never paid. you recall the amount, no doubt?' "'i have heard mr. l'hommedieu say it was a thousand dollars,' she replied, with a sudden fluttering of her hands indicative of great excitement. "'that is the sum,' he allowed, either not noticing me or thinking me too insignificant to be considered. 'i regret to have kept him so long out of it, but i have not forgotten to add the interest in making out this statement of my indebtedness, and if you will look over this paper and acknowledge its correctness i will leave the equivalent of my debt here and now, for i sail for europe to-morrow morning and wish to have all my affairs in order before leaving.' "mrs. l'hommedieu, who looked ready to faint from excess of feeling, summoned up her whole strength, looking so beautiful as she did so that one forgot the ribbons on her sleeves were no longer fresh and that the silk dress she wore hung in the very limpest of folds. "'i am obliged to you,' she said in a tone from which she strove in vain to suppress all eagerness. 'and if i can speak for mr. l'hommedieu he will be as grateful for your remembrance of us as for the money you so kindly offer to return to him.' "the stranger bowed low and took out a folded paper, which he handed to her. he was not deceived, 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 significant 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 and concealed it in her bosom with a look i had rather not have seen. 'you will not charge yourself with such a responsibility,' said she. 'but i can trust you not to tell him?' "'yes,' i nodded, feeling sick of the whole business. "'then----' but here the door was violently flung open and mr. l'hommedieu burst into the room in a state of as much excitement as his wife, only his was the excitement of desperation. "'gone! gone!' he cried, ignoring me as completely as mr. lafarge had done. 'not a dollar left; not even my studs! see!' and he pointed to his shirt-front hanging apart in a way i would never have looked for in this reckless but fastidious gentleman. 'yet if i had had a dollar more or even a ring worth a dollar or so, i might have----theresa, have you any money at all? a coin now might save us.' "mrs. l'hommedieu, who had turned alarmingly pale, drew up her fine figure and resolutely confronted him. 'no!' said she, and shifting her gaze she turned it meaningly upon me. "he misunderstood this movement. thinking it simply a reminder of my presence, he turned, with his false but impressive show of courtesy, and made me a low bow. then he forgot me utterly again, and, facing his wife, growled out: "'where are you going to get breakfast then? you don't look like a woman who expects to starve!' "it was a fatal remark, for, do what she would, 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 witness 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. darraugh'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 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 nature 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 not want to--but i soon realised she was working somewhere in a desperate hurry. i could hear her breath coming in quick, short pants as i bent over her husband, waiting for him to rouse and hating my inaction even while i succumbed to it. "suddenly she was back in the parlour again, and to my surprise passed immediately to the little table in the corner where we had sat at supper. we had had for our simple refreshment that homeliest of all dishes, boiled milk thickened with flour. there was still some left in a bowl, and taking this away with her she called back hoarsely: "'pray that he does not come to till i have finished. it will be the best prayer you ever made.' "she told me afterward that he was subject to these attacks and that she had long ceased to be alarmed by them. but to me the sight of that man lying there so helpless was horrible, and, though i hated him and pitied her, i scarcely knew what to wish. while battling with my desire to run and the feeling of loyalty which held me kneeling at that man's side, i heard her speak again, this time in an even and slightly hard tone: 'now you may dash a glass of cold water in his face. i am prepared to meet him now. happily his memory fails after these attacks. i may succeed in making him believe that the bond he saw was one of his fancies.' "'had you not better throw the water yourself?' i suggested, getting up and meeting her eye very quietly. "she looked at me in wonder, then moved calmly to the table, took the glass, and dashed a few drops of water into her husband's face. instantly he began to stir, seeing which i arose without haste, but without any unnecessary delay, and quickly took my leave. i could bear no more that night. "next morning i awoke in a fright. i had dreamed that he had come to my room in search of the bond. but it was only her knock at the door and her voice asking if she might enter at this early hour. it was such a relief i gladly let her in, and she entered with her best air and flung herself on my little lounge with the hysterical cry: "'he has sent me up. i told him i ought not to intrude at such an inconvenient hour; that you would not have had your breakfast.' (how carelessly she spoke! how hard she tried to keep the hungry note out of her voice!) 'but he insisted on my coming up. i know why. he searched me before i left the room, and now he wants to search the room itself.' "'then he did remember?' i began. "'yes, he remembers now. i saw it in his eyes as soon as he awoke. but he will not find the bond. that is safe, and some day when i have escaped his vigilance long enough to get it back again i will use it so as to make him comfortable as well as myself. i am not a selfish woman.' "i did not think she was, and felt pity for her, and so after dressing and making her a cup of tea, i sat down with her, and we chatted for an hour or so quite comfortably. then she grew so restless and 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 disregard of his wishes, and she had to subdue her impatience and wait for a summons that did not come till near two o'clock. then mr. l'hommedieu himself 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. "'we are going to leave this house?' she asked, speaking very slowly and with a studied lack of emotion that imposed upon nobody. "'i have said so,' he smiled. 'the dray has already taken away the half of our effects, and the rest will follow at mrs. latimer's convenience.' "'ah, i understand!' she replied, with a gasp of relief significant of her fear that by some super-human cunning he had found the bond she thought so safely concealed. 'i was wondering how mrs. latimer came to allow us to leave.' (i tell you they always talked as if i were not present.) 'our goods are left as a surety, it seems.' "'half of our goods,' he blandly corrected. 'would it interest you to know which half?' "the cunning of this insinuation was matched by the imperturbable shrug with which she replied, 'so a bed has been allowed us and some clothes i am satisfied,' at which he bit his lips, vexed at her self-control and his own failure to break it. "'you have not asked where we are going,' he observed, as with apparent solicitude he threw her mantle over her shoulders. "the air of lassitude with which she replied bespoke her feeling on that point. 'i have little curiosity,' she said. 'you know i can be happy anywhere.' and, turning toward me, she moved her lips in a way i interpreted to mean: 'go below with me. see me out.' "'say what you have to say to miss winterburn aloud,' he drily suggested. "'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 watchfulness, 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 quarters it would be comparatively easy for him to subject her to a surveillance which not only would prevent 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 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 followed 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 upstairs 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 minutes 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----" "wait!" i put in as i remembered where the so-called mrs. helmuth had pointed just before she 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'hommedieu appeared; another, and i began to grow seriously uneasy; a third, and a dreadful thing happened. 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 appearance 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 conscious of being under. she was in the habit of wearing 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 hallboy, who had never seen her save in showy black or bright colours, said she looked like a ghost in the daytime, but it was all done for a purpose, i am sure, and to escape the attention of the man who had followed her before. alas, he might have followed her this time without addition to her suffering! scarcely had she entered the room where her treasure 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 hallboy, 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 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'hommedieu, 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'hommedieu'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 of being followed caused her to lock the door behind her. my wife, who must have fallen into a doze on my leaving her, did not see her enter, but detected her just as she was trying to escape through the folding doors. my presence in the parlour probably added to her embarrassment, and she fled, turning her cloak as she did so. how simple it seemed now that we knew the facts; but how obscure, and, to all appearance, unexplainable, before the clue was given to the mystery! the thief "and now, if you have all seen the coin and sufficiently 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 ventured one of the younger women. "it doesn't seem to be on the table." immediately all the ladies began lifting their napkins 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." "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 turning over spoons till mr. sedgwick himself bade them desist. "it's slipped to the floor," he nonchalantly 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 the former's simple statement of "i passed it on." robert would find the coin; he was a fool to doubt it; and if robert did not, why, he would simply have to pocket his chagrin, and not let a triviality like this throw a shadow over his hospitality. all this, while he genially lifted his glass and proposed the health of the ladies. the constraint of the preceding moment was removed by his manner, and a dozen jests caused as many merry laughs. then he pushed back his chair. "and now, some music!" he cheerfully cried, as with lingering glances and some further pokings about of the table furniture, the various guests left their places and followed him into the adjoining room. but the ladies were too nervous and the gentlemen not sufficiently sure of their voices to undertake the entertainment of the rest at a moment of such acknowledged suspense; and notwithstanding the exertions of their host and his quiet but much discomfited wife, it soon became apparent that but one thought engrossed them all, and that any attempt at conversation must prove futile so long as the curtains between the two rooms remained open and they could see robert on his hands and knees searching the floor and shoving aside the rugs. darrow, who was mr. sedgwick's brother-in-law and almost as much at home in the house as sedgwick himself, made a move to draw these curtains, but something in his relative's face stopped him and he desisted with some laughing remark which did not attract enough attention, even, to elicit any response. "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, distressed 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 employ 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 curtains." 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 collection. it is unique in this country, and not only worth a great deal of money, but cannot be duplicated 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 entirely 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 thoroughly in earnest, i assure you." the astonishment created by this audacious proposition 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 circumstances would any one even suspect him of appropriating 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 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 protest, 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 controlled 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 himself 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 of hugh clifford, her uncle's neighbour at table, who in company with mr. hammersley was still hesitating in the doorway. as mr. sedgwick stopped his useless talk, the two passed in and the sound of her fluttering breath as she finally turned a listening ear his way, caused him to falter as he repeated his assurances and begged her indulgence. she answered with some conventional phrase which he forgot while crossing the room. but the remembrance of her slight satin-robed figure, drawn up in an attitude whose carelessness was totally belied by the anxiety of her half-averted glance, followed him into the presence of the four men awaiting him. four? i should say five, for robert was still there, though in a corner by himself, ready, no doubt, to share any attempt which the others might make to prove their innocence. "the ladies will await us in the music-room," announced the host on entering; and then paused, disconcerted by the picture suddenly disclosed to his eye. on one side stood the two who had entered first, with their eyes fixed in open sternness on young clifford, who, quite alone on the rug, faced them with a countenance of such pronounced pallor that there seemed to be nothing else in the room. as his features were singularly regular and his almost perfect mouth accentuated by a smile as set as his figure was immobile, the effect was so startling that not only mr. sedgwick, but every other person present, no doubt, wished that the plough had never turned 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 involuntary, self-betrayal, another guest stepped forward; but no sooner had he raised his hand to his vest-pocket than clifford moved, and in a high, strident voice totally unlike his usual tones remarked: "this is all--all--very interesting and commendable, no doubt. but for such a procedure to be of any real value it should be entered into by all. gentlemen"--his rigidity was all gone now and so was his pallor--"i am unwilling to submit myself to what, in my eyes, is an act of unnecessary humiliation. our word should be enough. i have not the coin----" stopped by the absolute silence, he cast a distressed look into the faces about him, till it reached that of mr. sedgwick, where it lingered, in an appeal to which that gentleman, out of his great heart, instantly responded. "one _should_ take the word of the gentleman he invites to his house. we will excuse you, and excuse all the others from the unnecessary ceremony which mr. blake has been good enough to initiate." but this show of favour was not to the mind of the last-mentioned gentleman, and met with instant reproof. "not so fast, sedgwick. i am the oldest man here and i did not feel it was enough simply to state that this coin was not on my person. as to the question of humiliation, it strikes me that humiliation would lie, in this instance, in a refusal for which no better excuse can be given than the purely egotistical one of personal pride." at this attack, the fine head of clifford rose, and darrow, remembering the girl within, felt instinctively grateful that she was not here to note the effect it gave to his person. "i regret to differ," said he. "to me no humiliation could equal that of demonstrating in this open manner the fact of one's not being a thief." mr. blake gravely surveyed him. for some reason the issue seemed no longer to lie between clifford and the actual loser of the coin, but between him and his fellow guest, this uncompromising banker. "a thief!" repeated the young man, in an indescribable tone full of bitterness and scorn. mr. blake remained unmoved; he was a just man but strict, hard to himself, hard to others. but he was not entirely without heart. suddenly his expression lightened. a certain possible explanation of the other's attitude had entered his mind. "young men sometimes have reasons for their susceptibilities which the old forget. if you have such--if you carry a photograph, believe that we have no interest in pictures of any sort to-night and certainly would fail to recognise them." a smile of disdain flickered across the young man's lip. evidently it was no discovery of this kind that he feared. "i carry no photographs," said he; and, bowing low to his host, he added in a measured tone which but poorly hid his profound agitation, "i regret to have interfered in the slightest way with the pleasure of the evening. if you will be so good as to make my excuses to the ladies, i will withdraw from a presence upon which i have made so poor an impression." 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 hammersley, 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 adjoining 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 room. "there are the ladies. what shall we say to them?" queried sedgwick, stepping slowly towards the intervening curtains. "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. sedgwick heard it. perhaps that was why his first movement on entering the adjoining room was to cross over to the cabinet and shut and lock the heavily panelled 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 interesting 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, 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 encountered 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 disappeared. 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 fellow would do, if his suspicions were farther awakened. this conviction brought an odd and not very open smile to his face, as he finally turned to descend the one flight which separated him from the front door he was so ardently desirous of closing behind him for ever. a moment and he would be down; but the steps were many and seemed to multiply indefinitely as he sped below. should his departure be noted, and some one advance to detain him! he fancied he heard a rustle in the open space under the stairs. were any one to step forth, robert or----with a start, he paused and clutched the banister. some one had stepped forth; a woman! the swish of her skirts was unmistakable. he felt the chill of a new dread. never in his short but triumphant career had he met coldness or disapproval in the eye of a woman. was he to encounter it now? if so, it would go hard with him. he trembled as he turned his head to see which of the four it was. if it should prove to be his hostess----but it was not she; it was darrow's young friend, the pretty inconsequent girl he had chatted with at the dinner-table, and afterwards completely forgotten in the events which had centred all his thoughts upon himself. and she was standing there, waiting for him! he would have to pass her,--notice her,--speak. but when the encounter occurred and their eyes met, he failed to find in hers any sign of the disapproval he feared, but instead a gentle womanly interest which he might interpret deeply, or otherwise, according to the measure of his need. that need seemed to be a deep one at this instant, for his countenance softened perceptibly as he took her quietly extended hand. "good-night," she said; "i am just going myself," and with an entrancing smile of perfect friendliness, she fluttered past him up the stairs. it was the one and only greeting which his sick heart could have sustained without flinching. just this friendly farewell of one acquaintance to another, as though no change had taken place in his relations to society and the world. and she was a woman and not a thoughtless girl! staring after her slight, elegant figure, slowly ascending the stair, he forgot to return her cordial greeting. what delicacy, and yet what character there was in the poise of her spirited head! he felt his breath fail him, in his anxiety for another glance from her eye, for some sign, however small, that she had carried the thought of him up those few, quickly-mounted steps. would he get it? she is at the bend of the stair; she pauses--turns, a nod,--and she is gone. with an impetuous gesture, he dashed from the house. in the drawing-room the noise of the closing door was heard, and a change at once took place in the attitude and expression of all present. the young millionaire approached mr. sedgwick and confidentially remarked: "there goes your precious coin. i'm sure of it. i even think i can tell the exact place in which it is hidden. his hand went to his left coat-pocket once too often." "that's right. i noticed the action also," chimed in mr. darrow, who had stepped up, unobserved. "and i noticed something else. his whole appearance altered from the moment this coin came on the scene. an indefinable half-eager, half-furtive look crept into his eye as he saw it passed from hand to hand. i remember it now, though it didn't make much impression upon me at the time." "and i remember another thing," supplemented hammersley in his anxiety to set himself straight with these men of whose entire approval he was not quite sure. "he raised his napkin to his mouth very frequently during the meal and held it there longer than is usual, too. once he caught me looking at him, and for a moment he flushed scarlet, then he broke out with one of his witty remarks and i had to laugh like everybody else. if i am not mistaken, his napkin was up and his right hand working behind it, about the time mr. sedgwick requested the return of his coin." "the idiot! hadn't he sense enough to know that such a loss wouldn't pass unquestioned? the gem of the collection; known all over the country, and he's not even a connoisseur." "no; i've never even heard him mention numismatics." "mr. darrow spoke of its value. perhaps that was what tempted him. i know that clifford's been rather down on his luck lately." "he? well, he don't look it. there isn't one of us so well set up. pardon me, mr. hammersley, you understand what i mean. he perhaps relies a little bit too much on his fine clothes." "he needn't. his face is his fortune--all the one he's got, i hear it said. he had a pretty income from consolidated silver, but that's gone up and left him in what you call difficulties. if he has debts besides----" but here mr. darrow was called off. his niece wanted to see him for one minute in the hall. when he came back it was to make his adieu and hers. she had been taken suddenly indisposed and his duty was to see her immediately home. this broke up the party, and amid general protestations the various guests were taking their leave when the whole action was stopped by a smothered cry from the dining-room, and the precipitate entrance of robert, asking for mr. sedgwick. "what's up? what's happened?" demanded that gentleman, hurriedly advancing towards the agitated butler. "found!" he exclaimed, holding up the coin between his thumb and forefinger. "it was standing straight up between two leaves of the table. it tumbled and fell to the floor as luke and i were taking them out." silence which could be felt for a moment. then each man turned and surveyed his neighbour, while 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 naïveté, 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 understanding, 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 listening--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!" "it wouldn't happen again, not if we spun it there for a month of sundays." "but mr. clifford!" put in an agitated voice. "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 discovery." "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 intention 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 confided 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. clifford 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, however, at the request. "his pride does seem a little out of place, but he was among comparative strangers, and seemed to feel his honour greatly impugned by hammersley's unfortunate proposition. i'm sorry way down to the ground for what has occurred, 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 remembered 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 sufficiently expressive. the scale of descent from luxury to positive discomfort was proving a rapid one and prepared them for the dismal, ill-cared-for, altogether repulsive doorway before which they halted next. no attendant waited here; not even an elevator 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 extremely 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 himself 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 inform me of it. will not that answer, without further conversation? i am on the point of retiring and--and----" 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. "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; secondly, 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. sedgwick, 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. 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 motive 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 honourable 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 addressed. wonder, doubt, hope, and again incredulity 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 visitors, 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 opportunities as had given him a dinner to-night. mr. blake understood at last, and his iron lip trembled. "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 by cent, in the search for employment no one considers 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 confidence in men which this last half hour has given me, and i went blundering on, hiding my needs and hoping 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 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, , by the bobbs-merrill company used by special permission of the publishers) i 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. being young, untrammelled, and naturally indifferent 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 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 strangers, while his lack of surprise at an encounter more or less startling in such a mist, was calculated to puzzle an ordinary man like myself. indeed, he was so little impressed by my presence there that he was for passing me without a word or any other hint of good-fellowship save the bow of which i have spoken. but this did not suit me. i was hungry, cold, and eager for creature comforts, and the house before me gave forth, not only heat, but a savoury odour which in itself was an invitation hard to ignore. i therefore accosted the man. "will bed and supper be provided for me here?" i asked. "i am tired out with a long tramp over the hills, and hungry enough to pay anything in reason----" i stopped, for the man had disappeared. he had not paused at my appeal, and the mist had swallowed him. but at the break in my sentence his voice came back in good-natured tones, and i heard: "supper will be ready at nine, and there are beds for all. enter, sir; you are the first to arrive, but the others cannot be far behind." a queer greeting certainly. but when i strove to question him as to its meaning, his voice returned to me from such a distance that i doubted if my words had reached him any more than his answer had reached me. "well," thought i, "it isn't as if a lodging had been denied me. he invited me to enter, and enter i will." the house, to which i now naturally directed a glance of much more careful scrutiny than before, 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 lighted 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 in so spacious a dwelling, and, going to the nearest door, i opened it and called out for the master of the house. but only an echo came back, and returning to the fire, i sat down before the cheering blaze, in quiet acceptance of a situation too lonely for comfort, yet not without a certain piquant interest for a man of free mind and adventurous disposition like myself. after all, if supper was to be served at nine, some one must be expected to eat it; i should surely not be left much longer without companions. meanwhile ample amusement awaited me in the contemplation of a picture which, next to the large fireplace, was the most prominent object in the room. this picture was a portrait, and a remarkable one. the countenance it portrayed was both characteristic and forcible, and so interested me that in studying it i quite forgot both hunger and weariness. indeed its effect upon me was such that, after gazing at it uninterruptedly for a few minutes, i discovered that its various features--the narrow eyes in which a hint of craft gave a strange gleam to their native intelligence; the steadfast chin, strong as the rock of the hills i had wearily tramped all day; the cunning wrinkles which yet did not interfere with a latent great-heartedness that made the face as attractive as it was puzzling--had so established themselves in my mind that i continued to see them before me whichever way i turned, and even found it impossible to shake off their influence after i had resolutely set my mind in another direction by endeavouring to recall what i knew of the town into which i had strayed. i had come from scranton, and was now, according to my best judgment, in one of those rural districts of western pennsylvania which breed such strange and sturdy characters. but of this special neighbourhood, its inhabitants, and its industries, i knew nothing, nor was i likely to become acquainted with it so long as i remained in the solitude i have described. but these impressions and these thoughts--if thoughts they were--presently received a check. a loud "halloo!" rose from somewhere in the mist, followed by a string of muttered imprecations, which convinced me that the person now attempting to approach the house was encountering some of the many difficulties which had beset me in the same undertaking a few minutes before. i therefore raised my voice and shouted out, "here! this way!" after which i sat still and awaited developments. there was a huge clock in one of the corners, whose loud tick filled up every interval of silence. by this clock it was just ten minutes to eight when two gentlemen--i should say men, and coarse men at that--crossed the open threshold and entered the house. their appearance was more or less noteworthy--unpleasantly so, i am obliged to add. one was red-faced and obese; the other was tall, thin, and wiry, and showed as many seams in his face as a blighted apple. neither of the two had anything to recommend 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 instinctively 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 encountered 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 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 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 circulation. 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 overmuch. 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." 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 "whoa!" 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 conspicuously 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 cordiality: "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 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 westonhaugh'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 garrulity 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 to be small. too small," i heard him grumble a minute after, under his breath. "i wish it were a matter of one," spoke up the big man, striking his breast in a way to make it perfectly apparent whom he meant by that word _one_. and having (if i may judge by the mingled laugh and growl of his companions) thus shown his hand both figuratively and literally, he relapsed into the calculation which seemed to absorb all of his unoccupied moments. "generous, very!" commented the lawyer in a murmur which was more than audible. "pity that sentiments of such broad benevolence should go unrewarded." this, because at that very instant wheels were heard in front, also a jangle of voices, in some controversy about fares, which promised anything but a pleasing addition to the already none too desirable company. "i suppose that's sister janet," snarled out the one addressed as hector. there was no love in his voice, despite the relationship hinted at, and i awaited the entrance of this woman with some curiosity. but her appearance, heralded by many a puff and pant which the damp air exaggerated in a prodigious way, did not seem to warrant the interest i had shown in it. as she stepped into the room i saw only a big frowsy woman, who had attempted to make a show with a new silk dress and a hat in the latest fashion, but who had lamentably failed owing to the slouchiness of her figure and some misadventure, by which her hat had been set awry on her head and her usual complacency destroyed. later, i noted that her down-looking eyes had a false twinkle in them, and that, commonplace as she looked, she was one to steer clear of in times of necessity and distress. she, too, evidently expected to find the door open and people assembled, but she had not anticipated being confronted by the portrait on the wall, and cringed in an unpleasant way as she stumbled by it into one of the ill-lighted corners. the old man, who had doubtless caught the rustle of her dress as she passed him, emitted one short sentence. "almost late," said he. her answer was a sputter of words. "it's the fault of that driver," she complained. "if he had taken one drop more at the half-way house i might really not have got here at all. that would not have inconvenienced _you_. but oh! what a grudge i would have owed that skinflint brother of ours"--here she shook her fist at the picture--"for making our good luck depend upon our arrival within two short strokes of the clock!" "there are several to come yet," blandly observed the lawyer. but before the words were well out of his mouth we all became aware of a new presence--a woman, whose sombre grace and quiet bearing gave distinction to her unobtrusive entrance, and caused a feeling of something like awe to follow the first sight of her cold features and deep, heavily-fringed eyes. but this soon passed in the more human sentiment awakened by the soft pleading which infused her gaze with a touching femininity. she wore a long loose garment, which fell without a fold from chin to foot, and in her arms she seemed to carry something. never before had i seen so beautiful a woman. as i was contemplating her, with respect but yet with a masculine intentness i could not quite suppress, two or three other persons came in. and now i began to notice that the eyes of all these people turned mainly one way, and that was toward the clock. another small circumstance likewise drew my attention. whenever any one entered--and there were one or two additional arrivals during the five minutes preceding the striking of the hour--a frown settled for an instant on every brow, giving to each and all a similar look, for the interpretation of which i lacked the key. yet not on every brow either. there was one which remained undisturbed, and showed only a grand patience. as the hands of the big clock neared the point of eight a furtive smile appeared on more than one face; and when the hour rang out a sigh of satisfaction swept through the room, to which the little old lawyer responded with a worldly-wise grunt as he moved from his place and proceeded to the door. this he had scarcely shut when a chorus of voices rose from without. three or four lingerers had pushed their way as far as the gate, only to see the door of the house shut in their faces. "too late!" growled old man luke from between the locks of his long beard. "too late!" shrieked the woman who had come so near being late herself. "too late!" smoothly acquiesced the lawyer, locking and bolting the door with a deft and assured hand. but the four or five persons who thus found themselves barred out did not accept without a struggle the decision of the more fortunate ones assembled within. more than one hand began pounding on the door, and we could hear cries of: "the train was behind time!" "your clock is fast!" "you are cheating us; you want it all for yourselves!" "we will have the law on you!" and other bitter adjurations unintelligible to me from my ignorance of the circumstances which called them forth. but the wary old lawyer simply shook his head and answered nothing; whereat a murmur of gratification rose from within, and a howl of almost frenzied dismay from without, which latter presently received point from a startling vision which now appeared at the casement where the lights burned. a man's face looked in, and behind it, that of a woman, so wild and maddened by some sort of heart-break that i found my sympathies aroused in spite of the glare of evil passions which made both of these countenances something less than human. but the lawyer met the stare of these four eyes with a quiet chuckle, which found its echo in the ill-advised mirth of those about him; and moving over to the window where they still peered in, he drew together the two heavy shutters which hitherto had stood back against the wall, and, fastening them with a bar, shut out the sight of this despair, if he could not shut out the protests which ever and anon were shouted through the keyhole. meanwhile, one form had sat through this whole incident without a gesture; and on the quiet brow, from which i could not keep my eyes, no shadows appeared save the perpetual one of native melancholy, which was at once the source of its attraction and the secret of its power. into what sort of gathering had i stumbled? and why did i prefer to await developments rather than ask the simplest question of any one about me? meantime the lawyer had proceeded to make certain preparations. with the help of one or two willing hands he had drawn the great table into the middle of the room, and, having seen the candles restored to their places, began to open his small bag and take from it a roll of paper and several flat documents. laying the latter in the centre of the table and slowly unrolling the former, he consulted, with his foxy eyes, the faces surrounding him, and smiled with secret malevolence, as he noted that every chair and every form was turned away from the picture before which he had bent with such obvious courtesy on entering. i alone stood erect, and this possibly was why a gleam of curiosity was noticeable in his glance, as he ended his scrutiny of my countenance and bent his gaze again upon the paper he held. "heavens!" thought i. "what shall i answer this man if he asks me why i continued to remain in a spot where i have so little business?" the impulse came to go. but such was the effect of this strange convocation of persons, at night and in a mist which was itself a nightmare, that i failed to take action and remained riveted to my place, while mr. smead consulted his roll and finally asked in a business-like tone, quite unlike his previous sarcastic speech, the names of those whom he had the pleasure of seeing before him. the old man in the chair spoke up first. "luke westonhaugh," he announced. "very good!" responded the lawyer. "hector westonhaugh," came from the thin man. a nod and a look toward the next. "john westonhaugh." "nephew?" asked the lawyer. "yes." "go on, and be quick; supper will be ready at nine." "eunice westonhaugh," spoke up a soft voice. i felt my heart bound as if some inner echo responded to that name. "daughter of whom?" "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 unrelieved 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?" "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 hungrily 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. "very well, mistress clapsaddle. you were a westonhaugh, i believe?" "you _believe_, sneak-faced hypocrite that you are!" she blurted out. "i don't understand your lawyer ways. i like plain speaking myself. don't you know me, and luke and hector, and--and most of us, indeed, except that puny, white-faced girl yonder, whom, having been brought up on the other side of the ridge, we have none of us seen since she was a screaming baby in hildegarde's arms. and the young gentleman over there"--here she indicated me--"who shows so little likeness to the rest of the family, he will have to make his connection to us pretty plain before we shall feel like acknowledging him, either as the son of one of eustace's girls, or a chip from brother salmon's hard old block." as this caused all eyes to turn upon me, even _hers_, i smiled as i stepped forward. the lawyer did not return that smile. "what is your name?" he asked shortly and sharply, as if he distrusted me. "hugh austin," was my quiet reply. "there is no such name on the list," snapped old smead, with an authoritative gesture toward those who seemed anxious to enter a protest. "probably not," i returned, "for i am not a witherspoon, a westonhaugh, nor yet a clapsaddle. i am merely a chance wayfarer passing through the town on my way west. i thought this house was a tavern, or at least a place i could lodge in. the 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 one there drew a deep breath; but no one ventured to end that sentence. i would have given all my future prospects (which, by the way, were not very great) to remain in that room. the oddity of the situation; the mystery of the occurrence; the suspense i saw in every face; the eagerness of the cries i heard redoubled from time to time outside; the malevolence but poorly disguised in the old lawyer's countenance; and, above all, the presence of that noble-looking woman, which was the one off-set to the general tone of villainy with which the room was charged, filled me with curiosity, if i might call it by no other name, that made my acquiescence in the demand thus made upon me positively heroic. but there seemed no other course for me to follow, and with a last lingering glance at the genial fire and a quick look about me, which, happily, encountered hers, i stooped my head to suit the low and narrow doorway opened for my accommodation, and instantly found myself in darkness. the door had been immediately closed by the lawyer's impatient hand. ii with my ear to the wainscoting no move more unwise could have been made by the old lawyer--that is, if his intention had been to rid himself of an unwelcome witness. for, finding myself thrust thus suddenly from the scene, i naturally stood still instead of mounting the stairs, and, by standing still, discovered that though shut from sight, i was not from sound. distinctly through the panel of the door, which was much thinner, no doubt, than the old fox imagined, i heard one of the men present shout out: "well, that makes the number less by _one_!" the murmur which followed this remark came plainly to my ears, and, greatly rejoicing over what i considered my good luck, i settled myself on the lowest step of the stairs in the hope of catching some word which would reveal to me the mystery of this scene. it was not long in coming. old smead had now his audience before him in good shape, and his next words were of a character to make evident the purpose of this meeting. "heirs of anthony westonhaugh, deceased," he began in a sing-song voice strangely unmusical, "i congratulate you upon your good fortune at being at this especial moment on the inner rather than outer side of your amiable relative's front-door. his will, which you have assembled to hear read, is well known to you. by it his whole property--not so large as some of you might wish, but yet a goodly property for farmers like yourselves--is to be divided this night, share and share alike, among such of his relatives as have found it convenient to be present here between the strokes of half-past seven and eight. if some of our friends have failed us through sloth, sickness, or the misfortune of mistaking the road, they have our sympathy, but _they cannot have his dollars_." "cannot have his dollars!" echoed a rasping voice which from its smothered sound probably came from the bearded lips of the old reprobate in the chair. the lawyer waited for one or two other repetitions of this phrase (a phrase which, for some unimaginable reason, seemed to give him an odd sort of pleasure), then he went on with greater distinctness and a certain sly emphasis, chilling in effect, but very professional: "ladies and gentlemen, shall i read this will?" "no, no! the division! the division! tell us what we are to have!" rose in a shout about him. there was a pause. i could imagine the sharp eyes of the lawyer travelling from face to face as each thus gave voice to his cupidity, and the thin curl of his lips as he remarked in a low, tantalising way: "there was more in the old man's clutches than you think." a gasp of greed shook the partition against which my ear was pressed. some one must have backed up against the wainscoting since my departure from the room. i found myself wondering which of them it was. meantime old smead was having his say, with the smoothness of a man who perfectly understands what is required of him. "mr. westonhaugh would not have put you to so much trouble or had you wait so long if he had not expected to reward you amply. there are shares in this bag which are worth thousands instead of hundreds. now, now stop that! hands off! hands off! there are calculations to make first. how many of you are there? count yourselves up." "nine!" called out a voice with such rapacious eagerness that the word was almost unintelligible. "nine." how slowly the old knave spoke! what pleasure he seemed to take in the suspense he purposely made as exasperating as possible! "well, if each one gets his share, he may count himself richer by two hundred thousand dollars than when he came in here to-night." two hundred thousand dollars! they had expected no more than thirty. surprise made them speechless--that is, for a moment; then a pandemonium of hurrahs, shrieks, and loud-voiced enthusiasm made the room ring till wonder seized them again, and a sudden silence fell, through which i caught a far-off wail of grief from the disappointed ones without, which, heard in the dark and narrow place in which i was confined, had a peculiarly weird and desolate effect. perhaps it likewise was heard by some of the fortunate ones within! perhaps one head, to mark which, in this moment of universal elation, i would have given a year from my life, turned toward the dark without, in recognition of the despair thus piteously voiced; but if so, no token of the same 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 company 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 letter to his heirs is read." withdraw? 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 naïve appeal, and then found myself wondering why no echo of my mirth came from the men themselves. they must have seen much more plainly than i did the ludicrousness of their weak old kinsman's demand; yet luke was still, hector was still, and even john and the three or four others i have mentioned gave forth no audible token of disdain or surprise. i was asking myself what sentiment of awe or fear restrained these selfish souls, when i became conscious of a movement within, which presently resolved itself into a departing footstep. some conscience there had been awakened. some one was crossing the floor toward the door. who? i waited in anxious expectancy for the word which was to enlighten me. happily it came soon, and from the old lawyer's lips. "you do not feel yourself worthy?" he queried, in tones i had not heard from him before. "why? what have you done that you should forego an inheritance to which these others feel themselves honestly entitled?" the voice which answered gave both my mind and heart a shock. it was _she_ who had risen at this call--_she_, the only true-faced person there! anxiously i listened for her reply. alas! it was one of action rather than speech. as i afterwards heard, she simply opened her long cloak and showed a little infant slumbering in her arms. "this is my reason," said she. "i have sinned in the eyes of the world, therefore i cannot take my share of uncle anthony's money. i did not know he exacted an unblemished record from those he expected to enrich, or i would not have come." the sob which followed these last words showed at what a cost she thus renounced a fortune of which she, of all present, perhaps, stood in the greatest need; but there was no lingering in her step, and to me, who understood her fault only through the faint sound of infantile wailing which accompanied her departure, there was a nobility in her action which raised her in an instant to an almost ideal height of unselfish virtue. perhaps they felt this, too. perhaps even these hardened men and the more than hardened woman whose presence was in itself a blight, recognised heroism when they saw it; for when the lawyer, with a certain obvious reluctance, laid his hand on the bolts of the door with the remark, "this is not my work, you know; i am but following out instructions very minutely given me," the smothered growls and grunts which rose in reply lacked the venom which had been infused into all their previous comments. "i think our friends out there are far enough withdrawn by this time for us to hazard the opening of the door," the lawyer now remarked. "madam, i hope you will speedily find your way to some comfortable shelter." then the door opened, and after a moment closed again in a silence which at least was respectful. yet i warrant there was not a soul remaining who had not already figured in his mind to what extent his own fortune had been increased by the failure of one of their number to inherit. as for me, my whole interest in the affair was at an end, and i was only anxious to find my way to where this desolate woman faced the mist with her unfed baby in her arms. iii a life drama but, to reach this wanderer, it was first necessary for me to escape from the house. this proved simple enough. the upstairs room toward which i rushed had a window overlooking one of the many lean-tos already mentioned. the window was fastened, but i had little difficulty in unlocking it or in finding my way to the ground from the top of the lean-to. but once again on _terra-firma_, i discovered that the mist was now so thick that it had all the effect of a fog at sea. it was icy cold as well, and clung to me so closely that i presently began to shudder most violently, and, strong man though i was, wish myself back in the little attic bedroom from which i had climbed in search of one in more unhappy case than myself. but these feelings did not cause me to return. if i found the night cold, she must find it biting. if desolation oppressed my naturally hopeful spirit, must it not be more overwhelming yet to one whose memories were sad and whose future was doubtful? and the child! what infant could live in an air like this? edging away from the house, i called out her name, but no answer came back. the persons whom we had heard flitting in restless longing about the house a few moments before had left in rage, and she, possibly, with them. yet i could not imagine her joining herself to people of their stamp. there had been a solitariness in her aspect which seemed to forbid any such companionship. whatever her story, at least she had nothing in common with the two ill-favoured persons whose faces i had seen looking in at the casement. no; i should find her alone, but where? certainly the ring of mist, surrounding me at that moment, offered me little prospect of finding her anywhere, either easily or soon. again i raised my voice, and again i failed to meet with response. then, fearing to leave the house lest i should be quite lost amid the fences and brush lying between it and the road, i began to feel my way along the walls, calling softly now, instead of loudly, so anxious was i not to miss any chance of carrying comfort, if not succour, to the woman i was seeking. but the night gave back no sound, and when i came to the open door of a shed i welcomed the refuge it offered, and stepped in. i was, of course, confronted by darkness--a different darkness from that without, blanket-like and impenetrable. but when after a moment of intense listening i heard a soft sound as of weariful breathing, i was seized anew by hope, and, feeling in my pocket for my matchbox, i made a light and looked around. my intuitions had not deceived me: she was there. sitting on the floor with her cheek pressed against the wall, she revealed to my eager scrutiny only the outlines of her pure, pale profile; but in those outlines and on those pure, pale features i saw such an abandonment of hope, mingled with such quiet endurance, that my whole soul melted before it, and it was with difficulty i managed to say: "pardon! i do not wish to intrude; but i am shut out of the house also, and the night is raw and cold. can i do nothing for your comfort or for--for the child's?" she turned toward me, and i saw the faintest gleam of pleasure tremble in the sombre stillness of her face, and then the match went out in my hand, and we were again in complete darkness. but the little wail, which at the same instant rose from between her arms, filled up the pause as her sweet "hush!" filled my heart. "i am used to the cold," came in another moment from the place where she crouched. "it is the child--she is hungry; and i--i walked here--feeling, hoping that, as my father's heir, i might partake in some slight measure of uncle anthony's money. though my father cast me out before he died, and i have neither home nor money, i do not complain. i forfeited all when----" another wail, another gentle "hush!" then silence. i lit another match. "look in my face!" i prayed. "i am a stranger, and you would be showing 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----" "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." these ten minutes we had spent together had made us friends. the warmth, the strength which this discovery brought, gave to my arm a force that made that old oak door go down before me in three vigorous pushes. had the eight fortunate ones above not been indulging in a noisy celebration of their good luck, they must have heard the clatter of this door when it fell. but good eating, good drink, and the prospect of an immediate fortune far beyond their wildest dreams, made all ears deaf, and no pause occurred in the shouts of laughter and the hum of good-fellowship which sifted down between the beams supporting the house above my head. consequently, little or no courage was required for the completion of my adventure; and before long i came upon the staircase and the door leading from its top into the pantry. the next minute i was in front of that door. but here a surprise awaited me. the noise, which had hitherto been loud, now became deafening, and i realised that, contrary to eunice westonhaugh's expectation, the supper had been spread in the kitchen, and that i was likely to run amuck of the whole despicable crowd in any effort i might make to get a bite for the famished baby. i therefore naturally hesitated to push open the door, fearing to draw attention to myself; and when i did succeed in lifting the latch and making a small crack, i was so astonished by the sudden lull in the general babble that i drew hastily back and was for descending the stairs in sudden retreat. but i was prevented from carrying out this cowardly impulse by catching the sound of the lawyer's voice, addressing the assembled guests. "you have eaten and you have drunk," he was saying; "you are therefore ready for the final toast. brothers, nephews--heirs all of anthony westonhaugh, i rise to propose the name of your generous benefactor, who, if spirits walk this earth, must certainly be with us to-night." a grumble from more than one throat and an uneasy hitch from such shoulders as i could see through my narrow vantage-hole testified to the rather doubtful pleasure with which this suggestion was received. but the lawyer's tones lost none of their animation, as he went on to say: "the bottle, from which your glasses are to be replenished for this final draught, he has himself provided. so anxious was he that it should be of the very best and altogether worthy of the occasion it is to celebrate, that he gave into my charge, almost with his dying breath, this key, telling me that it would unlock a cupboard here in which he had placed a bottle of wine of the very rarest vintage. this is the key, and yonder, if i do not mistake, is the cupboard." they had already quaffed a dozen toasts. perhaps this was why they accepted this proposition in a sort of panting silence, which remained unbroken while the lawyer crossed the floor, unlocked the cupboard, and brought out before them a bottle which he held up before their eyes with a simulated glee almost saturnine. "isn't that a bottle to make your eyes dance? the very cobwebs on it are eloquent. and see! look at this label. tokay, friends--real tokay! mow many of you ever had the opportunity of drinking real tokay before?" a long deep sigh from a half-dozen throats, in which some strong but hitherto repressed passion, totally incomprehensible to me, found sudden vent, rose in one simultaneous sound from about that table, and i heard one jocular voice sing out: "pass it around, smead! i'll drink to uncle anthony out of that bottle till there isn't a drop left to tell what was in it!" but the lawyer was in no hurry. "you have forgotten the letter, for the hearing of which you are called together. mr. anthony westonhaugh left behind him a letter. the time is now come for reading it." as i heard these words, and realised that the final toast was to be delayed, and that some few moments must yet elapse before the room would be cleared and an opportunity given me for obtaining what i needed for the famishing mother and child, i felt such impatience with the fact, and so much anxiety as to the condition of those i had left behind me, that i questioned whether it would not be better for me to return to them empty-handed than to leave them so long without the comfort of my presence, when the fascination of the scene again seized me, and i found myself lingering to mark its conclusion with an avidity which can only be explained by my sudden and intense consciousness of what it all might mean to her whose witness i had thus inadvertently become. the careful lawyer began by quoting the injunction with which this letter had been put in his hands. "'when they are warm with food and wine, but not too warm'--thus his adjuration ran--'then let them hear my first and only words to them.' i know you are eager for these words. folk so honest, so convinced of their own purity and uprightness that they can stand unmoved while the youngest and most helpless among them withdraws her claim to wealth and independence rather than share an unmerited bounty--such folk, i say, must be eager, must be anxious, to know why they have been made the legatees of so great a fortune under the easy conditions and amid such slight restrictions as have been imposed upon them by their munificent kinsman." "i had rather go on drinking toasts," babbled one thick voice. "i had rather finish my figuring," growled another, in whose grating tones no echo remained of hector westonhaugh's formerly honeyed voice. "i am making out a list of stock----" "blast your stock--that is, if you mean horses and cows!" screamed a third. "i'm going in for city life. with less money than we have got, andreas amsberger got to be alderman----" "alderman!" sneered the whole pack; and the tumult became general. "if more of us had been sick," called out one, "or if uncle luke, say, had tripped into the ditch instead of on the edge of it, the fellows who came safe through might have had anything they wanted, even to the governorship of the state, or--or----" "silence!" came in commanding tones from the lawyer, who had begun to let his disgust appear, perhaps because he held under his thumb the bottle upon which all eyes were now lovingly centred--so lovingly, indeed, that i ventured to increase in the smallest perceptible degree the crack by means of which i was myself an interested, if unseen, participator in this scene. a sight of smead, and a partial glimpse of old luke's covetous profile, rewarded this small act of daring on my part. the lawyer was standing; all the rest were sitting. perhaps he alone retained sufficient steadiness to stand, for i observed by the control he exercised over this herd of self-seekers that he had not touched the cup which had so freely gone about among the others. the woman was hidden from me, but the change in her voice, when by any chance i heard it, convinced me that she had not disdained the toasts drunk by her brothers and nephews. "silence!" the lawyer reiterated, "or i will smash this bottle on the hearth!" he raised it in 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 injunctions 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 certain 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." this was my time for leaving, but a certain brooding 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 projecting 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 intercourse, 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 promising, in appearance at least. but our father knew his offspring, and when we stood, an alien and miserable band in front of castle garden, at the foot of the great city whose immensity struck terror to our hearts, he drew all our hands together and made us swear by the soul of our mother, whose body we had left in the sea, that we would keep the bond of brotherhood intact, and share with mutual confidence whatever good fortune this untried country might hold in store for us. you were strong, and your voices rang out loudly. mine was faint, for i was weak--so weak that my hand had to be held in place by my sister barbara. but my oath has never lost its hold upon my heart, while yours--answer how you have kept it, luke; or you, janet; or you, hector, of the smooth tongue and vicious heart; or you, or you, who, from one stock, recognise but one law--the law of cold-blooded selfishness, which seeks its own in face of all oaths and at the cost of another man's heart-break. "'this i say to such as know my story. but lest there be one amongst you who has not heard from parent or uncle the true tale of him who has brought you all under one roof to-night, i will repeat it here in words, that no man may fail to understand why i remembered my oath through life and beyond death, yet stand above you an accusing spirit while you quaff me toasts and count the gains my justice divides among you. "'i, as you all remember, was the weak one--the ne'er-do-weel. when all of you were grown and had homes of your own, i still remained under the family roof-tree, fed by our father's bounty and looking 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 sentiment 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 protection 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 scattered 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 to the home of my brother luke. he was a straight enough fellow in those days--physically, i mean--and he looked able and strong that morning, as he stood in the open doorway of his house, gazing down at us as we halted before him in the roadway. but his temper had grown greedy with the accumulation of a few dollars, and he shook his head as he closed his door, saying he remembered no oath, and that spenders must expect to be beggars. "'struck to the heart by a rebuff which meant prolongation of the suffering i saw in my dear wife's eyes, i stretched up and kissed her where she sat half fainting on the horse; then i moved on. i came to barbara's home next. she had been a little mother to me once--that is, she had fed and dressed me, and doled out blows and caresses, and taught me to read and sing. but barbara in her father's home and without fortune was not the barbara i saw on the threshold of the little cottage she called her own. she heard my story; looked in the face of my wife, and turned her back. she had no place for idle folk in her little house; if we would work she would feed us; but we must earn our supper or go hungry to bed. i felt the trembling of my wife's frame where she leaned against my arm, and kissing her again, led her on to salmon's. luke, hector, janet, have you heard him tell of that vision at his gateway, twenty-five years ago? he is not amongst you. for twelve years he has lain beside our father in the churchyard, but his sons may be here, for they were ever alert when gold was in sight or a full glass to be drained. ask _them_, ask john, whom i saw skulking behind his cousins at the garden fence that day, what it was they saw as i drew rein under the great tree which shadowed their father's doorstep. "'the sunshine had been pitiless that morning, and the head, for whose rest in some loving shelter i would have bartered soul and body, had fallen sidewise till it lay on my arm. pressed to her breast was our infant, whose little wail struck in pitifully as salmon called out, "what's to do here to-day?" do you remember it, lads? or how you all laughed, little and great, when i asked for a few weeks' stay under my brother's roof till we could all get well and go about our tasks again? _i_ remember. i, who am writing these words from the very mouth of the tomb, _i_ remember; but i did not curse you. i only rode on to the next. the way ran uphill now; and the sun which, since our last stop, had been under a cloud, came out and blistered my wife's cheeks, already burning red with fever. but i pressed my lips upon them, and led her on. with each rebuff i gave her a kiss; and her smile, as her head pressed harder and harder upon my arm, now exerting all its strength to support her, grew almost divine. but it vanished at my nephew lemuel's. "'he was shearing sheep, and could give no time to company; and when late in the day i drew rein at janet's, and she said she was going to have a dance, and could not look after sick folk, the pallid lips failed to return my despairing embrace; and in the terror which this brought me i went down in the gathering twilight into the deep valley where william 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 from time to time came to my ears from one sullen lip or another, did not rise into frightened imprecation or even into any assertion of sorrow or contrition. it seemed as if some suspense common to all held them speechless, if not dumbly apprehensive; and while the lawyer said nothing in recognition of this, he could not have been quite blind to it, for he bestowed one curious glance around the table before he proceeded with old anthony's words. those words had now become short, sharp, and accusatory. "'my child lived, and what remained to me of human passion and longing centred in his frail existence. i managed to earn enough for his eating and housing, and in time i was almost happy again. this was while our existence was a struggle; but when, with the discovery of latent powers in my own mind, i began to find my place in the world and to earn money, then your sudden interest in my boy taught me a new lesson in human selfishness, but not as yet new fears. my nature was not one to grasp ideas of evil, and the remembrance of that oath still remained to make me lenient toward you. "'i let him see you; not much, not often, but yet often enough for him to realise that he had uncles and cousins, or, if you like it better, kindred. and how did you repay this confidence on my part? what hand had ye in the removal of this small barrier to the fortune my own poor health warranted you in looking upon even in those early days as your own? to others' eyes it may appear none; to mine, ye are one and all his murderers as certainly as all of you were the murderers of the good physician hastening to his aid. for his illness was not a mortal one. he would have been saved if the doctor had reached him; but a precipice swallowed that good samaritan, and only i of all who looked upon the footprints which harrowed up the road at this dangerous point knew whose shoes would fit those marks. god's providence, it was called, and i let it pass for such; but it was a providence which cost me my boy and made _you_ my heirs.'" silence, as sullen in character as the men who found themselves thus openly impeached, had for some minutes now replaced the muttered complaints which had accompanied the first portion of this denunciatory letter. as the lawyer stopped to cast them another of those strange looks, a gleam from old luke's sidewise eyes startled the man next him, who, shrugging a shoulder, passed the underhanded look on, till it had circled the board and stopped with the man sitting opposite the crooked sinner who had started it. i began to have a wholesome dread of them all, and was astonished to see the lawyer drop his hand from the bottle, which to some degree offered itself as a possible weapon. but he knew his audience better than i did. though the bottle was now free for any man's taking, not a hand trembled toward it, nor was a single glass held out. the lawyer, with an evil smile, went on with his relentless client's story. "'ye had killed my wife; ye had killed my son; but this was not enough. being lonesome in my great house, which was as much too large for me as my fortune was, i had taken a child to replace the boy i had lost. remembering the cold blood running in the veins of those nearest me, i chose a boy from alien stock, and for a while knew contentment again. but as he developed and my affections strengthened, the possibility of all my money going his way roused my brothers and sisters from the complacency they had enjoyed since their road to fortune had been secured by my son's death, and one day--can you recall it, hudson? can you recall it, lemuel?--the boy was brought in from the mill, and laid at my feet dead! he had stumbled amongst the great belts, but whose was the voice which, with the loud "halloo!" had startled him? can you say, luke? can you say, john? i can say, in whose ear it was whispered that three, if not more of you were seen moving among the machinery that fatal morning. "'again god's providence was said to have visited my house; and again _ye_ were my heirs.'" "stop there!" broke in the harsh voice of luke, who was gradually growing livid under his long grey locks. "lies! lies!" shrieked hector, gathering courage from his brother. "cut it all and give us the drink!" snarled one of the younger men, who was less under the effect of liquor than the rest. but a trembling voice muttered "hush!" and the lawyer, whose eye had grown steely under these comments, took advantage of the sudden silence which had followed this last objurgation, and went steadily on: "'some men would have made a will and denounced you. i made a will, but did not denounce you. _i_ am no breaker of oaths. more than this, i learned a new trick. i, who hated all subtlety, and looked upon craft as the favourite weapon of the devil, learned to smile with my lips while my heart was burning with hatred. perhaps this was why you all began to smile, too, and joke me about certain losses i had sustained, by which you meant the gains which had come to me. that these gains were many times greater than you realised added to the sting of this good-fellowship, but i held my peace, and you began to have confidence in a good-nature which nothing could shake. you even gave me a supper.'" _a supper!_ what was there in these words to cause every man there to stop in whatever movement he was making, and stare with wide-open eyes intently at the reader? he had spoken quietly; he had not even looked up; but the silence which for some minutes back had begun to reign over that tumultuous gathering now became breathless, and the seams in hector's cheeks deepened to a bluish criss-cross. "'_you remember that supper?_'" as the word rang out again i threw wide the 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 william, 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 understand 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 which were to end this frightful scene. as i saw the red gleam of terror shine out from his small eyes, i wondered if he had been but the blind tool of his implacable client, and was as ignorant as those before him of what was to follow this heavy arraignment. the dread with which he finally proceeded was too marked for me to doubt the truth of this surmise. this is what he found himself forced to read: "'there was a bottle reserved for me. it had a green label on it----'" a shriek from every one there and a hurried look up and down at the bottles standing on the table. "'a green label,'" the lawyer repeated, "'and it made a goodly appearance as it was set down before me. but you had no liking for wine with a green label on the bottle. one by one you refused it, and when i rose to quaff my final glass alone, every eye before me fell and did not lift again until the glass was drained. i did not notice this then, but i see it all now, just as i hear again the excuses you gave for not filling your glasses as the bottle went round. one had drunk enough; one suffered from qualms brought on by an unaccustomed indulgence in oysters; one felt that wine good enough for me was too good for him, and so on, and so on. not one to show frank eyes and drink with me as i was ready to drink with him! why? because one and all of you knew what was in that cup, and would not risk an inheritance so nearly within your grasp.'" "lies! lies!" again shrieked the raucous voice of luke, smothered by terror; while oaths, shouts, imprecations, rang out in horrid tumult from one end of the table to the other, till the lawyer's face, over which a startling change was rapidly passing, drew the whole crowd forward again in awful fascination, till they clung, speechless, arm in arm, shoulder propping shoulder, while he gasped out in dismay equal to their own these last fatal words: "'that was at your board, my brothers; now you are at mine. you have eaten my viands, drunk of my cup; and now, through the mouth of the one man who has been true to me because therein lies his advantage, i offer you a final glass. will you drink it? i drank yours. by that old-time oath which binds us to share each other's fortune, i ask you to share this cup with me. _you will not?_'" "no, no, no!" shouted one after another. "'then,'" the inexorable voice went on, a voice which to these miserable souls was no longer that of the lawyer, but an issue from the grave they had themselves dug for anthony westonhaugh, "'know that your abstinence comes too late; that you have already drunk the toast destined to end your lives. the bottle which you must have missed from that board of yours has been offered you again. a label is easily changed, and--luke, john, hector, i know you all so well--that bottle has been greedily emptied by you; and while i, who sipped sparingly, lived three weeks, you, who have drunk deep, _have not three hours before you, possibly not three minutes_.'" oh, the wail of those lost souls as this last sentence 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 staring eyes, in whose glassy depths the ill-fated ones who watched her could see mirrored their own impending doom. it was an awful moment. a groan, in which was concentrated the despair of seven miserable souls, rose from that petrified band; then, man by man, they separated and fell back, showing on each weak or wicked face the particular passion which had driven them into crime and made them the victims of this wholesale revenge. there had been some sort of bond between them till the vision of death rose before each shrinking soul. shoulder to shoulder in crime, they fell apart as their doom approached, and rushing, shrieking, each man for himself, they one and all sought to escape by doors, windows, or any outlet which promised release from this fatal spot. one rushed by me--i do not know which one--and i felt as if a flame from hell had licked me, his breath was so hot and the moans he uttered so like the curses we imagine to blister the lips of the lost. none of them saw me; they did not even detect the sliding form of the lawyer crawling away before them to some place of egress of which they had no knowledge; and, convinced that in this scene of death i could play no part worthy of her who awaited me, i too rushed away, and, seeking my old path through the cellar, sought her side, where she still crouched in patient waiting against the dismal wall. 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 harshness 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! we are an accursed race! i have known it all my life. perhaps that was why i mistook passion for love. and my baby--o god, have mercy! god, have mercy!" the plaintiveness of that cry, the awesomeness of what i had seen--of what was going on at that moment almost within the reach of our arms--the darkness, the desolation of our two souls, affected me as i had never been affected in my whole life before. in the concentrated experience of the last two hours i seemed to have lived years under this woman's eyes; to know her as i did my own heart; to love her as i did my own soul. no growth of feeling ever brought the ecstasy of that moment's inspiration. with no sense of doing anything strange, with no fear of being misunderstood, i reached out my hand, and, touching hers where it lay clasped about her infant, i said: "we are two poor wayfarers. a rough road loses half its difficulties when trodden by two. shall we, then, fare on together--you, i, and the little child?" she gave a sob; there was sorrow, longing, grief, hope in its thrilling, low sound. as i recognised the latter emotion i drew her to my breast. the child did not separate us. "we shall be happy," i murmured, and her sigh seemed to answer a delicious "yes," when suddenly there came a shock to the partition against which we leaned, and, starting from my clasp, she cried: "our duty is in there. shall we think of ourselves, or even of each other, while these men, all relatives of mine, are dying on the other side of this wall?" seizing my hand, she dragged me to the trap; but here i took the lead and helped her down the ladder. when i had her safely on the floor at the foot she passed in front of me again; but once up the steps and in front of the kitchen door i thrust her behind me, for one glance into the room beyond had convinced me it was no place for her. but she would not be held back. she crowded forward beside me, and together we looked upon the wreck within. it was a never-to-be-forgotten scene. the demon that was in those men had driven them to demolish furniture, dishes, everything. in one heap lay what, an hour before, had been an inviting board surrounded by rollicking and greedy guests. but it was not upon this overthrow we stopped to look. it was upon something that mingled with it, dominated it, and made of this chaos only a setting to awful death. janet's face, in all its natural hideousness and depravity, looked up from the floor beside this heap; and farther on, lay the twisted figure of him they called hector, with something more than the seams of greedy longing round his wide-staring eyes and icy temples. two in this room! and on the threshold of the one beyond a moaning third, who sank into eternal silence as we approached; and before the fireplace in the great room a horrible crescent that had once been aged luke, upon whom we had no sooner turned our backs than we caught glimpses here and there of other prostrate forms which moved once under our eyes and then moved no more. one only still stood upright, and he was the man whose obtrusive figure and sordid expression had so revolted me in the beginning. there was no colour now in his flabby and heavily fallen cheeks. the eyes, in whose false sheen i had seen so much of evil, were glazed now, and his big and burly frame shook the door it pressed against. he was staring at a small slip of paper he held, and, from his anxious looks, appeared to miss something which neither of us had power to supply. it was a spectacle to make devils rejoice and mortals fly aghast. but eunice had a spirit like an angel, and, drawing near him, she said: "is there anything i can do for you, cousin john?" he started, looked at her with the same blank gaze he had hitherto cast at the wall, then some words formed on his working lips, and we heard: "i cannot reckon; i was never good at figures. but if luke is gone, and william, and hector, and barbara's boy, and janet, _how much does that leave for me_?" he was answered almost the moment he spoke, but it was by other tongues, and in another world than this. as his body fell forward i tore open the door before which he had been standing, and, lifting the almost fainting eunice in my arms, i carried her out into the night. as i did so i caught a final glimpse of the pictured face i had found it so hard to understand a couple of hours before. i understood it now. a surprise awaited us as we turned toward the gate. the mist had lifted, and a keen but not unpleasant wind was driving from the north. borne on it we heard voices. the village had emptied itself, probably at the alarm given by the lawyer, and it was these good men and women whose approach we heard. as we had nothing to fear from them we went forward to meet them. as we did so three crouching figures rose from some bushes we passed and ran scurrying before us through the gateway. they were the late-comers who had shown such despair at being shut out from this fatal house, and who probably were not yet acquainted with the doom they had escaped. * * * * * there were lanterns in the hands of some of the men who now approached. as we stopped before them these lanterns were held up, and by the light they gave we saw, first, the lawyer's frightened face, then the visages of two men who seemed to be persons of some authority. "what news?" faltered the lawyer, seeing by our faces that we knew the worst. "bad," i returned; "the poison had lost none of its virulence by being mixed so long with the wine." "how many?" asked the man on his right anxiously. "eight," was my solemn reply. "there were but eight," faltered the lawyer; "that means, then, all?" "all," i repeated. a murmur of horror rose, swelled, then died out in tumult as the crowd swept on past us. for a moment we stood watching these people; saw them pause before the door we had left open behind us, then rush in, leaving a wail of terror on the shuddering midnight air. when all was quiet again, eunice laid her hand upon my arm. "where shall we go?" she asked despairingly. "i do not know of a house that will open to me." the answer to her question came from other lips than mine. "i do not know one that will _not_," spoke up a voice behind our backs. "your withdrawal from the circle of heirs did not take from you your rightful claim to an inheritance which, according to your uncle's will, could be forfeited only by a failure to arrive at the place of distribution within the hour set by the testator. as i see the matter now, this appeal to the honesty of the persons so collected was a test by which my unhappy client strove to save from the general fate such members of his miserable family as fully recognised their sin and were truly repentant." it was lawyer smead. he had lingered behind the others to tell her this. she was, then, no outcast, but rich, very rich; how rich i dared not acknowledge to myself, lest a remembrance of the man who was the last to perish in that house of death should return to make this calculation hateful. it was a blow which struck deep--deeper than any either of us had sustained that night. as we came to realise it, i stepped slowly back, leaving her standing erect and tall in the middle of the roadway, with her baby in her arms. but not for long; soon she was close at my side murmuring softly: "two wayfarers still! only, the road will be more difficult and the need of companionship greater. shall we fare on together, you, i--and the little child?" the old stone house and other stories by anna katharine green short story index reprint series books for libraries press freeport, new york first published contents. the old stone house a memorable night the black cross a mysterious case shall he wed her? the old stone house. i was riding along one autumn day through a certain wooded portion of new york state, when i came suddenly upon an old stone house in which the marks of age were in such startling contrast to its unfinished condition that i involuntarily stopped my horse and took a long survey of the lonesome structure. embowered in a forest which had so grown in thickness and height since the erection of this building that the boughs of some of the tallest trees almost met across its decayed roof, it presented even at first view an appearance of picturesque solitude almost approaching to desolation. but when my eye had time to note that the moss was clinging to eaves from under which the scaffolding had never been taken, and that of the ten large windows in the blackened front of the house only two had ever been furnished with frames, the awe of some tragic mystery began to creep over me, and i sat and wondered at the sight till my increasing interest compelled me to alight and take a nearer view of the place. the great front door which had been finished so many years ago, but which had never been hung, leaned against the side of the house, of which it had almost become a part, so long had they clung together amid the drippings of innumerable rains. close beside it yawned the entrance, a large black gap through which nearly a century of storms had rushed with their winds and wet till the lintels were green with moisture and slippery with rot. standing on this untrod threshold, i instinctively glanced up at the scaffolding above me, and started as i noticed that it had partially fallen away, as if time were weakening its supports and making the precipitation of the whole a threatening possibility. alarmed lest it might fall while i stood there, i did not linger long beneath it, but, with a shudder which i afterwards remembered, stepped into the house and proceeded to inspect its rotting, naked, and unfinished walls. i found them all in the one condition. a fine house had once been planned and nearly completed, but it had been abandoned before the hearths had been tiled, or the wainscoting nailed to its place. the staircase which ran up through the centre of the house was without banisters but otherwise finished and in a state of fair preservation. seeing this and not being able to resist the temptation which it offered me of inspecting the rest of the house, i ascended to the second story. here the doors were hung and the fireplaces bricked, and as i wandered from room to room i wondered more than ever what had caused the desertion of so promising a dwelling. if, as appeared, the first owner had died suddenly, why could not an heir have been found, and what could be the story of a place so abandoned and left to destruction that its walls gave no token of ever having offered shelter to a human being? as i could not answer this question i allowed my imagination full play, and was just forming some weird explanation of the facts before me when i felt my arm suddenly seized from behind, and paused aghast. was i then not alone in the deserted building? was there some solitary being who laid claim to its desolation and betrayed jealousy at any intrusion within its mysterious precincts? or was the dismal place haunted by some uneasy spirit, who with long, uncanny fingers stood ready to clutch the man who presumed to bring living hopes and fears into a spot dedicated entirely to memories? i had scarcely the courage to ask, but when i turned and saw what it was that had alarmed me, i did not know whether to laugh at my fears or feel increased awe of my surroundings. for it was the twigs of a tree which had seized me, and for a long limb such as this to have grown into a place intended for the abode of man, necessitated a lapse of time and a depth of solitude oppressive to think of. anxious to be rid of suggestions wellnigh bordering upon the superstitious, i took one peep from the front windows, and then descended to the first floor. the sight of my horse quietly dozing in the summer sunlight had reassured me, and by the time i had recrossed the dismal threshold, and regained the cheerful highway, i was conscious of no emotions deeper than the intense interest of a curious mind to solve the mystery and understand the secret of this remarkable house. rousing my horse from his comfortable nap, i rode on through the forest; but scarcely had i gone a dozen rods before the road took a turn, the trees suddenly parted, and i found myself face to face with wide rolling meadows and a busy village. so, then, this ancient and deserted house was not in the heart of the woods, as i had imagined, but in the outskirts of a town, and face to face with life and activity. this discovery was a shock to my romance, but as it gave my curiosity an immediate hope of satisfaction, i soon became reconciled to the situation, and taking the road which led to the village, drew up before the inn and went in, ostensibly for refreshment. this being speedily provided, i sat down in the cosy dining-room, and as soon as opportunity offered, asked the attentive landlady why the old house in the woods had remained so long deserted. she gave me an odd look, and then glanced aside at an old man who sat doubled up in the opposite corner. "it is a long story," said she, "and i am busy now; but later, if you wish to hear it, i will tell you all we know on the subject. after father is gone out," she whispered. "it always excites him to hear any talk about that old place." i saw that it did. i had no sooner mentioned the house than his white head lifted itself with something like spirit, and his form, which had seemed a moment before so bent and aged, straightened with an interest that made him look almost hale again. "i will tell you," he broke in; "i am not busy. i was ninety last birthday, and i forget sometimes my grandchildren's names, but i never forget what took place in that old house one night fifty years ago--never, never." "i know, i know," hastily interposed his daughter, "you remember beautifully; but this gentleman wishes to eat his dinner now, and must not have his appetite interfered with. you will wait, will you not, sir, till i have a little more leisure?" what could i answer but yes, and what could the poor old man do but shrink back into his corner, disappointed and abashed. yet i was not satisfied, nor was he, as i could see by the appealing glances he gave me now and then from under the fallen masses of his long white hair. but the landlady was complaisant and moved about the table and in and out of the room with a bustling air that left us but little opportunity for conversation. at length she was absent somewhat longer than usual, whereupon the old man, suddenly lifting his head, cried out: "_she_ cannot tell the story. she has no feeling for it; she wasn't _there_." "and you were," i ventured. "yes, yes, i was there, always there; and i see it all now," he murmured. "fifty years ago, and i see it all as if it were happening at this moment before my eyes. but she will not let me talk about it," he complained, as the sound of her footsteps was heard again on the kitchen boards. "though it makes me young again, she always stops me just as if i were a child. but she cannot help my showing you--" here her steps became audible in the hall, and his words died away on his lips. by the time she had entered, he was seated with his head half turned aside, and his form bent over as if he were in spirit a thousand miles from the spot. amused at his cunning, and interested in spite of myself at the childish eagerness he displayed to tell his tale, i waited with a secret impatience almost as great as his own perhaps, for her to leave the room again, and thus give him the opportunity of finishing his sentence. at last there came an imperative call for her presence without, and she hurried away. she was no sooner gone than the old man exclaimed: "i have it all written down. i wrote it years and years ago, at the very time it happened. she cannot keep me from showing you that; no, no, she cannot keep me from showing you that." and rising to his feet with a difficulty that for the first time revealed to me the full extent of his infirmity, he hobbled slowly across the floor to the open door, through which he passed with many cunning winks and nods. "it grows quite exciting," thought i, and half feared his daughter would not allow him to return. but either she was too much engrossed to heed him, or had been too much deceived by his seeming indifference when she last entered the room, to suspect the errand which had taken him out of it. for sooner than i had expected, and quite some few minutes before she came back herself, he shuffled in again, carrying under his coat a roll of yellow paper, which he thrust into my hand with a gratified leer, saying: "there it is. i was a gay young lad in those days, and could go and come with the best. read it, sir, read it; and if maria says anything against it, tell her it was written long before she was born and when i was as pert as she is now, and a good deal more observing." chuckling with satisfaction, he turned away, and had barely disappeared in the hall when she came in and saw me with the roll in my hand. "well! i declare!" she exclaimed; "and has he been bringing you that? what ever shall i do with him and his everlasting manuscript? you will pardon him, sir; he is ninety and upwards, and thinks everybody is as interested in the story of that old house as he is himself." "and i, for one, am," was my hasty reply. "if the writing is at all legible, i am anxious to read it. you won't object, will you?" "oh, no," was her good-humored rejoinder. "i won't object; i only hate to have father's mind roused on this subject, because he is sure to be sick after it. but now that you have the story, read it; whether you will think as he did, on a certain point, is another question. i don't; but then father always said i would never believe ill of anybody." her smile certainly bore out her words, it was so good-tempered and confiding; and pleased with her manner in spite of myself, i accepted her invitation to make use of her own little parlor, and sat down in the glow of a brilliant autumn afternoon to read this old-time history. * * * * * will juliet be at home to-day? she must know that i am coming. when i met her this morning, tripping back from the farm, i gave her a look which, if she cares anything about me, must have told her that i would be among the lads who would be sure to pay her their respects at early candle-light. for i cannot resist her saucy pout and dancing dimples any longer. though i am barely twenty, i am a man, and one who is quite forehanded and able to take unto himself a wife. ralph urphistone has both wife and babe, and he was only twenty-one last august. why, then, should i not go courting, when the prettiest maid that has graced the town for many a year holds out the guerdon of her smiles to all who will vie for them? to be sure, the fact that she has more than one wooer already may be considered detrimental to my success. but love is fed by rivalry, and if colonel schuyler does not pay her his addresses, i think my chances may be considered as good as any one's. for am i not the tallest and most straightly built man in town, and have i not a little cottage all my own, with the neatest of gardens behind it, and an apple-tree in front whose blossoms hang ready to shower themselves like rain upon the head of her who will enter there as a bride? it is not yet dark, but i will forestall the sunset by a half hour and begin my visit now. if i am first at her gate, lemuel phillips may look less arrogant when he comes to ask her company to the next singing school. * * * * * i was not first at her gate; two others were there before me. ah, she is prettier than ever i supposed, and chirper than the sparrow which builds every year a nest in my old apple-tree. when she saw me come up the walk, her cheeks turned pink, but i do not know if it was from pleasure or annoyance, for she gave nothing but vexing replies to every compliment i paid her. but then lemuel phillips fared no better; and she was so bitter-sweet to orrin day that he left in a huff and vowed he would never step across her threshold again. i thought she was a trifle more serious after he had gone, but when a woman's eyes are as bright as hers, and the frowns and smiles with which she disports herself chase each other so rapidly over a face both mischievous and charming, a man's judgment goes astray, and he scarcely knows reality from seeming. but true or false, she is pretty as a harebell and bright as glinting sunshine; and i mean to marry her, if only colonel schuyler will hold himself aloof. colonel schuyler may hold himself aloof, but he is a man like the rest of us for all that. yesterday as i was sauntering in the churchyard waiting for the appearance of a certain white-robed figure crowned by the demurest of little hats, i caught a glimpse of his face as he leaned on one of the tombstones near patience goodyear's grave, and i saw that he was waiting also for the same white figure and the same demure hat. this gave me a shock; for though i had never really dared to hope he would remain unmoved by a loveliness so rare in our village, and indeed, as i take it, in any village, i did not think he would show so much impatience, or await her appearance with such burning and uncontrollable ardor. indeed i was so affected by his look that i forgot to watch any longer for her coming, but kept my gaze fixed on his countenance, till i saw by the change which rapidly took place in it that she had stepped out of the great church door and was now standing before us, making the sunshine more brilliant by her smiles, and the spring the sweeter for her presence. then i came to myself and rushed forward with the rest of the lads. did he follow behind us? i do not think so, for the rosy lips which had smiled upon us with so airy a welcome soon showed a discontented curve not to be belied by the merry words that issued from them, and when we would have escorted her across the fields to her father's house, she made a mocking curtsy, and wandered away with the ugliest old crone who mouths and mumbles in the meeting-house. did she do this to mock us or him? if to mock him he had best take care, for beauty scorned is apt to grow dangerous. but perhaps it was to mock us? well, well, there would be nothing new in that; she is ever mocking us. * * * * * they say the colonel passes her gate a dozen times a day, but never goes in and never looks up. is he indifferent then? i cannot think so. perhaps he fears her caprices and disapproves of her coquetry. if that is so, she shall be my wife before he wakens to the knowledge that her coquetry hides a passionate and loving heart. colonel schuyler is a dark man. he has eyes which pierce you, and a smile which, if it could be understood, might perhaps be less fascinating than it is. if she has noticed his watching her, the little heart that flutters in her breast must have beaten faster by many a throb. for he is the one great man within twenty miles, and so handsome and above us all that i do not know of a woman but juliet whose voice does not sink a tone lower whenever she speaks of him. but he is a proud man, and seems to take no notice of any one. indeed he scarcely appears to live in our world. will he come down from his high estate at the beck of this village beauty? many say not, but i say yes; with those eyes of his he cannot help it. * * * * * juliet is more capricious than ever. lemuel phillips for one is tired of it, and imitating orrin day, bade her a good-even to-night which i am sure he does not intend to follow with a blithe good-morrow. i might do the same if her pleading eyes would let me. but she seems to cling to me even when she is most provokingly saucy; and though i cannot see any love in her manner, there is something in it very different from hate; and this it is which holds me. can a woman be too pretty for her own happiness, and are many lovers a weariness to the heart? * * * * * juliet is positively unhappy. to-day when she laughed the gayest it was to hide her tears, and no one, not even a thoroughly spoiled beauty, could be as wayward as she if there were not some bitter arrow rankling in her heart. she was riding down the street on a pillion behind her father, and colonel schuyler, who had been leaning on the gate in front of his house, turned his back upon her and went inside when he saw her coming. was this what made her so white and reckless when she came up to where i was standing with orrin day, and was it her chagrin at the great man's apparent indifference which gave that sharp edge to the good-morning with which she rode haughtily away? if it was i can forgive you, my lady-bird, for there is reason for your folly if i am any judge of my fellow-men. colonel schuyler is not indifferent but circumspect, and circumspection in a lover is an insult to his lady's charms. * * * * * she knows now what i knew a week ago. colonel schuyler is in love with her and will marry her if she does not play the coquette with him. he has been to her house and her father already holds his head higher as he paces up and down the street. i am left in the lurch, and if i had not foreseen this end to my hopes, might have been a very miserable man to-night. for i was near obtaining the object of my heart, as i know from her own lips, though the words were not intended for my ears. you see i was the one who surprised him talking with her in the garden. i had been walking around the place on the outer side of the wall as i often did from pure love for her, and not knowing she was on the other side was very much startled when i heard her voice speaking my name; so much startled that i stood still in my astonishment and thus heard her say: "philo adams has a little cottage all his own and i can be mistress of it any day,--or so he tells me. i had rather go into that little cottage where every board i trod on would be my own, than live in the grandest room you could give me in a house of which i would not be the mistress." "but if i make a home for you," he pleaded, "grand as my father's, but built entirely for you--" "ah!" was her soft reply, "that might make me listen to you, for i should then think you loved me." the wall was between us, but i could see her face as she said this as plainly as if i had been the fortunate man at her side. and i could see his face too, though it was only in fancy i had ever beheld it soften as i knew it must be softening now. silence such as followed her words is eloquent, and i feared my own passions too much to linger till it should be again broken by vows i had not the courage to hear. so i crept away conscious of but one thing, which was that my dream was ended, and that my brave apple-tree would never shower its bridal blossoms upon the head i love, for whatever threshold she crosses as mistress it will not now be that of the little cottage every board of which might have been her own. * * * * * if i had doubted the result of the colonel's offer to juliet, the news which came to me this morning would have convinced me that all was well with them and that their marriage was simply a matter of time. ground has been broken in the pleasant opening on the verge of the forest, and carts and men hired to bring stone for the fine new dwelling colonel schuyler proposes to rear for himself. the whole town is agog, but i keep the secret i surprised, and only juliet knows that i am no longer deceived as to her feelings, for i did not go to see her to-night for the first time since i made up mind that i would have her for my wife. i am glad i restrained myself, for orrin day, who had kept his word valiantly up to this very day, came riding by my house furiously a half hour ago, and seeing me, called out: "why didn't you tell me she had a new adorer? i went there to-night and colonel schuyler sat at her side as you and i never sat yet, and--and--" he stammered frantically, "_i did not kill him._" "you--come back!" i shouted, for he was flying by like the wind. but he did not heed me nor stop, but vanished in the thick darkness, while the lessening sound of his horse's hoofs rang dismally back from the growing distance. so this man has loved her passionately too, and the house which is destined to rise in the woods will throw a shadow over more than one hearthstone in this quiet village. i declare i am sorry that orrin has taken it so much to heart, for he has a proud and determined spirit, and will not forget his wrongs as soon as it would be wise for him to do. poor, poor juliet, are you making enemies against your bridal day? if so, it behooves me at least to remain your friend. * * * * * i saw orrin again to-day, and he looks like one haunted. he was riding as usual, and his cloak flew out behind him as he sped down the street and away into the woods. i wonder if she too saw him, from behind her lattice. i thought i detected the curtain move as he thundered by her gate, but i am so filled with thoughts of her just now that i cannot always trust my judgment. i am, however, sure of one thing, and that is that if colonel schuyler and orrin meet, there will be trouble. * * * * * i never thought orrin handsome till to-day. he is fair, and i like dark men; and he is small, and i admire men of stature. but when i came upon him this morning, talking and laughing among a group of lads like ourselves, i could not but see that his blue eye shone with a fire that made it as brilliant as any dark one could be, and that in his manner, verging as it did upon the reckless, there was a spirit and force which made him look both dangerous and fascinating. he was haranguing them on a question of the day, but when he saw me he stepped out of the crowd, and, beckoning me to follow him, led the way to a retired spot, where, the instant we were free from watching eyes, he turned and said: "you liked her too, philo adams. i should have been willing if you--" here he choked and paused. i had never seen a face so full of fiery emotions. "no, no, no," he went on, after a moment of silent struggle; "i could not have borne it to see any man take away what was so precious to me. i--i--i did not know i cared for her so much," he now explained, observing my look of surprise. "she teased me and put me off, and coquetted with you and lemuel and whoever else happened to be at her side till i grew beside myself and left her, as i thought, forever. but there are women you can leave and women you cannot, and when i found she teased and fretted me more at a distance than when she was under my very eye, i went back only to find--philo, do you think he will marry her?" i choked down my own emotions and solemnly answered: "yes, he is building her a home. you must have seen the stones that are being piled up yonder on the verge of the forest." he turned, glared at me, made a peculiar sound with his lips, and then stood silent, opening and closing his hands in a way that made my blood run chill in spite of myself. "a house!" he murmured, at last; "i wish i had the building of that house!" the tone, the look he gave, alarmed me still further. "you would build it well!" i cried. it was his trade, the building of houses. "i would build it slowly," was his ominous answer. * * * * * juliet certainly likes me, and trusts me, i think, more than any other of the young men who used to go a-courting her. i have seen it for some time in the looks she has now and then given me across the meeting-house during the long sermon on sunday mornings, but to-day i am sure of it. for she has spoken to me, and asked me--but let me tell you how it was: we were all standing under ralph urphistone's big tree, looking at his little one toddling over the grass after a ball one of the lads had thrown after her, when i felt the slightest touch on my arm, and, glancing round, saw juliet. she was standing beside her father, and if ever she looked pretty it was just then, for the day was warm and she had taken off her great hat so that the curls flew freely around her face that was dimpled and flushed with some feeling which did not allow her to lift her eyes. had she touched me? i thought so, and yet i did not dare to take it for granted, for colonel schuyler was standing on the edge of the crowd, frowning in some displeasure at the bare head of his provoking little betrothed, and when colonel schuyler frowns there is no man of us but orrin who would dare approach the object of his preference, much less address her, except in the coldest courtesy. but i was sure she had something to say to me, so i lingered under the tree till the crowd had all dispersed and colonel schuyler, drawn away by her father, had left us for a moment face to face. then i saw i was right. "philo," she murmured, and oh, how her face changed! "you are my friend, i know you are my friend, because you alone out of them all have never given me sharp words; will you, will you do something for me which will make me less miserable, something which may prevent wrong and trouble, and keep orrin--" orrin? did she call him orrin? "oh," she cried, "you have no sympathy. you--" "hush!" i entreated. "you have not treated me well, but i am always your friend. what do you want me to do?" she trembled, glanced around her in the pleasant sunshine, and then up into my face. "i want you," she murmured, "to keep orrin and colonel schuyler apart. you are orrin's friend; stay with him, keep by him, do not let him run alone upon his enemy, for--for there is danger in their meeting--and--and--" she could not say more, for just then her father and the colonel came back, and she had barely time to call up her dimples and toss her head in merry banter before they were at her side. as for myself, i stood dazed and confused, feeling that my six feet made me too conspicuous, and longing in a vague and futile way to let her know without words that i would do what she asked. and i think i did accomplish it, though i said nothing to her and but little to her companions. for when we parted i took the street which leads directly to orrin's house; and when colonel schuyler queried in his soft and gentlemanlike way why i left them so soon, i managed to reply: "my road lies here"; and so left them. * * * * * i have not told orrin what she said, but i am rarely away from his vicinity now, during those hours when he is free to come and go about the village. i think he wonders at my persistent friendship, sometimes, but he says nothing, and is not even disagreeable to--_me_. so i share his pleasures, if they are pleasures, expecting every day to see him run across the colonel in the tavern or on the green; but he never does, perhaps because the colonel is always with her now, and we are not nor are ever likely to be again. do i understand her, or do i understand orrin, or do i even understand myself? no, but i understand my duty, and that is enough, though it is sometimes hard to do it, and i would rather be where i could forget, instead of being where i am forced continually to remember. * * * * * am i always with orrin when he is not at work or asleep? i begin to doubt it. there are times when there is such a change in him that i feel sure he has been near her, or at least seen her, but where or how, i do not know and cannot even suspect. he never speaks of her, not now, but he watches the house slowly rising in the forest, as if he would lay a spell upon it. not that he visits it by daylight, or mingles with the men who are busy laying stone upon stone; no, no, he goes to it at night, goes when the moon and stars alone shed light upon its growing proportions; and standing before it, seems to count each stone which has been added through the day, as if he were reckoning up the months yet remaining to him of life and happiness. i never speak to him during these expeditions. i go with him because he does not forbid me to do so, but we never exchange a word till we have left the forest behind us and stand again within the village streets. if i did speak i might learn something of what is going on in his bitter and burning heart, but i never have the courage to do so, perhaps because i had rather not know what he plans or purposes. she is not as daintily rounded as she was once. her cheek is thinner, and there is a tremulous move to her lip i never saw in it in the old coquettish days. is she not happy in her betrothal, or are her fears of orrin greater than her confidence in me? it must be the latter, for colonel schuyler is a lover in a thousand, and scarcely a day passes without some new evidence of his passionate devotion. she ought to be happy, if she is not, and i am sure there is not another woman in town but would feel herself the most favored of her sex if she had the half of juliet's prospects before her. but juliet was ever wayward; and simply because she ought to increase in beauty and joy, she pales and pines and gets delicate, and makes the hearts of her lovers grow mad with fear and longing. * * * * * where have i been? what have i seen, and what do the events of this night portend? as orrin and myself were returning from our usual visit to the house in the woods--it is well up now, and its huge empty square looms weirdly enough in the moonlighted forest,--we came out upon the churchyard in front of the meeting-house, and orrin said: "you may come with me or not, i do not care; but i am going in amongst these graves. i feel like holding companionship with dead people to-night." "then so do i," said i, for i was not deceived by his words. it was not to hold companionship with the dead, but with the living, that he chose to linger there. the churchyard is in a direct line with her house, and, sitting on the meeting-house steps one can get a very good view of the windows of her room. "very well," he sighed, and disdained to say more. as for myself, i felt too keenly the weirdness of the whole situation to do more than lean my back against a tree and wait till his fancy wearied of the moonlight and silence. the stones about us, glooming darkly through the night, were not the most cheerful of companions, and when you add to this the soughing of the willows and the flickering shadows which rose and fell over the face of the meeting-house as the branches moved in the wind, you can understand why i rather regretted the hitherto gloomy enough hour we were accustomed to spend in the forest. but orrin seemed to regret nothing. he had seated himself where i knew he would, on the steps of the meeting-house, and was gazing, with chin sunk in his two hands, down the street where juliet dwelt. i do not think he expected anything to happen; i think he was only reckless and sick with a longing he had not the power to repress, and i watched him as long as i could for my own inner sickness and longing, and when i could watch no longer i turned to the gnomish gravestones that were no more motionless or silent than he. suddenly i felt myself shiver and start, and, turning, beheld him standing erect, a black shadow against the moonlighted wall behind him. he was still gazing down the street but no longer in apathetic despair, but with quivering emotion visible in every line of his trembling form. reaching his side, i looked where he looked, and saw juliet--it must have been juliet to arouse him so,--standing with some companion at the gate in the wall that opens upon the street. the next moment she and the person with her stepped into the street, and, almost before we realized it, they began to move towards us, as if drawn by some power in orrin or myself, straight, straight to this abode of death and cold moonbeams. it was not late, but the streets were otherwise deserted, and we four seemed to be alone in the whole world. breathing with orrin and almost clasping his hand in my oneness with him, i watched and watched the gliding approach of the two lovers, and knew not whether to be startled or satisfied when i saw them cross to the churchyard and enter where we had entered ourselves so short a time before. for us all to meet, and meet here, seemed suddenly strangely natural, and i hardly knew what orrin meant when he grasped me forcibly by the arm and drew me aside into the darkest of the dark shadows which lay in the churchyard's farthest corner. not till i perceived juliet and the colonel halt in the moonlight did i realize that we were nothing to them, and that it was not our influence but some purpose or passion of their own which had led them to this gruesome spot. the place where they had chosen to pause was at the grave of old patience goodyear, and from the corner where we stood we could see their faces plainly as they turned and looked at each other with the moonbeams pouring over them. was it fancy that made her look like a wraith, and he like some handsome demon given to haunting churchyards? or was it only the sternness of his air, and the shrinking timidity of hers, which made him look so dark and she so pallid. orrin, who stood so close to me that i could hear his heart beat as loudly as my own, had evidently asked himself the same question, for his hand closed spasmodically on mine, as the colonel opened his lips, and neither of us dared so much as to breathe lest we should lose what the lovers had to say. but the colonel spoke clearly, if low, and neither of us could fail to hear him as he said: "i have brought you here, juliet mine, because i want to hear you swear amongst the graves that you will be no man's wife but mine." "but have i not already promised?" she protested, with a gentle uplift of her head inexpressibly touching in one who had once queened it over hearts so merrily. "yes, you have promised, but i am not satisfied. i want you to swear. i want to feel that you are as much mine as if we had stood at the altar together. otherwise how can i go away? how can i leave you, knowing there are three men at least in this town who would marry you at a day's notice, if you gave them full leave. i love you, and i would marry you to-night, but you want a home of your own. swear that you will be my wife when that home is ready, and i will go away happy. otherwise i shall have to stay with you, juliet, for you are more to me than renown, or advancement, or anything else in all god's world." "i do not like the graves; i do not want to stay here, it is so late, so dark," she moaned. "then swear! lay your hand on mother patience's tombstone, and say, 'i will be your wife, richard schuyler, when the house is finished which you are building in the woods'; and i will carry you back in my arms as i carry you always in my heart." but though orrin clinched my arm in apprehension of her answer, and we stood like two listening statues, no words issued from her lips, and the silence grew appalling. "swear!" seemed to come from the tombs; but whether it was my emotion that made it seem so, or whether it was orrin who threw his voice there, i did not know then and i do not know now. but that the word did not come from the colonel was evident from the startled look he cast about him and from the thrill which all at once passed over her form from her shrouded head to her hidden feet. "do the heavens bid me?" she murmured, and laid her hand without hesitation on the stone before her, saying, "i swear by the dead that surround us to be your wife, richard schuyler, when the house you are building for me in the woods is completed." and so pleased was he at the readiness with which she spoke that he seemed to forget what had caused it, and caught her in his arms as if she had been a child, and so bore her away from before our eyes, while the man at my side fought and struggled with himself to keep down the wrath and jealousy which such a sight as this might well provoke in one even less passionate and intemperate than himself. when the one shadow which they now made had dissolved again into two, and only orrin and myself were left in that ghostly churchyard, i declared with a courage i had never before shown: "so that is settled, orrin. she will marry the colonel, and you and i are wasting time in these gloomy walks." to which, to my astonishment, he made this simple reply, "yes, we are wasting time"; and straightway turned and left the churchyard with a quick step that seemed to tell of some new and fixed resolve. * * * * * colonel schuyler has been gone a week, and to-night i summoned up courage to call on juliet's father. i had no longer any right to call upon _her_; but who shall say i may not call on him if he chooses to welcome me and lose his time on my account. the reason for my going is not far to seek. orrin has been there, and orrin cannot be trusted in her presence alone. though he seems to have accepted his fate, he is restless, and keeps his eye on the ground in a brooding way i do not comprehend and do not altogether like. why should he think so much, and why should he go to her house when he knows the sight of her is inflaming to his heart and death to his self-control? juliet's father is a simple, proud old man who makes no attempt to hide his satisfaction at his daughter's brilliant prospects. he talked mainly of _the house_, and if he honored orrin with half as much of his confidence on that subject as he did me, then orrin must know many particulars about its structure of which the public are generally ignorant. juliet was not to be seen--that is, during the first part of the evening, but towards its close she came into the room and showed me that same confiding courtesy which i have noticed in her ever since i ceased to be an aspirant for her hand. she was not so pale as on that weird night when i saw her in the churchyard, and i thought her step had a light spring in it which spoke of hope. she wore a gown which was coquettishly simple, and the fresh flower clinging to her bosom breathed a fragrance that might have intoxicated a man less determined to be her friend. her father saw us meet without any evident anxiety; and if he was as complacent to orrin when he was here, then orrin had a chance to touch her hand. but was he as complacent to orrin? that i could not find out. i am only sure that i will be made welcome there again _if_ i confine my visits to the father and do not seek anything more from juliet than that simple touch of her hand. * * * * * orrin has not repeated his visit, but i have repeated mine. why? because i am uneasy. colonel schuyler's house does not progress, and whether there is any connection between this fact and that of orrin's sudden interest in the sawmills and quarries about here, i cannot tell, but doubts of his loyalty will rise through all my friendship for him, and i cannot keep away from juliet any longer. does juliet care for colonel schuyler? i have sometimes thought no, and i have oftener thought yes. at all events she trembles when she speaks of him, and shows emotion of no slight order when a letter of his is suddenly put in her hand. i wish i could read her pretty, changeful face more readily. it would be a comfort for me to know that she saw her own way clearly, and was not disturbed by orrin's comings and goings. for orrin is not a safe man, i fear, and a faith once pledged to colonel schuyler should be kept. i do not think juliet understands just how great a man colonel schuyler promises to be. when her father told me to-night that his daughter's betrothed had been charged with some very important business for the government, her pretty lip pouted like a child's. yet she flushed, and for a minute looked pleased when i said, "that is a road which leads to washington. we shall hear of you yet as being presented at the white house." i think her father anticipates the same. for he told me a few minutes later that he had sent for tutors to teach his daughter music and the languages. and i noticed that at this she pouted again, and indeed bore herself in a way which promised less for her future learning than for that influence which breathes from gleaming eyes and witching smiles. ah, i fear she is a frivolous fairy, but how pretty she is, and how dangerously captivating to a man who has once allowed himself to study her changes of feeling and countenance. when i came away i felt that i had gained nothing, and lost--what? some of the complacency of spirit which i had acquired after much struggle and stern determination. * * * * * colonel schuyler has not yet returned, and now orrin has gone away. indeed, no one knows where to find him nowadays, for he is here and there on his great white horse, riding off one day and coming back the next, ever busy, and, strange to say, always cheerful. he is making money, i hear, buying up timber and then selling it to builders, but he does not sell to one builder, whose house seems to suffer in consequence. where is the colonel, and why does he not come home and look after his own? i have learned her secret at last, and in a strange enough way. i was waiting for her father in his own little room, and as he did not come as soon as i anticipated, i let my secret despondency have its way for a moment, and sat leaning forward, with my head buried in my hands. my face was to the fire and my back to the door, and for some reason i did not hear it open, and was only aware of the presence of another person in the room by the sound of a little gasp behind me, which was choked back as soon as it was uttered. feeling that this could come from no one but juliet, i for some reason hard to fathom sat still, and the next moment became conscious of a touch soft as a rose-leaf settle on my hair, and springing up, caught the hand which had given it, and holding it firmly in mine, gave her one look which made her chin fall slowly on her breast and her eyes seek the ground in the wildest distress and confusion. "juliet--" i began. but she broke in with a passion too impetuous to be restrained: "do not--do not think i knew or realized what i was doing. it was because your head looked so much like his as you sat leaning forward in the firelight that i--i allowed myself one little touch just for the heart's ease it must bring. i--i am so lonesome, philo, and--and--" i dropped her hand. i understood the whole secret now. my hair is blonde like orrin's, and her feelings stood confessed, never more to be mistaken by me. "you love orrin!" i gasped; "you who are pledged to colonel schuyler!" "i love orrin," she whispered, "and i am pledged to colonel schuyler. but you will never betray me," she said. "i betray you?" i cried, and if some of the bitterness of my own disappointed hopes crept into my tones, she did not seem to note it, for she came quite close to my side and looked up into my face in a way that almost made me forget her perfidy and her folly. "juliet," i went on, for i felt never more strongly than at this moment that i should act a brother's part towards her, "i could never find it in my heart to betray you, but are you sure that you are doing wisely to betray the colonel for a man no better than orrin. i--i know you do not want to hear me say this, for if you care for him you must think him good and noble, but juliet, i know him and i know the colonel, and he is no more to be compared with the man you are betrothed to than--" "hush!" she cried, almost commandingly, and the airy, dainty, dimpled creature whom i knew seemed to grow in stature and become a woman, in her indignation; "you do not know orrin and you do not know the colonel. you shall not draw comparisons between them. i will have you think of orrin only, as i do, day and night, ever and always." "but," i exclaimed, aghast, "if you love him so and despise the colonel, why do you not break your troth with the latter?" "because," she murmured, with white cheeks and a wandering gaze, "i have sworn to marry the colonel, and i dare not break my oath. sworn to be his wife when the house he is building is complete; and the oath was on the graves of the dead; _on the graves of the dead!_" she repeated. "but," i said, without any intimation of having heard that oath, "you are breaking that oath in private with every thought you give to orrin. either complete your perjury by disowning the colonel altogether, or else give up orrin. you cannot cling to both without dishonor; does not your father tell you so?" "my father--oh, he does not know; no one knows but you. my father likes the colonel; i would never think of telling him." "juliet," i declared solemnly, "you are on dangerous ground. think what you are doing before it is too late. the colonel is not a man to be trifled with." "i know it," she murmured, "i know it," and would not say another word or let me. and so the burden of this new apprehension is laid upon me; for happiness cannot come out of this complication. * * * * * where is orrin, and what is he doing that he stays so much from home? if it were not for the intent and preoccupied look which he wears when i do see him, i should think that he was absenting himself for the purpose of wearing out his unhappy passion. but the short glimpses i have had of him as he has ridden busily through the town have left me with no such hope, and i wait with feverish impatience for some fierce action on his part, or what would be better, the colonel's return. and the colonel must come back soon, for nothing goes well in a long absence, and his house is almost at a standstill. * * * * * colonel schuyler has come and, i hear, is storming angrily over the mishaps that have delayed the progress of his new dwelling. he says he will not go away again till it is completed, and has been riding all the morning in every direction, engaging new men to aid the dilatory workmen already employed. does orrin know this? i will go down to his house and see. * * * * * and now i know _orrin's_ secret. he was not at home, of course, and being determined to get at the truth of his mysterious absences, i mounted a horse of my own and rode off to find him. why i took this upon myself, or whether i had the right to do it, i have not stopped to ask. i went in the direction he had last gone, and after i had ridden through two villages i heard of him as having passed still farther east some two hours before. not in the least deterred, i hurried on, and having threaded a thicket and forded a stream, i came upon a beautiful open country wholly new to me, where, on the verge of a pleasant glade and in full view of a most picturesque line of hills, i saw shining the fresh boards of a new cottage. instantly the thought struck me, "it is orrin's, and he is building it for juliet," and filled with a confusion of emotions, i spurred on my horse, and soon drew up before it. orrin was standing, pale and defiant, in the doorway, and as i met his eye, i noticed, with a sick feeling of contempt, that he swung the whip he was holding smartly against his leg in what looked like a very threatening manner. "good-evening, orrin," i cried. "you have a very pleasant site here--preferable to the colonel's, i should say." "what has the colonel to do with me?" was his fierce reply, and he turned as if about to go into the house. "only this," i calmly answered; "i think he will get his house done first." he wheeled and faced me, and his eye which had looked simply sullen shot a fierce and dangerous gleam. "what makes you think that?" he cried. "he has come back, and to-day engaged twenty extra men to push on the work." "indeed!" and there was contempt in his tone. "well, i wish him joy and a sound roof!" and this time he did go into the house. as he had not asked me to follow, i of course had no alternative but to ride on. as i did so, i took another look at the house and saw with a strange pang at the heart that the plastering was on the walls and the windows ready for glazing. "i was wrong," said i to myself; "it is orrin's house which will be finished first." * * * * * and what if it is? will she turn her back upon the colonel's lofty structure and take refuge in this cottage remote from the world? i cannot believe it, knowing how she loves show and the smiles and gallantries of men. and yet--and yet, she is so capricious and orrin so determined that i do not know what to think or what to fear, and i ride back with a heavy heart, wishing she had never come up from the farm to worry and inflame the souls of honest men. * * * * * and now the colonel's work goes on apace, and the whole town is filled with the noise and bustle of lumbering carts and eager workmen. the roof which orrin so bitterly wished might be a sound one has been shingled; and under the colonel's eye and the colonel's constant encouragement, part after part of the new building is being fitted to its place with a precision and despatch that to many minds promise the near dawning of juliet's wedding-day. but i know that afar in the east another home is nearer completion than this, and whether she knows it too or does not know it (which is just as probable), her wilful, sportive, and butterfly nature seems to be preparing itself for a struggle which may rend if not destroy its airy and delicate wings. i have prepared myself too, and being still and always her friend, i stand ready to mediate or assist, as opportunity offers or circumstances demand. she realizes this, and leans on me in her secret hours of fear, or why does her face brighten when she sees me, and her little hand thrust itself confidingly forth from under its shrouding mantle and grasp mine with such a lingering and entreating pressure? and the colonel? does he realize, too, that i am any more to her than her other cast-off lovers and would-be friends? sometimes i think he does, and eyes me with suspicion. but he is ever so courteous that i cannot be sure, and so do not trouble myself in regard to a jealousy so illy founded and so easily dispelled. he is always at juliet's side and seems to surround her with a devotion which will make it very difficult for any other man, even orrin, to get her ear. * * * * * the crisis is approaching. orrin is again in town, and may be seen riding up and down the streets in his holiday clothes. have some whispers of his secret love and evident intentions reached the ear of the colonel? or is juliet's father alone concerned? for i see that the blinds of her lattice are tightly shut, and watch as i may, i cannot catch a glimpse of her eager head peering between them at the flaunting horseman as he goes careering by. * * * * * the hour has come and how different is the outcome from any i had imagined. i was sitting last night in my own lonely little room, which opens directly on the street, struggling as best i might against the distraction of my thoughts which would lead me from the book i was studying, when a knock on the panels of my door aroused me, and almost before i could look up, that same door swung open and a dark form entered and stood before me. for a moment i was too dazed to see who it was, and rising ceremoniously, i made my bow of welcome, starting a little as i met the colonel's dark eyes looking at me from the folds of the huge mantle in which he had wrapped himself. "your worship?" i began, and stumbling awkwardly, offered him a chair which he refused with a gesture of his smooth white hand. "thank you, no," said he, "i do not sit down in your house till i know if it is you who have stolen the heart of my bride away from me and if it is you with whom she is prepared to flee." "ah," was my involuntary exclamation, "then it has come. you know her folly, and will forgive it because she is such a child." "her folly? are you not then the man?" he cried; but in a subdued tone which showed what a restraint he was putting upon himself even in the moment of such accumulated emotions. "no," said i; "if your bride meditates flight, it is not with me she means to go. i am her friend, and the man who would take her from you is not. i can say no more, colonel schuyler." he eyed me for a moment with a deep and searching gaze which showed me that his intellect was not asleep though his heart was on fire. "i believe you," said he; and threw aside his cloak and sat down. "and now," he asked, "who is the man?" taken by surprise, i stammered and uttered some faint disclaimer; but seeing by his steady look and firm-set jaw that he meant to know, and detecting as i also thought in his general manner and subdued tones the promise of an unexpected forbearance, i added impulsively: "let the wayward girl tell you herself; perhaps in the telling she will grow ashamed of her caprice." "i have asked her," was the stern reply, "and she is dumb." then in softer tones he added: "how can i do anything for her if she will not confide in me. she has treated me most ungratefully, but i mean to be kind to her. only i must first know if she has chosen worthily." "who is there of worth in town?" i asked, softened and fascinated by his manner. "there is no man equal to yourself." "you say so," he cried, and waved his hand impatiently. then with a deep and thrilling intensity which i feel yet, he repeated, "his name, his name? tell me his name." the colonel is a man of power, accustomed to control men. i could not withstand his look or be unmoved by his tones. if he meant well to orrin and to her, what was i that i should withhold orrin's name. falteringly i was about to speak it when a sudden sound struck my ears, and rising impetuously i drew him to the window, blowing out the candles as i passed them. "hark!" i cried, as the rush of pounding hoofs was heard on the road, and "look!" i added, as a sudden figure swept by on the panting white horse so well known by all in that town. "is it he?" whispered the dark figure at my side as we both strained our eyes after orrin's fast vanishing form. "you have seen him," i returned; and drawing him back from the window, i closed the shutters with care, lest orrin should be seized with a freak to return and detect me in conference with his heart's dearest enemy. silence and darkness were now about us, and the colonel, as if anxious to avail himself of the surrounding gloom, caught my arm as i moved to relight the candles. "wait," said he; and i understood and stopped still. and so we stood for a moment, he quiet as a carven statue and i restless but obedient to his wishes. when he stirred i carefully lit the candles, but i did not look at him till he had donned his cloak and pulled his hat well over his eyes. then i turned, and eying him earnestly, said: "if i have made a mistake--" but he quickly interrupted me, averring: "you have made no mistake. you are a good lad, philo, and if it had been you--" he did not say what he would have done, but left the sentence incomplete and went on: "i know nothing of this orrin day, but what a woman wills she must have. will you bring this fellow--he is your friend is he not?--to juliet's house in the morning? her father is set on her being the mistress of the new stone house and we three will have to reason with him, do you see?" astonished, i bowed with something like awe. was he so great-hearted as this? did he intend to give up his betrothed to the man whom she loved, and even to plead her cause with the father she feared? my admiration would have its vent, and i uttered some foolish words of sympathy, which he took with the stately, rather condescending grace which they perhaps merited; after which, he added again: "you will come, will you not?" and bowed kindly and retreated towards the door, while i, abashed and worshipful, followed with protestations that nothing should hinder me from doing his will, till he had passed through the doorway and vanished from my sight. and yet i do not want to do his will or take orrin to that house. i might have borne with sad equanimity to see her married to the colonel, for he is far above me, but to orrin--ah, that is a bitter outlook, and i must have been a fool to have promised aught that will help to bring it about. still, am i not her sworn friend, and if she thinks she can be happy with him, ought i not to do my share towards making her so? i wonder if the colonel knows that orrin too has been building himself a house? i did not sleep last night, and i have not eaten this morning. thoughts robbed me of sleep, and a visit from orrin effectually took away from me whatever appetite i might have had. he came in almost at daybreak. he looked dishevelled and wild, and spoke like a man who had stopped more than once at the tavern. "philo," said he, "you have annoyed me by your curiosity for more than a year; now you can do me a favor. will you call at juliet's house and see if she is free to go and come as she was a week ago?" "why?" i asked, thinking i perceived a reason for his bloodshot eye, and yet being for the moment too wary, perhaps too ungenerous, to relieve him from the tension of his uncertainty. "why?" he repeated. "must you know all that goes on in my mind, and cannot i keep one secret to myself?" "you ask me to do you a favor," i quietly returned. "in order to do it intelligently, i must know why it is asked." "i do not see that," objected orrin, "and if you were not such a boy i'd leave you on the spot and do the errand myself. but you mean no harm, and so i will tell you that juliet and i had planned to run away together last night, but though i was at the place of meeting, she did not come, nor has she made any sign to show me why she failed me." "orrin," i began, but he stopped me with an oath. "no sermons," he protested. "i know what you would have done if instead of smiling on me she had chanced to give all her poor little heart to you." "i should not have tempted her to betray the colonel," i exclaimed hotly, perhaps because the sudden picture he presented to my imagination awoke within me such a torrent of unsuspected emotions. "nor should i have urged her to fly with me by night and in stealth." "you do not know what you would do," was his rude and impatient rejoinder. "had she looked at you, with tears in her arch yet pathetic blue eyes, and listened while you poured out your soul, as if heaven were opening before her and she had no other thought in life but you, then--" "hush!" i cried, "do you want me to go to her house for you, or do you want me to stay away?" "you know i want you to go." "then be still, and listen to what i have to say. i will go, but you must go too. if you want to take juliet away from the colonel you must do it openly. i will not abet you, nor will i encourage any underhanded proceedings." "you are a courageous lad," he said, "in other men's affairs. will you raise me a tomb if the colonel runs me through with his sword?" "i at least should not feel the contempt for you which i should if you eloped with her behind his back." "now you are courageous on your own behalf," laughed he, "and that is better and more to the point." yet he looked as if he could easily spit me on his own sword, which i noticed was dangling at his heels. "will you come?" i urged, determined not to conciliate or enlighten him even if my forbearance cost me my life. he hesitated, and then broke into a hoarse laugh. "i have drunk just enough to be reckless," said he; "yes, i will go; and the devil must answer for the result." i had never seen him look so little the gentleman, and perhaps it was on this very account i became suddenly quite eager to take him at his word before time and thought should give him an opportunity to become more like himself; for i could not but think that if she saw him in this condition she must make comparisons between him and the colonel which could not but be favorable to the latter. but it was still quite early, and i dared not run the risk of displeasing the colonel by anticipating his presence, so i urged orrin into that little back parlor of mine, where i had once hoped to see a very different person installed, and putting wine and biscuits before him, bade him refresh himself while i prepared myself for appearing before the ladies. when the hour came for us to go i went to him. he was pacing the floor and trying to school himself into patience, but he made but a sorry figure, and i felt a twinge of conscience as he thrust on his hat without any attempt to smooth his dishevelled locks, or rearrange his disordered ruffles. should i permit him to go thus disordered, or should i detain him long enough to fit him for the eye of the dainty juliet? he answered the question himself. "come," said he, "i have chewed my sleeve long enough in suspense. let us go and have an end of it. if she is to be my wife she must leave the house with me to-day, if not, i have an hour's work before me down yonder," and he pointed in the direction of his new house. "when you see the sky red at noonday, you will know what that is." "orrin!" i cried, and for the first time i seized his arm with something like a fellow-feeling. but he shook me off. "don't interfere with me," he said, and strode on, sullen and fierce, towards the place where such a different greeting awaited him from any that he feared. ought i to tell him this? ought i to say: "your sullenness is uncalled for and your fierceness misplaced; juliet is constant, and the colonel means you nothing but good"? perhaps; and perhaps, too, i should be a saint and know nothing of earthly passions and jealousies. but i am not. i hate this orrin, hate him more and more as every step brings us nearer to juliet's house and the fate awaiting him from her weakness and the colonel's generosity. so i hold my peace and we come to her gate, and the recklessness that has brought him thus far abandons him on the instant and he falls back and lets me go in several steps before him, so that i seem to be alone when i enter the house, and juliet, who is standing in the parlor between the colonel and her father, starts when she sees me, and breaking into sobs, cries: "oh, philo, philo, tell my father there is nothing between us but what is friendly and honorable; that i--i--" "hush!" commanded that father, while i stared at the colonel, whose quiet, imperturbable face was for the first time such a riddle to me that i hardly heeded what the elder man said. "you have talked enough, juliet, and denied enough. i will now speak to mr. adams and see what he has to say. last night my daughter, who, as all the town knows, is betrothed to this gentleman"--and he waved his hand deferentially towards the colonel--"was detected by me stealing out of the garden gate with a little packet on her arm. as my daughter never goes out alone, i was naturally startled, and presuming upon my rights as her father, naturally asked her where she was going. this question, simple as it was, seemed to both terrify and unnerve her. stumbling back, she looked me wildly in the eye and answered, with an effrontery she had never shown me before, that she was flying to escape a hated marriage. that colonel schuyler had returned, and as she could not be his wife, she was going to her aunt's house, where she could live in peace without being forced upon a man she could not love. amazed, for i had always supposed her duly sensible of the honor which had been shown her by this gentleman's attentions, i drew her into my study and there, pulling off the cloak which she held tightly drawn about her, i discovered that she was tricked out like a bride, and had a whole bunch of garden roses fastened in her breast. 'a pretty figure,' cried i, 'for travelling. you are going away with some man, and it is a runaway match i have interrupted.' she could not deny it, and just then the colonel came in and--but we will not talk about that. it remained for us to find out the man who had led her to forget her duty, and i could think of no man but you. so i ask you now before my trembling daughter and this outraged gentleman if you are the villain." but here colonel schuyler spoke up quietly and without visible anger: "i was about to say when this gentleman's entrance interrupted my words that i had been convinced overnight that our first suspicions were false, and that mr. adams was, as your daughter persists in declaring, simply a somewhat zealous friend." "but," hastily vociferated the old man, "there has been no one else about my daughter for months. if mr. adams is not to blame for this attempted escapade, who is? i should like to see the man, and see him standing just there." "then look and tell me what you think of him," came with an insolent fierceness from the doorway, and orrin, booted and spurred, with mud on his holiday hose, and his hat still on his head, strode into our midst and confronted us all with an air of such haughty defiance that it half robbed him of his ruffianly appearance. juliet shrieked and stepped back, fascinated and terrified. the colonel frowned darkly, and the old man, who had seemed by his words to summon him before us, quailed at the effect of his words and stood looking from the well-known but unexpected figure thus introduced amongst us, to the colonel who persistently avoided his gaze, till the situation became unbearable, and i turned about as if to go. instantly the colonel took advantage of the break and spoke to orrin: "and so it is to you, sir, that i have to address the few words i have to say?" "yes, to him and to me!" cried little juliet, and gliding from between the two natural protectors of her girlhood she crossed the floor and stood by orrin's side. this action, so unexpected and yet so natural, took away whatever restraint we had hitherto placed upon ourselves, and the colonel looked for a moment as if his self-control would abandon him entirely and leave him a prey to man's fiercest and most terrible passions. but he has a strong soul, and before i could take a step to interpose myself between him and juliet, his face had recovered its steady aspect and his hands ceased from their ominous trembling. her father, on the contrary, seemed to grow more ireful with every instant that he saw her thus defiant of his authority, while orrin, pleased with her courage and touched, i have no doubt, by the loving confidence of her pleading eyes, threw his arm about her with a gesture of pride which made one forget still more his disordered and dishevelled condition. i said nothing, but i did not leave the room. "juliet!"--the words came huskily from the angry father's lips, "come from that man's embrace, and do not make me shudder that i ever welcomed the colonel to my dishonored house." but the colonel, putting out his hand, said calmly: "let her stay; since she has chosen this very honorable gentleman to be her husband, where better could she stand than by his side?" then forcing himself still more to seem impassive, he bowed to orrin, and with great suavity remarked: "if she had chosen me to that honor, as i had every reason to believe she had, it would not have been many more weeks before i should have welcomed her into a home befitting her beauty and her ambition. may i ask if you can do as much for her? have you a home for your bride in which i may look forward to paying her the respects which my humble duty to her demands?" ah then, orrin towered proudly, and the pretty juliet smiled with something of her old archness. "saddle your horse," cried the young lover, "and ride to the east. if you do not find a wee, fresh nest there, i am no prophet. what! steal a wife and not have a home to put her in!" and he laughed till the huge brown rafters above his head seemed to tremble, so blithe did he feel, and so full of pride at thus daring the one great man in the town. but the colonel did not laugh, nor did he immediately answer. he had evidently not heard of the little cottage beyond both thicket and stream, and was consequently greatly disconcerted. but just when we were all wondering what held him so restrained, and what the words were which should break the now oppressive silence, he spoke and said: "a wee nest is no place for the lady who was to have been my wife. if you will have patience and wait a month she shall have the home that has been reared for her. the great stone house would not know any other mistress, and therefore it shall be hers." "no, no," orrin began, aghast at such generosity. but the thoughtless juliet, delighted at a prospect which promised her both splendor and love, uttered such a cry of joy that he stopped abashed and half angry, and turning upon her, said: "are you not satisfied with what i can give you, and must you take presents even from the man you have affected to despise?" "but, but, he is so good," babbled out the inconsiderate little thing, "and--and i do like the great stone house, and we could be so happy in it, just like a king and queen, if--if--" she had the grace to stop, perhaps because she saw nothing but rebuke in the faces around her. but the colonel, through whose voice ran in spite of himself an icy vein of sarcasm, observed, with another of his low bows: "you shall indeed be like king and queen there. if you do not believe me, come there with me a month hence, and i will show you what a disappointed man can do for the woman he has loved." and taking by the arm the old man who with futile rage had tried more than once to break into this ominous conversation, he drew him persuasively to his side, and so by degrees from the room. "oh," cried juliet, as the door closed behind them, "can he mean it? can he mean it?" and orrin, a little awed, did not reply, but i saw by his face and bearing that whether the colonel meant it or not was little to him; that the cottage beyond the woods was the destined home of his bride, and that we must be prepared to lose her from our midst, perhaps before the month was over which the colonel had bidden them to wait. i do not know through whom dame gossip became acquainted with yesterday's events, but everywhere in town people are laying their heads together in wonder over the jilting of colonel schuyler and the unprecedented magnanimity which he has shown in giving his new house to the rebellious lovers. if i have been asked one question to-day, i have been asked fifty, and orrin, who flies into a rage at the least intimation that he will accept the gift which has been made him, spends most of his time in asserting his independence, and the firm resolution which he has made to owe nothing to the generosity of the man he has treated with such unquestionable baseness. juliet keeps very quiet, but from the glimpse i caught of her this afternoon at her casement, i judge that the turn of affairs has had a very enlivening effect upon her beauty. her eyes fairly sparkled as she saw me; and with something like her old joyous abandonment of manner, she tore off a branch of the flowering almond at her window and tossed it with delicious laughter at my feet. yet though i picked it up and carried it for a few steps beyond her gate, i soon dropped it over the wall, for her sparkle and her laughter hurt me, and i would rather have seen her less joyous and a little more sensible of the ruin she had wrought. for she has wrought ruin, as any one can see who looks at the colonel long enough to note his eye. for though he holds himself erect and walks proudly through the town, there is that in his look which makes me tremble and hold my own weak complainings in check. he has been up to his house to-day, and when he came back there was not a blind from one end of the street to the other but quivered when he went by, so curious are the women to see him who they cannot but feel has merited all the sympathy if not the homage of their sex. ralph urphistone tells me to-night that the workmen at the new house have been offered extra wages if they put the house into habitable condition by the end of the month. * * * * * for all his secret satisfaction orrin is very restless. he has tried to induce juliet to marry him at once, and go with him to the little cottage he has raised for her comfort. but she puts him off with excuses, which, however, are so mingled with sweet coquetries and caresses, that he cannot reproach her without seeming insensible to her affection, and it is not until he is away from the fascination of her presence, and amongst those who do not hesitate to say that he will yet see the advantage of putting his brilliant bird in a cage suitable to her plumage, that he remembers his manhood and chafes at his inability to assert it. i am sorry for him in a way, but not so deeply as i might be if _he_ were more humble and more truly sensible of the mischief he has wrought. * * * * * orrin will yet make himself debtor to the colonel. something has happened which proves that fate--or man--is working against him to this end, and that he must from the very force of circumstances finally succumb. i say _man_, but do i not mean _woman_? ah, no, no, no! my pen ran away with me, my thoughts played me false. it could have been no woman, for if it was, then is juliet a--let me keep to facts. i have not self-control enough for speculation. to-day the sun set red. as we had been having gray skies, and more or less rain for a fortnight, the brightness and vivid crimson in the west drew many people to their doors. i was amongst them, and as i stood looking intently at the sky that was now one blaze of glory from horizon to zenith, orrin stepped up behind me and said: "do you want to take a ride to-night?" seeing him look more restless and moody than ever, i answered "yes," and accordingly about eight that night he rode up to my door and we started forth. i thought he would turn in the direction of the stone house, for one night when i had allowed myself to go there in my curiosity at its progress, i had detected him crouching in one of the thickest shadows cast by the surrounding trees. but if any such idea had been in his mind, it soon vanished, for almost the instant i was in the saddle, he wheeled himself about and led the way eastward, whipping and spurring his horse as if it were a devil's ride he contemplated, and not that easy, restful canter under the rising moon demanded by our excited spirits and the calm, exquisite beauty of the summer night. "are you not coming?" was shouted back to me, as the distance increased between us. my answer was to spur my own horse, and as we rode once more side by side, i could not but note what a wild sort of beauty there was in him as he thus gave himself up to the force of his feelings and the restless energy of this harum-scarum ride. "very different," thought i, "would the colonel look on a horse at this hour of night"; and wondered if juliet could see him thus she would any longer wound him by her hesitations, after having driven him by her coquetries to expect full and absolute surrender on her part. did he guess my thoughts, or was his mind busy with the same, that he suddenly cried in harsh but thrilling tones: "if i had her where she ought to be, here behind me on this horse, i would ride to destruction before i would take her back again to the town and the temptations which beset her while she can hear the sound of hammer upon stone." "and you would be right," i was about to say in some bitterness, i own, when the full realization of the road we were upon stopped me and i observed instead: "you would take her yonder where you hope to see her happy, though no other woman lives within a half-mile of the place." "no man you should say," quoth orrin bitterly, lashing his horse till it shot far ahead of me, so that some few minutes passed before we were near enough together for him to speak again. then he said: "she loads me with promises and swears that she loves me more than all the world. if half of this is true she ought to be happy with me in a hovel, while i have a dainty cottage for her dwelling, where the vines will soon grow and the birds sing. you have not seen it since it has been finished. you shall see it to-night." i choked as i tried to answer, and wondered if he had any idea of what i had to contend with in these rides i seemed forced to take without any benefit to myself. if he had, he was merciless, for once launched into talk he kept on till i was almost wild with hateful sympathy and jealous chagrin. suddenly he paused. the forest we had been threading had for the last few minutes been growing thinner, and as the quick cessation in his speech caused me to look up, i saw, or thought i saw, a faint glow shining through the branches before me, which could not have come from the reflection made by the setting sun, as that had long ago sunk into darkness. orrin who, as he had ceased speaking, had suddenly reined in his panting horse, now gave a shout and shot forward, and i, hardly knowing what to fear or expect, followed him as fast as my evidently weary animal would carry me, and thus bounding along with but a few paces between us, we cleared the woods and came out into the open fields beyond. as we did so a cry went up from orrin, faintly echoed by my own lips. it was a fire that we saw, and the flames, which had now got furious headway, rose up like pillars to the sky, illuminating all the country round, and showing me, both by their position and the glare of the stream beneath them, that it was orrin's house which was burning, and orrin's hopes which were being destroyed before our eyes. the cry he gave as he fully realized this i shall never forget, nor the gesture with which he drove his spurs into his horse and flashed down that long valley into the ever-increasing glare that lighted first his flowing hair and the wet flanks of the animal he bestrode, and finally seemed to envelop him altogether, till he looked like some avenging demon rushing through his own element of fury and fire. i was far behind him, but i made what time i could, feeling to the core, as i passed, the weirdness of the solitude before me, with just this element of horror flaming up in its midst. not a sound save that of our pounding hoofs interrupted that crackling sound of burning wood, and when the roof fell in, as it did before i could reach his side, i could hear distinctly the echo which followed it. orrin may have heard it too, for he gave a groan and drew in his horse, and when i reached him i saw him sitting there before the smouldering ashes of his home, silent and inert, without a word to say or an ear to hear the instinctive words of sympathy i could not now keep back. who had done it? who had started the blaze which had in one half-hour undone the work and hope of months? that was the question which first roused me and caused me to search the silence and darkness of the night for some trace of a human presence, if only so much as the mark of a human foot. and i found it. there, in the wet margin of the stream, i came upon a token which may mean nothing and which may mean--but i cannot write even here of the doubts it brought me; i will only tell how on our slow and wearisome passage home through the sombre woods, orrin suddenly let his bridle fall, and, flinging up his arms above his head, cried bitterly: "o that i did not love her so well! o that i had never seen her who would make of me a slave when i would be a man!" * * * * * the gossips at the corners nod knowingly this morning, and orrin, whose brow is moodier than the colonel's, walks fiercely amongst them without word and without look. he is on his way to juliet's house, and if there is enchantment left in smiles, i bid her to use it, for her fate is trembling in the balance, and may tip in a direction of which she little recks. * * * * * orrin has come back. striding impetuously into the room where i sat at work, he drew himself up till his figure showed itself in all its full and graceful proportions. "am i a man?" he asked, "or," with a fall in his voice brimmed with feeling, "am i a fool? she met me with such an unsuspicious look, philo, and bore herself with such an innocent air, that i not only could not say what i meant to say, but have promised to do what i have sworn never to do--accept the colonel's unwelcome gift, and make her mistress of the new stone house." "you are--a man," i answered. for what are men but fools where women of such enchantment are concerned! he groaned, perhaps at the secret sarcasm hidden in my tone, and sat down unbidden at the table where i was writing. "you did not see her," he cried. "you do not know with what charms she works, when she wishes to comfort and allure." ah! did i not. "and philo," he went on, almost humbly for him, "you are mistaken if you think she had any hand in the ruin which has come upon me. she had not. how i know it i cannot say, but i am ready to swear it, and you must forget any foolish fears i may have shown or any foolish words i may have uttered in the first confusion of my loss and disappointment." "i will forget," said i. "the fact is i do not understand her," he eagerly explained. "there was innocence in her air, but there was mockery too, and she laughed as i talked of my grief and rage, as though she thought i was playing a part. it was merry laughter, and there was no ring of falsehood in it, but why should she laugh at all?" this was a question i could not answer; who could? juliet is beyond the comprehension of us all. "but what is the use of plaguing myself with riddles?" he now asked, starting up as suddenly as he had sat down. "we are to be married in a month, and the colonel--i have seen the colonel--has promised to dance at our wedding. will it be in the new stone house? it would be a fitting end to this comedy if he were to dance in _that_?" i thought as orrin did about this, but with more seriousness perhaps; and it was not till after he had left me that i remembered i had not asked whom he suspected of firing his house, now that he was assured of the innocence of her who was most likely to profit by its burning. * * * * * "now i understand juliet!" was the cry with which orrin burst into my presence late this afternoon. "men are saying and women whispering that i destroyed my own house, in order to save myself the shame of accepting the colonel's offer while i had a roof of my own." and, burning with rage, he stamped his foot upon the ground, and shook his hand so threateningly in the direction of his fancied enemies that i felt some reflection of his anger in my own breast, and said or tried to say that they could not know him as i did or they would never accuse him of so mean a deed, whatever else they might bring against him. "it makes me wild, it makes me mad, it makes me feel like leaving the town forever!" was his hoarse complaint as i finished my feeble attempt at consolation. "if juliet were half the woman she ought to be she would come and live with me in a log-cabin in the woods before she would accept the colonel's house now. and to think that she, _she_ should be affected by the opinions of the rest, and think me so destitute of pride that i would stoop to sacrifice my own home for the sake of stepping into that of a rival's. o woman, woman, what are you made of? not of the same stuff as we men, surely." i strove to calm him, for he was striding fiercely and impatiently about the room. but at my first word he burst forth with: "and her father, who should control her, aids and encourages her follies. he is a slave to the colonel, who is the slave of his own will." "in this case," i quietly observed, "his will seems to be most kindly." "that is the worst of it," chafed orrin. "if only he offered me opposition i could struggle with him. but it is his generosity i hate, and the humiliating position into which it thrusts me. and that is not all," he angrily added, while still striding feverishly about the room. "the colonel seems to think us his property ever since we decided to accept his, and as a miser watches over his gold so does he watch over us, till i scarcely have the opportunity now of speaking to juliet alone. if i go to her house, there he is sitting like a black statue at the fireplace, and when i would protest, and lead her into another room or into the garden, he rises and overwhelms me with such courtesies and subtle disquisitions that i am tripped up in my endeavors, and do not know how to leave or how to stay. i wish he would fall sick, or his house tumble about his head!" "orrin, orrin!" i cried. but he interrupted my remonstrance with the words: "it is not decent. i am her affianced husband now, and he should leave us alone. does he think i can ever forget that he used to court her once himself, and that the favors she now shows me were once given as freely, if not as honestly, to him? he knows i cannot forget, and he delights--" "there, orrin," i broke in, "you do him wrong. the colonel is above your comprehension as he is above mine; but there is nothing malevolent in him." "i don't know about that," rejoined his angry rival. "if he wanted to steal back my bride he could take no surer course for doing it. juliet, who is fickle as the wind, already looks from his face to mine as if she were contrasting us. and he is so damned handsome and suave and self-forgetting!" "and you," i could not help but say, "are so fierce and sullen even in your love." "i know it," was his half-muttered retort, "but what can you expect? do you think i will see him steal her heart away from before my eyes?" "it would be but a natural return on his part for your former courtesies," i could not forbear saying, in my own secret chagrin and soreness of heart. "but he shall not do it," exclaimed orrin, with a backward toss of his head, and a sudden thump of his strong hand on the table before me. "i won her once against all odds, and i will keep her if i have to don the devil's smiles myself. he shall never again see her eyes rest longer on his face than mine. i will hold her by the power of my love till he finds himself forgotten, and for very shame steals away, leaving me with the bride he has himself bestowed upon me. he shall never have juliet back." "i doubt if he wishes to," i quietly remarked, as orrin, weary with passion, ran from my presence. i do not know whether orrin succeeded or not in his attempts to shame the colonel from intruding upon his interviews with juliet. i am only sure that orrin's countenance smoothed itself after this day, and that i heard no more complaints of juliet's wavering fidelity. i myself do not believe she has ever wavered. simply because she ought from every stand-point of good judgment and taste to have preferred the colonel and clung to him, she will continue to cleave to orrin and make him the idol of her wayward heart. but it is all a mystery to me and one that does not make me very happy. * * * * * i went up by myself to the new stone house to-day, and found that it only needs the finishing touches. twenty workmen or more were there, and the great front door had just been brought and was leaning against the walls preparatory to being hung. being curious to see how they were progressing within, i climbed up to one of the windows and looked in, and not satisfied with what i could thus see, made my way into the house and up the main staircase, which i was surprised to see was nearly completed. the sound of the hammer and saw was all about me, and the calling of orders from above and below interfered much with any sentimental feelings i might have had. but i was not there to indulge in sentiment, and so i roamed on from room to room till i suddenly came upon a sight that drove every consideration of time and place from my mind, and made me for a moment forgetful of every other sentiment than admiration. this was nothing less than the glimpse which i obtained in passing one of the windows, of the colonel himself down on his knees on the scaffolding aiding the workmen. so, so, he is not content with hurrying the work forward by his means and influence, but is lending the force of his example, and actually handling the plane and saw in his anxiety not to disappoint juliet in regard to the day she has fixed for her marriage. a week ago i should have told orrin what i had seen, but i had no desire to behold the old frowns come back to his face, so i determined to hold my silence with him. but juliet ought to know with what manner of heart she has been so recklessly playing, so after stealing down the stairs i felt i should never have mounted, i crept from the house and made my way as best i could through the huge forest-trees that so thickly clustered at its back, till i came upon the high-road which leads to the village. walking straight to juliet's house i asked to see her, and shall never forget the blooming beauty of her presence as she stepped into the room and gave me her soft white hand to kiss. as she is no longer the object of my worship and hardly the friend of my heart, i think i can speak of her loveliness now without being misunderstood. so i will let my pen trace for once a record of her charms, which in that hour were surely great enough to excuse the rivalry of which they had been the subject, and perhaps to account for the disinterestedness of the man who had once given her his heart. she is of medium height, this juliet, and her form has that sway in it which you see in a lily nodding on its stem. but she is no lily in her most enchanting movements, but rather an ardent passion-flower burning and palpitating in the sun. her skin, which is milk-white, has strange flushes in it, and her eyes, which never look at you twice with the same meaning, are blue, or gray, or black, as her feeling varies and the soul informing them is in a state of joy, or trouble. her most bewitching feature is her mouth, which has two dangerous dimples near it that go and come, sometimes without her volition and sometimes, i fear, with her full accord and desire. her hair is brown and falls in such a mass of ringlets that no cap has ever yet been found which can confine it and keep it from weaving a golden net in which to entangle the hearts of men. when she smiles you feel like rushing forward; when she frowns you question yourself humbly what you have done to merit a look so out of keeping with the playful cast of her countenance and the arch bearing of her spirited young form. she was dressed, as she always is, simply, but there was infinite coquetry in the tie of the blue ribbon on her shoulder, and if a close cap of dainty lace could make a face look more entrancing, i should like the privilege of seeing it. she was in an amiable mood and smiled upon my homage like a fairy queen. "i have come to pay my final respects to juliet playfair," i announced; "for by the tokens up yonder she will soon be classed among our matrons." my tone was formal and she looked surprised at it, but my news was welcome and so she made me a demure little courtesy before saying joyously: "yes, the house is nearly done, and to-morrow orrin and i are going up there together to see it. the colonel has asked us to do this that we might say whether all is to our liking and convenience." "the colonel is a man in a thousand," i began, but, seeing her frown in her old pettish way, i perceived that she partook enough of orrin's spirit to dislike any allusion to one whose generosity threw her own selfishness into startling relief. so i said no more on this topic, but let my courtesy expend itself in good wishes, and came away at last with a bewildering remembrance of her beauty, which i am doing my best to blot out by faithfully recounting to myself the story of those infinite caprices of hers which have come so near wrecking more than one honorable heart. i do not expect to visit her again until i pay my respects to her as orrin's wife. * * * * * it is the day when orrin and juliet are to visit the new house. if i had not known this from her own lips, i should have known it from the fact that the workmen all left at noon, in order, as one of them said, to leave the little lady more at her ease. i saw them coming down the road, and had the curiosity to watch for the appearance of orrin and the colonel at juliet's gate but they did not come, and assured by this that they meditated a later visit than i had anticipated, i went about my work. this took me up the road, and as it chanced, led me within a few rods of the wood within which lies the new stone house. i had not meant to go there, for i have haunted the place enough, but this time there was reason for it, and satisfied with the fact, i endeavored to fix my mind on other matters and forget who was likely at any moment to enter the forest behind me. but when one makes an effort to forget he is sure to remember all the more keenly, and i was just picturing to my mind juliet's face and juliet's pretty air of mingled pride and disdain as the first sight of the broad stone front burst upon her, when i heard through the stillness of the woods the faint sound of a saw, which coming from the direction of the house seemed to say that some one was still at work there. as i had understood that all the men had been given a half-holiday, i felt somewhat surprised at this, and unconsciously to myself moved a few steps nearer the opening where the house stood, when suddenly all was still and i could not for the moment determine whether i had really heard the sound of a saw or not. annoyed at myself, and ashamed of an interest that made every trivial incident connected with this affair of such moment to me, i turned back to my work, and in a few moments had finished it and left the wood, when what was my astonishment to see orrin coming from the same place, with his face turned toward the village, and a hardy, determined expression upon it which made me first wonder and then ask myself if i really comprehended this man or knew what he cherished in his heart of hearts. going straight up to him, i said: "well, orrin, what's this? coming away from the house instead of going to it? i understood that you and juliet were expecting to visit it together this afternoon." he paused, startled, and his eyes fell as i looked him straight in the face. "we are going to visit it," he admitted, "but i thought it would be wiser for me to inspect the place first and see if all was right. an unfinished building has so many traps in it, you know." and he laughed loudly and long, but his mirth was forced, and i turned and looked after him, as he strode away, with a vague but uneasy feeling i did not myself understand. "will the colonel go with you?" i called out. he wheeled about as if stung. "yes," he shouted, "the colonel will go with us. did you suppose he would allow us the satisfaction of going alone? i tell you, philo," and he strode back to my side, "the colonel considers us his property. is not that pleasant? his _property_! and so we are," he fiercely added, "while we are his debtors. but we shall not be his debtors long. when we are married--if we _are_ married--i will take juliet from this place if i have to carry her away by force. she shall never be the mistress of this house." "orrin! orrin!" i protested. "i have said it," was his fierce rejoinder, and he left me for the second time and passed hurriedly down the street. i was therefore somewhat taken aback when a little while later he reappeared with juliet and the colonel, in such a mood of forced gayety that more than one turned to look after them as they passed merrily laughing down the road. will juliet never be the mistress of that house? i think she will, my orrin. that dimpled smile of hers has more force in it than that dominating will of yours. if she chooses to hold her own she will hold it, and neither you nor the colonel can ever say her nay. what did orrin tell me? that she would never be mistress of that house? orrin was right, she never will; but who could have thought of a tragedy like this? not i, not i; and if orrin did and planned it-- but let me tell the whole just as it happened, keeping down my horror till the last word is written and i have plainly before me the awful occurrences of this fearful day. they went, the three, to that fatal house together, and no man, saving myself perhaps, thought much more about the matter till we began to see juliet's father peering anxiously from over his gate in the direction of the wood. then we realized that the afternoon had long passed and that it was getting dark; and going up to the old man, i asked whom he was looking for. the answer was as we expected. "i am looking for juliet. the colonel took her and orrin up to their new house, but they do not come back. i had a dreadful dream last night, and it frightens me. why don't they come? it must be dark enough in the wood." "they will come soon," i assured him, and moved off, for i do not like juliet's father. but when i passed by there again a half-hour later and found the old man still standing bare-headed and with craning neck at his post, i became very uneasy myself, and proposed to two or three neighbors, whom i found standing about, that we should go toward the woods and see if all were well. they agreed, being affected, doubtless, like myself, by the old man's fears, and as we proceeded down the street, others joined us till we amounted in number to a half-dozen or more. yet, though the occasion seemed a strange one, we were not really alarmed till we found ourselves at the woods and realized how dark they were and how still. then i began to feel an oppression at my heart, and trod with careful and hesitating steps till we came into the open space in which the house stands. here it was lighter, but oh! how still. i shall never forget how still; when suddenly a shrill cry broke from one amongst us, and i saw ralph urphistone pointing with finger frozen in horror at something which lay in ghastly outline upon the broad stone which leads up to the gap of the great front door. what was it? we dared not approach to see, yet we dared not linger quiescent. one by one we started forward till finally we all stood in a horrified circle about the thing that looked like a shadow, and yet was not a shadow, but some horrible nightmare that made us gasp and shudder till the moon came suddenly out, and we saw that what we feared and shrank from were the bodies of juliet and orrin, he lying with face upturned and arms thrown out, and she with her head pillowed on his breast as if cast there in her last faint moment of consciousness. they were both dead, having fallen through the planks of the scaffolding, as was shown by the fatal gap open to the moonlight above our heads. dead! dead! and though no man there knew how, the terror of their doom and the retribution it seemed to bespeak went home to our hearts, and we bowed our heads with a simultaneous cry of terror, which in that first moment was too overwhelming even for grief. the colonel was nowhere to be seen, and after the first few minutes of benumbing horror, we tried to call aloud his name. but the cries died in our throat, and presently one amongst us withdrew into the house to search, and then another and another, till i was left alone in awful attendance upon the dead. then i began to realize my own anguish, and with some last fragment of secret jealousy--or was it from some other less definite but equally imperative feeling?--was about to stoop forward and lift her head from a pillow that i somehow felt defiled it, when a quick hand drew me aside, and looking up, i saw ralph standing at my back. he did not speak, and his figure looked ghostly in the moonlight, but his hand was pointing toward the house, and when i moved to follow him, he led the way into the hollow entrance and up the stairway till we came to the upper story where he stopped, and motioned me toward a door opening into one of the rooms. there were several of our number already standing there, so i did not hesitate to approach, and as i went the darkness in which i had hitherto moved disappeared before the broad band of moonlight shining into the room before us, and i saw, darkly silhouetted against a shining background, the crouching figure of the colonel, staring with hollow eyes and maddened mien out of the unfinished window through which in all probability the devoted couple had stepped to their destruction. "can you make him speak?" asked one. "he does not seem to heed us, though we have shouted to him and even shook his arm." "i shall not try," said i. "horror like this should be respected." and going softly in i took up my station by his side in silent awe. but they would have me talk, and finally in some desperation i turned to him and said, quietly: "the scaffolding broke beneath them, did it not?" at which he first stared and then flung up his arms with a wild but suppressed cry. but he said nothing, and next moment had settled again into his old attitude of silent horror and amazement. "he might better be lying with them," i whispered after a moment, coming from his side. and one by one they echoed my words, and as he failed to move or even show any symptoms of active life, we gradually drifted from the spot till we were all huddled again below in the hollow blackness of that doorway guarded over by the dead. who should tell her father? they all looked at me, but i shook my head, and it fell to another to perform this piteous errand, for fearful thoughts were filling my brain, and orrin did not look altogether guiltless to me as he lay there dead beside the maiden he had declared so fiercely should never be mistress of this house. * * * * * was ever such a night of horror known in this town! they have brought the two bruised bodies down into the village and they now lie side by side in the parlor where i last saw juliet in the bloom and glow of life. the colonel is still crouching where i left him. no one can make him speak and no one can make him move, and the terror which his terror has produced affects the whole community, not even the darkness of the night serving to lessen the wild excitement which drives men and women about the streets as if it were broad daylight, and makes of every house an open thorough-fare through which anybody who wishes can pass. i, who have followed every change and turn in this whole calamitous affair, am like one benumbed at this awful crisis. i too go and come through the streets, hear people say in shouts, in cries, with bitter tears and wild lamentations, "juliet is dead!" "orrin is dead!" and get no sense from the words. i have even been more than once to that spot where they lie in immovable beauty, and though i gaze and gaze upon them, i feel nothing--not even wonder. only the remembrance of that rigid figure frozen into its place above the gulf where so much youth and so many high hopes fell, has power to move me. when amid the shadows which surround me i see _that_, i shudder and the groan rises slowly to my lips as if i too were looking down into a gulf from which hope and love would never again rise. * * * * * the colonel is now in his father's house. he was induced to leave the place by ralph urphistone's little child. when the great man first felt the touch of those baby fingers upon his, he shuddered and half recoiled, but as the little one pulled him gently but persistently towards the stair, he gradually yielded to her persuasion, and followed till he had descended to the ground-floor and left the fatal house. i do not think any other power could have induced him to pass that blood-stained threshold. for he seems thoroughly broken down, and will, i fear, never be the same man that he was before this fearful tragedy took place before his eyes. all day i have paced the floor of my room asking myself if i should allow juliet to be laid away in the same tomb as orrin. he was her murderer, without doubt, and though he has shared her doom, was it right for me to allow one stone to be raised above their united graves. feeling said no, but reason bade me halt before i disturbed the whole community with whispers of a crime. i therefore remained undecided, and it was in this same condition of doubt that i finally went to the funeral and stood with the rest of the lads beside the open grave which had been dug for the unhappy lovers in that sunny spot beside the great church door. at sight of this grave and the twin coffins about to be lowered into it, i felt my struggle renewed, and yet i held my peace and listened as best i could to the minister's words and the broken sobs of such as had envied these two in their days of joyance, but had only pity for pleasure so soon over and hopes doomed to such early destruction. we were all there; ralph and lemuel and the other neighbors, old and young, all except that chief of mourners, the colonel; for he was still under the influence of that horror which kept him enchained in silence, and had not even been sensible enough of the day and its mournful occasion to rise and go to the window as the long funeral cortege passed his house. we were all there and the minister had said the words, and orrin's body had been lowered to its final rest, when suddenly, as they were about to move juliet, a tumult was observed in the outskirts of the crowd, and the colonel towering in his rage and appalling in his just indignation, fought his way through the recoiling masses till he stood in our very midst. "stop!" he cried, "this burial must not go on." and he advanced his arm above juliet's body as if he would intervene his very heart between it and the place of darkness into which it was about to descend. "she was the victim, he the murderer; they shall not lie together if i have to fling myself between them in the grave which you have dug." "but--but," interposed the minister, calm and composed even in the face of this portentous figure and the appalling words which it had uttered, "by what right do you call this one a murderer and the other a victim? did you see him murder her? was there a crime enacted before your eyes?" "the boards were sawn," was the startling answer. "they must have been sawn or they would never have given way beneath so light a weight. and then he urged her--i saw him--pleaded with her, drew her by force of eye and hand to step upon the scaffold without, though there was no need for it, and she recoiled. and when her light foot was on it and her half-smiling, half-timid face looked back upon us, he leaped out beside her, when instantly came the sound of a great crack, and i heard his laugh and her cry go up together, and--and--everything has been midnight in my soul ever since, till suddenly through the blank and horror surrounding me i caught the words, 'they will lie together in one tomb!' then--then i awoke and my voice came back to me and my memory, and hither i hastened to stop this unhallowed work; for to lay the victim beside her murderer is a sacrilege which i for one would come back even from the grave to prevent." "but why," moaned the father feebly amid the cries and confusion which had been aroused by so gruesome an interference on the brink of the grave, "but why should orrin wish my juliet's death? they were to have been married soon--" but piteous as were his tones no one listened, for just then a lad who had been hiding behind the throng stepped out before us, showing a face so white and a manner so perturbed that we all saw that he had something to say of importance in this matter. "the boards _have_ been sawn," he said. "i wanted to know and i climbed up to see." at which words the whole crowd moved and swayed, and a dozen hands stooped to lift the body of juliet and carry it away from that accursed spot. but the minister is a just man and cautious, and he lifted up his arms in such protest that they paused. "who knows," he suggested, "that it was orrin's hand which handled the saw?" and then i perceived that it was time for me to speak. so i raised my voice and told my story, and as i told it the wonder grew on every face and the head of each man slowly drooped till we all stood with downcast eyes. for crime had never before been amongst us or soiled the honor of our goodly town. only the colonel still stood erect; and as the vision of his outstretched arm and flaming eyes burned deeper and deeper into my consciousness, i stammered in my speech and then sobbed, and was the first to lift the silent form of the beauteous dead and bear it away from the spot denounced by one who had done so much for her happiness and had met with such a bitter and heart-breaking reward. and where did we finally lay her? in that spot--ah! why does my blood run chill while i write it--where she stood when she took that oath to the colonel, whose breaking caused her death. a few words more and this record must be closed forever. that night, when all was again quiet in the village and the mourners no longer went about the streets, lemuel, ralph, and i went for a final visit to the new stone house. it showed no change, that house, and save for the broken scaffolding above gave no token of its having been the scene of such a woful tragedy. but as we looked upon it from across its gruesome threshold lemuel said: "it is a goodly structure and nigh completed, but the hand that began it will never finish it, nor will man or woman ever sleep within its walls. the place is accursed, and will stand accursed till it is consumed by god's lightning or falls piecemeal to the ground from natural decay. though its stones are fresh, i see ruin already written upon its walls." it was a strong statement, and we did not believe it, but when we got back to the village we were met by one who said: "the colonel has stopped the building of the new house. 'it is to be an everlasting monument,' he says, 'to a rude man's pride and a sweet woman's folly.'" will it be a monument that he will love to gaze upon? i wot not, or any other man who remembers juliet's loveliness and the charm it gave to our village life for one short year. * * * * * what was it that i said about this record being at an end? some records do not come to an end, and though twenty years have passed since i wrote the above, i have cause this day to take these faded leaves from their place and add a few lines to the story of the colonel's new house. it is an old house now, old and desolate. as lemuel said--he is one of our first men--it is accursed and no one has ever felt brave enough or reckless enough to care to cross again its ghostly threshold. though i never heard any one say it is haunted, there are haunting memories enough surrounding it for one to feel a ghastly recoil from invading precincts defiled by such a crime. so the kindly forest has taken it into its protection, and nature, who ever acts the generous part, has tried to throw the mantle of her foliage over the decaying roof, and about the lonesome walls, accepting what man forsakes and so fulfilling her motherhood. i am still a resident in the town, and i have a family now that has outgrown the little cottage which the apple-tree once guarded. but it is not to tell of them or of myself that i have taken these pages from their safe retreat to-day, but to speak of the sight which i saw this morning when i passed through the churchyard, as i often do, to pluck a rose from the bush which we lads planted on juliet's grave twenty years ago. they always seem sweeter to me than other roses, and i take a superstitious delight in them, in which my wife, strange to say, does not participate. but that is neither here nor there. the sight which i thought worth recording was this: i had come slowly through the yard, for the sunshine was brilliant and the month june, and sad as the spot is, it is strangely beautiful to one who loves nature, when as i approached the corner where juliet lies, and which you will remember was in the very spot where i once heard her take her reluctant oath, i saw crouched against her tomb a figure which seemed both strange and vaguely familiar to me. not being able to guess who it was, as there is now nobody in town who remembers her with any more devotion than myself, i advanced with sudden briskness, when the person i was gazing upon rose, and turning towards me, looked with deeply searching and most certainly very wretched eyes into mine. i felt a shock, first of surprise, and then of wildest recollection. the man before me was the colonel, and the grief apparent in his face and disordered mien showed that years of absence had not done their work, and that he had never forgotten the arch and brilliant juliet. bowing humbly and with a most reverent obeisance, for he was still the great man of the county, though he had not been in our town for years, i asked his pardon for my intrusion, and then drew back to let him pass. but he stopped and gave me a keen look, and speaking my name, said: "you are married, are you not?" and when i bowed the meek acquiescence which the subject seemed to demand, he sighed as i thought somewhat bitterly, and shrugging his shoulders, went thoughtfully by and left me standing on the green sward alone. but when he had reached the gate he turned again, and without raising his voice, though the distance between us was considerable, remarked: "i have come back to spend my remaining days in the village of my birth. if you care to talk of old times, come to the house at sunset. you will find me sitting on the porch." gratified more than i ever expected to be by a word from him, i bowed my thanks and promised most heartily to come. and that was the end of our first interview. it has left me with very lively sensations. will they be increased or diminished by the talk he has promised me? * * * * * i had a pleasant hour with the colonel, but we did not talk of _her_. had i expected to? i judge so by the faint but positive disappointment which i feel. * * * * * i have been again to the colonel's, but this time i did not find him in. "he is much out evenings," explained the woman who keeps house for him, "and you will have to come early to see him at his own hearth." * * * * * what is there about the colonel that daunts me? he seems friendly, welcomes my company, and often hands me the hospitable glass. but i am never easy in his presence, though the distance between us is not so great as it was in our young days, now that i have advanced in worldly prosperity and he has stood still. is it that his intellect cows me, or do i feel too much the secret melancholy which breathes through all his actions, and frequently cuts short his words? i cannot answer; i am daunted by him and i am fascinated, and after leaving him think only of the time when i shall see him again. * * * * * the children, who have grown up since the colonel has been gone, seem very shy of him. i have noted them more than once shrink away from his path, huddling and whispering in a corner, and quite forgetting to play as long as his shadow fell across the green or the sound of his feet could be heard on the turf. i think they fear his melancholy, not understanding it. or perhaps some hint of his sorrows has been given them, and it is awe they feel rather than fear. however that may be, no child ever takes his hand or prattles to him of its little joys or griefs; and this in itself makes him look solitary, for we are much given in this town to merry-making with our little ones, and it is a common sight to see old and young together on the green, making sport with ball or battledore. and it is not the children only who hold him in high but distant respect. the best men here are contented with a courteous bow from him, while the women--matrons now, who once were blushing maidens--think they have shown him enough honor if they make him a deep curtsey and utter a mild "good-morrow." the truth is, he invites nothing more. he talks to me because he must talk to some one, but our conversation is always of things outside of our village life, and never by any chance of the place or any one in it. he lives at his father's house, now his, and has for his sole companion an old servant of the family, who was once his nurse, and who is, i believe, the only person in the world who is devotedly attached to him. unless it is myself. sometimes i think i love him; sometimes i think i do not. he fascinates me, and could make me do most anything he pleased, but have i a real affection for him? almost; and this is something which i consider strange. * * * * * where does the colonel go evenings? his old nurse has asked me, and i find i cannot answer. not to the tavern, for i am often there; not to the houses of the neighbors, for none of them profess to know him. where then? is the curiosity of my youth coming back to me? it looks very much like it, philo, very much like it. * * * * * my daughter said to me to-day: "father, do not go any more to the colonel's." and when i asked her why, she answered that her lover--she has a _lover_, the minx--had told her that the colonel held secret talks with the witches, and though i laughed at this, it has set me thinking. he goes to the forest at night, and roams for hours among its shadows. is this a healthy occupation for a man, especially a man with a history? i shall go early to the schuyler homestead to-night and stay late, for these midnight communings with nature may be the source of the hideous gloom which i have observed of late is growing upon his spirits. no other duty seems to me now greater than this, to win him back to a healthy realization of life, and the need there is of looking cheerfully upon such blessings as are left to our lot. * * * * * i went to the colonel's at early candle-light, and i stayed till ten, a late hour for me, and, as i hoped, for him. when i left i caught a sight of old hannah, standing in a distant hallway, and i thought she looked grateful; at all events, she came forward very quickly after my departure, for i heard the key turn in the lock of the great front door before i had passed out of the gate. why did i not go home? i had meant to, and there was every reason why i should. but i had no sooner felt the turf under my feet and seen the stars over my head, than i began to wander in the very opposite direction, and that without any very definite plan or purpose. i think i was troubled, and if not troubled, restless, and yet movement did not seem to help me, for i grew more uneasy with every step i took, and began to look towards the woods to which i was half unconsciously tending as if there i should find relief just as the colonel, perhaps, was in the habit of doing. was it a mere foolish freak which had assailed me, or was i under some uncanny influence, caught from the place where i had been visiting? i was yet asking myself this, when i heard distinctly through the silence of the night the sound of a footstep behind me, and astonished that any one else should have been beguiled at this hour into a walk so dreary, i slipped into the shadow of a tree that stood at the wayside and waited till the slowly advancing figure should pass and leave me free to pursue my way or to go back unnoticed and undisturbed. i had not long to wait. in a moment a weirdly muffled form appeared abreast of me, and it was with difficulty i suppressed a cry, for it was the colonel i saw, escaped, doubtless, from his old nurse's surveillance, and as he passed he groaned, and the sad sound coming through the night at a time when my own spirits were in no comfortable mood affected me with almost a superstitious power, so that i trembled where i stood and knew not whether to follow him or go back and seek the cheer of my own hearth. but i decided in another moment to follow him, and when he had withdrawn far enough up the road not to hear the sound of my footfalls, i stepped out from my retreat and went with him into the woods. i have been as you know a midnight wanderer in that same place many a time in my life; but never did i leave the fields and meadows with such a foreboding dread, or step into the clustering shadows of the forest with such a shrinking and awe-struck heart. yet i went on without a pause or an instant of hesitation, for i knew now where he was going, and if he were going to the old stone house i was determined to be his companion, or at least his watcher. for i knew now that i loved him and could never see him come to ill. there was no moon at this time, but the sound of his steps guided me and when i had come into the open place where the stars shone i saw by the movement which took place in the shadows lying around the open door of the old house, that he was near the fatal threshold and would in another moment be across it and within those mouldy halls. that i was right, another instant proved, for suddenly through the great hollow of the open portal a mild gleam broke and i saw he had lighted a lantern and was moving about within the empty rooms. softly as man could go, i followed him. crouching in the doorway, with ear turned to the emptiness within, i listened. and as i did so, i felt the chill run through my blood and stiffen the hair on my head, for he was talking as he walked, and his tones were affable and persuasive, as if two ghosts roamed noiselessly at his side and he were showing them as in the days of yore, the beauties of his nearly completed home. "an ample parlor, you see," came in distinct, suave monotone to my ear. "room enough for many a couple on gala nights, as even sweet mistress juliet will say. do you like this fireplace, and will there be space enough here for the portrait which lawrence has promised to make of young madam day? i do not like too much light myself, so i have ordered curtains to be hung here. but if mistress juliet prefers the sunshine, we will tell the men nay, for all is to be according to your will, fair lady, as you must know, being here. pardon me, that was an evil step; you should have a quick eye for such mishaps, friend orrin, and not leave it to my courtesy to hold out a helping hand. ah! you like this dusky nook. it was made for a sweet young bride to hide in when her heart's fulness demands quiet and rest. do the trees come too near the lattice? if so they shall be trimmed away. and this dining-parlor--can you judge of it with the floor half laid and its wainscoting unnailed? i trow not, but you can trust me, pretty juliet, you can trust me; and orrin, too, need not speak, for me to know just how to finish this study for him. up-stairs? you do not wish to go up-stairs? ah, then, you miss the very cream of the house. i have worked with my own hand upon the rooms up-stairs, and there is a little cupid wrought into the woodwork of a certain door which i greatly wish you to pass an opinion upon. i think the wings lack airiness, but the workmen swear it is as if he would fly from the door at a whisper. come, mistress juliet; come, friend orrin, if i lead the way you need not hesitate. come! come!" was he alone? were those eager steps of his unaccompanied, and should i not behold, if i looked within, the blooming face of juliet and the frowning brows of orrin, crowding close behind him as he moved? the fancy invoked by his words was so vivid, that for a moment i thought i should, and i never shall forget the thrill which seized me as i leaned forward and peered for one minute into the hall and saw there his solitary figure pausing on the lower step of the stairs, with that bend of the body which bespeaks an obeisance which is half homage and half an invitation. he was still talking, and as he went up, he looked back smiling and gossiping over his shoulder in a smooth and courtly way which made it impossible for me to withdraw my fascinated eyes. "no banisters, sweet juliet? not yet--not yet; but orrin will protect you from falling. no harm can come to you while he is at your side. do you admire this sweep to the stairs? i saw a vision when i planned it, of a pretty woman coming down at the sound of her husband's step. the step has changed in sound to my imagination, but the pretty woman is prettier than ever, and will look her best as she comes down these stairs. oh, that is a window-ledge for flowers. a honeymoon is nothing without flowers, and you must have forget-me-nots and pansies here till one cannot see from the window. you do not like such humble flowers? fie! mistress juliet, it is hard to believe that,--even orrin doubts it, as i see by his chiding air." here the gentle and bantering tones ceased, for he had reached the top of the stair. but in another moment i heard them again as he passed from room to room, pausing here and pausing there, till suddenly he gave a cheerful laugh, spoke her name in most inviting accents, and stepped into _that_ room. then as if roused into galvanic action, i rose and followed, going up those midnight stairs and gaining the door where he had passed as if the impulse moving me had lent to my steps a certainty which preserved me from slipping even upon that dank and dangerous ascent. when in view of him again, i saw, as i had expected, that he was drawn up by the window and was bowing and beckoning with even more grace and suavity than he had shown below. "will you not step out, mistress juliet?" he was saying; "i have a plan which i am anxious to submit to your judgment and which can only be decided upon from without. a high step true, but orrin has lifted you over worse places and--and you will do me a great favor if only--" here he gave a malignant shriek, and his countenance, from the most smiling and benignant expression, altered into that of a fiend from hell. "ha, ha, ha!" he yelled. "she goes, and he is so fearful for her that he leaps after. that is a goodly stroke! both--both--crack! ah, she looks at me, she looks--" silence and then a frozen figure crouching before my eyes, just the silence and just the figure i remembered seeing there twenty years before, only the face is older and the horror, if anything, greater. what did it mean? i tried to think, then as the full import of the scene burst upon me, and i realized that it was a murderer i was looking upon, and that orrin, poor orrin, had been innocent, i sank back and fell upon the floor, lost in the darkness of an utter unconsciousness. i did not come to myself for hours; when i did i found myself alone in the old house. * * * * * nothing was ever done to the colonel, for when i came to tell my story the doctors said that the facts i related did not prove him to have been guilty of crime, as his condition was such that his own words could not be relied upon in a matter on which he had brooded more or less morbidly for years. so now when i see him pass through the churchyard or up and down the village street and note that he is affable as ever when he sees me, but growing more and more preoccupied with his own thoughts i do not know whether to look upon him with execration or profoundest pity, nor can any man guide me or satisfy my mind as to whether i should blame his jealousy or orrin's pride for the pitiful tragedy which once darkened my life, and turned our pleasant village into a desert. of one thing only have i been made sure; that it was the colonel who lit the brand which fired orrin's cottage. a memorable night. chapter i. i am a young physician of limited practice and great ambition. at the time of the incidents i am about to relate, my office was in a respectable house in twenty-fourth street, new york city, and was shared, greatly to my own pleasure and convenience, by a clever young german whose acquaintance i had made in the hospital, and to whom i had become, in the one short year in which we had practised together, most unreasonably attached. i say unreasonably, because it was a liking for which i could not account even to myself, as he was neither especially prepossessing in appearance nor gifted with any too great amiability of character. he was, however, a brilliant theorist and an unquestionably trustworthy practitioner, and for these reasons probably i entertained for him a profound respect, and as i have already said a hearty and spontaneous affection. as our specialties were the same, and as, moreover, they were of a nature which did not call for night-work, we usually spent the evening together. but once i failed to join him at the office, and it is of this night i have to tell. i had been over to orange, for my heart was sore over the quarrel i had had with dora, and i was resolved to make one final effort towards reconciliation. but alas for my hopes, she was not at home; and, what was worse, i soon learned that she was going to sail the next morning for europe. this news, coming as it did without warning, affected me seriously, for i knew if she escaped from my influence at this time, i should certainly lose her forever; for the gentleman concerning whom we had quarrelled, was a much better match for her than i, and almost equally in love. however, her father, who had always been my friend, did not look upon this same gentleman's advantages with as favorable an eye as she did, and when he heard i was in the house, he came hurrying into my presence, with excitement written in every line of his fine face. "ah, dick, my boy," he exclaimed joyfully, "how opportune this is! i was wishing you would come, for, do you know, appleby has taken passage on board the same steamer as dora, and if he and she cross together, they will certainly come to an understanding, and that will not be fair to you, or pleasing to me; and i do not care who knows it!" i gave him one look and sank, quite overwhelmed, into the seat nearest me. appleby was the name of my rival, and i quite agreed with her father that the _tête-à-têtes_ afforded by an ocean voyage would surely put an end to the hopes which i had so long and secretly cherished. "does she know he is going? did she encourage him?" i stammered. but the old man answered genially: "oh, she knows, but i cannot say anything positive about her having encouraged him. the fact is, dick, she still holds a soft place in her heart for you, and if you were going to be of the party--" "well?" "i think you would come off conqueror yet." "then i will be of the party," i cried. "it is only six now, and i can be in new york by seven. that gives me five hours before midnight, time enough in which to arrange my plans, see richter, and make everything ready for sailing in the morning." "dick, you are a trump!" exclaimed the gratified father. "you have a spirit i like, and if dora does not like it too, then i am mistaken in her good sense. but can you leave your patients?" "just now i have but one patient who is in anything like a critical condition," i replied, "and her case richter understands almost as well as i do myself. i will have to see her this evening of course and explain, but there is time for that if i go now. the steamer sails at nine?" "precisely." "do not tell dora that i expect to be there; let her be surprised. dear girl, she is quite well, i hope?" "yes, very well; only going over with her aunt to do some shopping. a poor outlook for a struggling physician, you think. well, i don't know about that; she is just the kind of a girl to go from one extreme to another. if she once loves you she will not care any longer about paris fashions." "she shall love me," i cried, and left him in a great hurry, to catch the first train for hoboken. it seemed wild, this scheme, but i determined to pursue it. i loved dora too much to lose her, and if three weeks' absence would procure me the happiness of my life, why should i hesitate to avail myself of the proffered opportunity. i rode on air as the express i had taken shot from station to station, and by the time i had arrived at christopher street ferry my plans were all laid and my time disposed of till midnight. it was therefore with no laggard step i hurried to my office, nor was it with any ordinary feelings of impatience that i found richter out; for this was not his usual hour for absenting himself and i had much to tell him and many advices to give. it was the first balk i had received and i was fuming over it, when i saw what looked like a package of books lying on the table before me, and though it was addressed to my partner, i was about to take it up, when i heard my name uttered in a tremulous tone, and turning, saw a man standing in the doorway, who, the moment i met his eye, advanced into the room and said: "o doctor, i have been waiting for you an hour. mrs. warner has been taken very bad, sir, and she prays that you will not delay a moment before coming to her. it is something serious i fear, and she may have died already, for she would have no one else but you, and it is now an hour since i left her." "and who are you?" i asked, for though i knew mrs. warner well--she is the patient to whom i have already referred--i did not know her messenger. "i am a servant in the house where she was taken ill." "then she is not at home?" "no, sir, she is in second avenue." "i am very sorry," i began, "but i have not the time--" but he interrupted eagerly: "there is a carriage at the door; we thought you might not have your phaeton ready." i had noticed the carriage. "very well," said i. "i will go, but first let me write a line--" "o sir," the man broke in pleadingly, "do not wait for anything. she is really very bad, and i heard her calling for you as i ran out of the house." "she had her voice then?" i ventured, somewhat distrustful of the whole thing and yet not knowing how to refuse the man, especially as it was absolutely necessary for me to see mrs. warner that night and get her consent to my departure before i could think of making further plans. so, leaving word for richter to be sure and wait for me if he came home before i did, i signified to mrs. warner's messenger that i was ready to go with him, and immediately took a seat in the carriage which had been provided for me. the man at once jumped up on the box beside the driver, and before i could close the carriage door we were off, riding rapidly down seventh avenue. as we went the thought came, "what if mrs. warner will not let me off!" but i dismissed the fear at once, for this patient of mine is an extremely unselfish woman, and if she were not too ill to grasp the situation, would certainly sympathize with the strait i was in and consent to accept richter's services in place of my own, especially as she knows and trusts him. when the carriage stopped it was already dark and i could distinguish little of the house i entered, save that it was large and old and did not look like an establishment where a man servant would be likely to be kept. "is mrs. warner here?" i asked of the man who was slowly getting down from the box. "yes, sir," he answered quickly; and i was about to ring the bell before me, when the door opened and a young german girl, courtesying slightly, welcomed me in, saying: "mrs. warner is up-stairs, sir; in the front room, if you please." not doubting her, but greatly astonished at the barren aspect of the place i was in, i stumbled up the faintly lighted stairs before me and entered the great front room. it was empty, but through an open door at the other end i heard a voice saying: "he has come, madam"; and anxious to see my patient, whose presence in this desolate house i found it harder and harder to understand, i stepped into the room where she presumably lay. alas! for my temerity in doing so; for no sooner had i crossed the threshold than the door by which i had entered closed with a click unlike any i had ever heard before, and when i turned to see what it meant, another click came from the opposite side of the room, and i perceived, with a benumbed sense of wonder, that the one person whose somewhat shadowy figure i had encountered on entering had vanished from the place, and that i was shut up alone in a room without visible means of egress. this was startling, and hard to believe at first, but after i had tried the door by which i had entered and found it securely locked, and then bounding to the other side of the room, tried the opposite one with the same result, i could not but acknowledge i was caught. what did it mean? caught, and i was in haste, mad haste. filling the room with my cries, i shouted for help and a quick release, but my efforts were naturally fruitless, and after exhausting myself in vain i stood still and surveyed, with what equanimity was left me, the appearance of the dreary place in which i had thus suddenly become entrapped. chapter ii. it was a small square room, and i shall not soon forget with what a foreboding shudder i observed that its four blank walls were literally unbroken by a single window, for this told me that i was in no communication with the street, and that it would be impossible for me to summon help from the outside world. the single gas jet burning in a fixture hanging from the ceiling was the only relief given to the eye in the blank expanse of white wall that surrounded me; while as to furniture, the room could boast of nothing more than an old-fashioned black-walnut table and two chairs, the latter cushioned, but stiff in the back and generally dilapidated in appearance. the only sign of comfort about me was a tray that stood on the table, containing a couple of bottles of wine and two glasses. the bottles were full and the glasses clean, and to add to this appearance of hospitality a box of cigars rested invitingly near, which i could not fail to perceive, even at the first glance, were of the very best brand. astonished at these tokens of consideration for my welfare, and confounded by the prospect which they offered of a lengthy stay in this place, i gave another great shout; but to no better purpose than before. not a voice answered, and not a stir was heard in the house. but there came from without the faint sound of suddenly moving wheels, as if the carriage which i had left standing before the door had slowly rolled away. if this were so, then was i indeed a prisoner, while the moments so necessary to my plans, and perhaps to the securing of my whole future happiness, were flying by like the wind. as i realized this, and my own utter helplessness, i fell into one of the chairs before me in a state of perfect despair. not that any fears for my life were disturbing me, though one in my situation might well question if he would ever again breathe the open air from which he had been so ingeniously lured. i did not in that first moment of utter downheartedness so much as inquire the reason for the trick which had been played upon me. no, my heart was full of dora, and i was asking myself if i were destined to lose her after all, and that through no lack of effort on my part, but just because a party of thieves or blackmailers had thought fit to play a game with my liberty. it could not be; there must be some mistake about it; it was some great joke, or i was the victim of a dream, or suffering from some hideous nightmare. why, only a half hour before i was in my own office, among my own familiar belongings, and now--but, alas, it was no delusion. only four blank, whitewashed walls met my inquiring eyes, and though i knocked and knocked again upon the two doors which guarded me on either side, hollow echoes continued to be the only answer i received. had the carriage then taken away the two persons i had seen in this house, and was i indeed alone in its great emptiness? the thought made me desperate, but notwithstanding this i was resolved to continue my efforts, for i might be mistaken; there might yet be some being left who would yield to my entreaties if they were backed by something substantial. taking out my watch, i laid it on the table; it was just a quarter to eight. then i emptied my trousers pockets of whatever money they held, and when all was heaped up before me, i could count but twelve dollars, which, together with my studs and a seal ring which i wore, seemed a paltry pittance with which to barter for the liberty of which i had been robbed. but it was all i had with me, and i was willing to part with it at once if only some one would unlock the door and let me go. but how to make known my wishes even if there was any one to listen to them? i had already called in vain, and there was no bell--yes, there was; why had i not seen it before? there was a bell and i sprang to ring it. but just as my hand fell on the cord, i heard a gentle voice behind my back saying in good english, but with a strong foreign accent: "put up your money, mr. atwater; we do not want your money, only your society. allow me to beg you to replace both watch and money." wheeling about in my double surprise at the presence of this intruder and his unexpected acquaintance with my name, i encountered the smiling glance of a middle-aged man of genteel appearance and courteous manners. he was bowing almost to the ground, and was, as i instantly detected, of german birth and education, a gentleman, and not the blackleg i had every reason to expect to see. "you have made a slight mistake," he was saying; "it is your society, only your society, that we want." astonished at his appearance, and exceedingly irritated by his words, i stepped back as he offered me my watch, and bluntly cried: "if it is my society only that you want, you have certainly taken very strange means to procure it. a thief could have set no neater trap, and if it is money you want, state your sum and let me go, for my time is valuable and my society likely to be unpleasant." he gave a shrug with his shoulders that in no wise interfered with his set smile. "you choose to be facetious," he observed. "i have already remarked that we have no use for your money. will you sit down? here is some excellent wine, and if this brand of cigars does not suit you, i will send for another." "send for the devil!" i cried, greatly exasperated. "what do you mean by keeping me in this place against my will? open that door and let me out, or--" i was ready to spring and he saw it. smiling more atrociously than ever, he slipped behind the table, and before i could reach him, had quietly drawn a pistol, which he cocked before my eyes. "you are excited," he remarked, with a suavity that nearly drove me mad. "now excitement is no aid to good company, and i am determined that none but good company shall be in this room to-night. so if you will be kind enough to calm yourself, mr. atwater, you and i may yet enjoy ourselves, but if not--" the action he made was significant, and i felt the cold sweat break out on my forehead through all the heat of my indignation. but i did not mean to show him that he had intimidated me. "excuse me," said i, "and put down your pistol. though you are making me lose irredeemable time, i will try and control myself enough to give you an opportunity for explaining yourself. why have you entrapped me into this place?" "i have already told you," said he, gently laying the pistol before him, but within easy reach of his hand. "but that is preposterous," i began, fast losing my self-control again. "you do not know me, and if you did--" "pardon me, you see i know your name." yes, that was true, and the fact set me thinking. how did he know my name? i did not know him, nor did i know this house, or any reason for which i could have been beguiled into it. was i the victim of a conspiracy, or was the man mad? looking at him very earnestly, i declared: "my name is atwater, and so far you are right, but in learning that much about me you must also have learned that i am neither rich nor influential, nor of any special value to a blackmailer. why choose me out then for--your society? why not choose some one who can--talk?" "i find your conversation very interesting." baffled, exasperated almost beyond the power to restrain myself, i shook my fist in his face, notwithstanding i saw his hand fly to his pistol. "let me go!" i shrieked. "let me go out of this place. i have business, i tell you, important business which means everything to me, and which, if i do not attend to it to-night, will be lost to me for ever. let me go, and i will so far reward you that i will speak to no one of what has taken place here to-night, but go my ways, forgetful of you, forgetful of this house, forgetful of all connected with it." "you are very good," was his quiet reply, "but this wine has to be drunk." and he calmly poured out a glass, while i drew back in despair. "you do not drink wine?" he queried, holding up the glass he had filled between himself and the light. "it is a pity, for it is of most rare vintage. but perhaps you smoke?" sick and disgusted, i found a chair, and sat down in it. if the man were crazy, there was certainly method in his madness. besides, he had not a crazy eye; there was calm calculation in it and not a little good-nature. did he simply want to detain me, and if so, did he have a motive it would pay me to fathom before i exerted myself further to insure my release? answering the wave he made me with his hand by reaching out for the bottle and filling myself a glass, i forced myself to speak more affably as i remarked: "if the wine must be drunk, we had better be about it, as you cannot mean to detain me more than an hour, whatever reason you may have for wishing my society." he looked at me inquiringly before answering, then tossing off his glass, he remarked: "i am sorry, but in an hour a man can scarcely make the acquaintance of another man's exterior." "then you mean--" "to know you thoroughly, if you will be so good; i may never have the opportunity again." he must be mad; nothing else but mania could account for such words and such actions; and yet, if mad, why was he allowed to enter my presence? the man who brought me here, the woman who received me at the door, had not been mad. "and i must stay here--" i began. "till i am quite satisfied. i am afraid that will take till morning." i gave a cry of despair, and then in my utter desperation spoke up to him as i would to a man of feeling: "you don't know what you are doing; you don't know what i shall suffer by any such cruel detention. this night is not like other nights to me. this is a special night in my life, and i need it, i need it, i tell you, to spend as i will. the woman i love"--it seemed horrible to speak of her in this place, but i was wild at my helplessness, and madly hoped i might awake some answering chord in a breast which could not be void of all feeling or he would not have that benevolent look in his eye--"the woman i love," i repeated, "sails for europe to-morrow. we have quarrelled, but she still cares for me, and if i can sail on the same steamer, we will yet make up and be happy." "at what time does this steamer start?" "at nine in the morning." "well, you shall leave this house at eight. if you go directly to the steamer you will be in time." "but--but," i panted, "i have made no arrangements. i shall have to go to my lodgings, write letters, get money. i ought to be there at this moment. have you no mercy on a man who never did you wrong, and only asks to quit you and forget the precious hour you have made him lose?" "i am sorry," he said, "it is certainly quite unfortunate, but the door will not be opened before eight. there is really no one in the house to unlock it." "and do you mean to say," i cried aghast, "that you could not open that door if you would, that you are locked in here as well as i, and that i must remain here till morning, no matter how i feel or you feel?" "will you not take a cigar?" he asked. then i began to see how useless it was to struggle, and visions of dora leaning on the steamer rail with that serpent whispering soft entreaties in her ear came rushing before me, till i could have wept in my jealous chagrin. "it is cruel, base, devilish," i began. "if you had the excuse of wanting money, and took this method of wringing my all from me, i could have patience, but to entrap and keep me here for nothing, when my whole future happiness is trembling in the balance, is the work of a fiend and--" i made a sudden pause, for a strange idea had struck me. chapter iii. what if this man, these men and this woman, were in league with him whose rivalry i feared, and whom i had intended to supplant on the morrow. it was a wild surmise, but was it any wilder than to believe i was held here for a mere whim, a freak, a joke, as this bowing, smiling man before me would have me believe? rising in fresh excitement, i struck my hand on the table. "you want to keep me from going on the steamer," i cried. "that other wretch who loves her has paid you--" but that other wretch could not know that i was meditating any such unusual scheme, as following him without a full day's warning. i thought of this even before i had finished my sentence, and did not need the blank astonishment in the face of the man before me to convince me that i had given utterance to a foolish accusation. "it would have been some sort of a motive for your actions," i humbly added, as i sank back from my hostile attitude; "now you have none." i thought he bestowed upon me a look of quiet pity, but if so he soon hid it with his uplifted glass. "forget the girl," said he; "i know of a dozen just as pretty." i was too indignant to answer. "women are the bane of life," he now sententiously exclaimed. "they are ever intruding themselves between a man and his comfort, as for instance just now between yourself and this good wine." i caught up the bottle in sheer desperation. "don't talk of them," i cried, "and i will try and drink. i almost wish there was poison in the glass. my death here might bring punishment upon you." he shook his head, totally unmoved by my passion. "we deal punishment, not receive it. it would not worry me in the least to leave you lying here upon the floor." i did not believe this, but i did not stop to weigh the question then; i was too much struck by a word he had used. "deal punishment?" i repeated. "are you punishing me? is that why i am here?" he laughed and held out his glass to mine. "you enjoy being sarcastic," he observed. "well, it gives a spice to conversation, i own. talk is apt to be dull without it." for reply i struck the glass from his hand; it fell and shivered, and he looked for the moment really distressed. "i had rather you had struck me," he remarked, "for i have an answer for an injury like that; but for a broken glass--" he sighed and looked dolefully at the pieces on the floor. mortified and somewhat ashamed, i put down my own glass. "you should not have exasperated me," i cried, and walked away beyond temptation, to the other side of the room. his spirits had received a dampener, but in a few minutes he seized upon a cigar and began smoking; as the wreaths curled over his head he began to talk, and this time it was on subjects totally foreign to myself and even to himself. it was good talk; that i recognized, though i hardly listened to what he said. i was asking myself what time it had now got to be, and what was the meaning of my incarceration, till my brain became weary and i could scarcely distinguish the topic he discussed. but he kept on for all my seeming, and indeed real, indifference, kept on hour after hour in a monologue he endeavored to make interesting, and which probably would have been so if the time and occasion had been fit for my enjoying it. as it was, i had no ear for his choicest phrases, his subtlest criticisms, or his most philosophic disquisitions. i was wrapped up in self and my cruel disappointment, and when in a certain access of frenzy i leaped to my feet and took a look at the watch still lying on the table, and saw it was four o'clock in the morning, i gave a bound of final despair, and throwing myself on the floor, gave myself up to the heavy sleep that mercifully came to relieve me. i was roused by feeling a touch on my breast. clapping my hand to the spot where i had felt the intruding hand, i discovered that my watch had been returned to my pocket. drawing it out i first looked at it and then cast my eyes quickly about the room. there was no one with me, and the doors stood open between me and the hall. it was eight o'clock, as my watch had just told me. that i rushed from the house and took the shortest road to the steamer, goes without saying. i could not cross the ocean with dora, but i might yet see her and tell her how near i came to giving her my company on that long voyage which now would only serve to further the ends of my rival. but when, after torturing delays on cars and ferry-boats, and incredible efforts to pierce a throng that was equally determined not to be pierced, i at last reached the wharf, it was to behold her, just as i had fancied in my wildest moments, leaning on a rail of the ship and listening, while she abstractedly waved her hand to some friends below, to the words of the man who had never looked so handsome to me or so odious as at this moment of his unconscious triumph. her father was near her, and from his eager attitude and rapidly wandering gaze i saw that he was watching for me. at last he spied me struggling aboard, and immediately his face lighted up in a way which made me wish he had not thought it necessary to wait for my anticipated meeting with his daughter. "ah, dick, you are late," he began, effusively, as i put foot on deck. but i waved him back and went at once to dora. "forgive me, pardon me," i incoherently said, as her sweet eyes rose in startled pleasure to mine. "i would have brought you flowers, but i meant to sail with you, dora, i tried to--but wretches, villains, prevented it and--and--" "oh, it does not matter," she said, and then blushed, probably because the words sounded unkind, "i mean--" but she could not say what she meant, for just then the bell rang for all visitors to leave, and her father came forward, evidently thinking all was right between us, smiled benignantly in her face, gave her a kiss and me a wink and disappeared in the crowd that was now rapidly going ashore. i felt that i must follow, but i gave her one look and one squeeze of the hand, and then as i saw her glances wander to his face, i groaned in spirit, stammered some words of choking sorrow and was gone, before her embarrassment would let her speak words, which i knew would only add to my grief and make this hasty parting unendurable. the look of amazement and chagrin with which her father met my reappearance on the dock can easily be imagined. "why, dick," he exclaimed, "aren't you going after all? i thought i could rely on you. where's your pluck, lad? scared off by a frown? i wouldn't have believed it, dick. what if she does frown to-day; she will smile to-morrow." i shook my head; i could not tell him just then that it was not through any lack of pluck on my part that i had failed him. when i left the dock i went straight to a restaurant, for i was faint as well as miserable. but my cup of coffee choked me and the rolls and eggs were more than i could face. rising impatiently, i went out. was any one more wretched than i that morning and could any one nourish a more bitter grievance? as i strode towards my lodgings i chewed the cud of my disappointment till my wrongs loomed up like mountains and i was seized by a spirit of revenge. should i let such an interference as i had received go unpunished? no, if the wretch who had detained me was not used to punishment he should receive a specimen of it now and from a man who was no longer a prisoner, and who once aroused did not easily forego his purposes. turning aside from my former destination, i went immediately to a police-station and when i had entered my complaint was astonished to see that all the officials had grouped about me and were listening to my words with the most startled interest. "was the man who came for you a german?" one asked. i said "yes." "and the man who stood guardian over you and entertained you with wine and cigars, was not he a german too?" i nodded acquiescence and they at once began to whisper together; then one of them advanced to me and said: "you have not been home, i understand; you had better come." astonished by his manner i endeavored to inquire what he meant, but he drew me away, and not till we were within a stone's throw of my office did he say, "you must prepare yourself for a shock. the impertinences you suffered from last night were unpleasant no doubt, but if you had been allowed to return home, you might not now be deploring them in comparative peace and safety." "what do you mean?" "that your partner was not as fortunate as yourself. look up at the house; what do you see there?" a crowd was what i saw first, but he made me look higher, and then i perceived that the windows of my room, of our room, were shattered and blackened and that part of the casement of one had been blown out. "a fire!" i shrieked. "poor richter was smoking--" "no, he was not smoking. he had no time for a smoke. an infernal machine burst in that room last night and your friend was its wretched victim." i never knew why my friend's life was made a sacrifice to the revenge of his fellow-countrymen. though we had been intimate in the year we had been together, he had never talked to me of his country and i had never seen him in company with one of his own nation. but that he was the victim of some political revenge was apparent, for though it proved impossible to find the man who had detained me, the house was found and ransacked, and amongst other secret things was discovered the model of the machine which had been introduced into our room, and which had proved so fatal to the man it was addressed to. why men who were so relentless in their purposes towards him should have taken such pains to keep me from sharing his fate, is one of those anomalies in human nature which now and then awake our astonishment. if i had not lost dora through my detention at their hands i should look back upon that evening with sensations of thankfulness. as it is, i sometimes question if it would not have been better if they had let me take my chances. * * * * * have i lost dora? from a letter i received to-day i begin to think not. the black cross. a black cross had been set against judge hawkins' name; why, it is not for me to say. we were not accustomed to explain our motives or to give reasons for our deeds. the deeds were enough, and this black cross meant death; and when it had been shown us, all that we needed to know further was at what hour we should meet for the contemplated raid. a word from the captain settled that; and when the next friday came, a dozen men met at the place of rendezvous, ready for the ride which should bring them to the judge's solitary mansion across the mountains. i was amongst them, and in as satisfactory a mood as i had ever been in my life; for the night was favorable, and the men hearty and in first-rate condition. but after we had started, and were threading a certain wood, i began to have doubts. feelings i had never before experienced assailed me with a force that first perplexed and then astounded me. i was afraid, and what rather heightened than diminished the unwonted sensation, was the fact that i was not afraid of anything tangible, either in the present or future, but of something unexplainable and peculiar, which, if it lay in the skies, certainly made them look dark indeed; and if it hid in the forest, caused its faintest murmur to seem like the utterance of a great dread, as awful as it was inexplicable. i nevertheless proceeded, and should have done so if the great streaks of lightning which now and then shot zigzag through the sky had taken the shape of words and bid us all beware. i was not one to be daunted, and knew no other course than that of advance when once a stroke of justice had been planned, and the direction for its fulfilment marked out. i went on, but i began to think, and that to me was an experience; for i had never been taught to reflect, only to fight and obey. the house towards which we were riding was built on a hillside, and the first thing we saw on emerging from the forest, was a light burning in one of its distant windows. this was a surprise; for the hour was late, and in that part of the country people were accustomed to retire early, even such busy men as the judge. he must have a visitor, and a visitor meant a possible complication of affairs; so a halt was called and i was singled out to reconnoitre the premises, and bring back word of what we had a right to expect. i started off in a strange state of mind. the fear i had spoken of had left me, but a vague shadow remained, through which, as through a mist, i saw the light in that far away window beckoning me on to what i felt was in some way to make an end of my present life. as i drew nearer to it, the feeling increased; then it, too, left me, and i found myself once more the daring avenger. this was when i came to the foot of the hill and discovered i had but a few steps more to take. the house, which had now become plainly visible, was a solid one of stone, built as i have said, on the hillside. it faced the road, as was shown by the large portico, dimly to be discerned in that direction; but its rooms were mainly on the side, and it was from one of these that the light shone. as i came yet nearer, i perceived that these rooms were guarded by a piazza, which, communicating with the portico in front, afforded an open road to that window and a clear sight of what lay behind it. i was instantly off my horse and upon the piazza, and before i had had time to realize that my fears had returned to me with double force, i had crept with stealthy steps towards that uncurtained window and looked in. what did i see? at first nothing but a calm, studious figure, bending above a batch of closely written papers, upon which the light shone too brightly for me to perceive much of what lay beyond them. but gradually an influence, of whose workings i was scarcely conscious, drew my eyes away, and i began to discover on every side strange and beautiful objects which greatly interested me, until suddenly my eyes fell upon a vision of loveliness so enchanting that i forgot to look elsewhere, and became for the moment nothing but sight and feeling. it was a picture, or so i thought in that first instant of awe and delight. but presently i saw that it was a woman, living and full of the thoughts that had never been mine; and at the discovery a sudden trembling seized me; for i had never seen anything in heaven or earth like her beauty, while she saw nothing but the man who was bending over his papers. there was a door or something dark behind her, and against it her tall strong figure, clad in a close white gown, stood out with a distinctness that was not altogether earthly. but it was her face that held me, and made of me from moment to moment a new man. for in it i discerned what i had never believed in till now, devotion that had no limit, and love which asked nothing in return. she seemed to be faltering on the threshold of that room, like one who would like to enter but does not dare, and in another moment, with a smile that pierced me through and through, she turned as if to go. instantly i forgot everything but my despair, and leaned forward with an impetuosity that betrayed my presence, for she glanced quickly towards the window, and seeing me, turned pale, even while she rose in height till i felt myself shrink and grow small before her. thrusting out her hand, she caught from the table before her what looked like a small dagger, and holding it up, advanced upon me with blazing eyes and parted lips, not seeing that the judge had risen to his feet, not seeing anything but my face glued against the pane, and staring with an expression that must have struck her to the heart as surely as her look pierced mine. when she was almost upon me i turned and fled. hell could not have frightened me, but heaven did; and for me that woman was heaven whether she smiled or frowned, gazed upon another with love, or raised a dagger to strike me to the ground. how soon i met my mates i cannot say. in a few minutes, doubtless, for they had stolen after me and had detected me running away from the window. i was forced to tell my tale, and i told it unhesitatingly, for i knew i could not save him--if i wanted to--and i knew i should save her or die in the attempt. "he is alone there with a girl," i announced. "whether she is his wife or not i cannot say, but there is no cross against her name, and i ask that she be spared not only from sharing his fate, but from the sight of his death, for she loves him." this from me! no wonder the captain stared, then laughed. but i did not laugh in return, and being the strongest man in the band and the surest with my rifle, he did not trifle long, but listened to my plans and in part consented to them, so that i retreated to my post at the gateway with something like confidence, while he, approaching the door, lifted the knocker and let it fall with a resounding clang that must have rung like a knell of death to the hearts within. for the judge knew our errand. i saw it in his face when he rose to his feet, and he had no hope, for we had never failed in our attempts, and the house, though strongly built, was easily assailable. * * * * * while the captain knocked, three men had scaled the portico and were ready to enter the open windows, if the judge refused to appear or offered any resistance to what was known as the captain's will. "death to the judge!" was the cry; and it was echoed not only at the door, but around the house, where the rest of the men had drawn a cordon ready to waylay any one who sought to escape. death to the judge! and the judge was loved by that woman and would be mourned by her till--but a voice is speaking, a voice from out that great house, and it asks what is wanted and what the meaning is of these threats of death. and the captain answers short and sharp: "the ku-klux commands but never explains. what it commands now is for judge hawkins to come forth. if he shrinks or delays his house will be entered and burnt; but if he will come out and meet like a man what awaits him, his house shall go free and his family remain unmolested." "and what is it that awaits him?" pursued the voice. "four bullets from four unerring rifles," returned the captain. "it is well; he will come forth," cried the voice, and then in a huskier tone: "let me kiss the woman i love. i will not keep you long." and the captain answered nothing, only counted out clearly and steadily, "one--two--three," up to a hundred, then he paused, turned, and lifted his hand; when instantly our four rifles rose, and at the same moment the door, with a faint grating sound i shall never forget, slowly opened and the firm, unshrinking figure of the judge appeared. we did not delay. one simultaneous burst of fire, one loud quick crack, and his figure fell before our eyes. a sound, a cry from within, then all was still, and the captain, mounting his horse, gave one quick whistle and galloped away. we followed him, but i was the last to mount, and did not follow long; for at the flash of those guns i had seen a smile cross our victim's lip, and my heart was on fire, and i could not rest till i had found my way back to that open doorway and the figure lying within it. there it was, and behind it a house empty as my heart has been since that day. a man's dress covering a woman's form--and over the motionless, perfect features, that same smile which i had seen in the room beyond and again in the quick glare of the rifles. i had harbored no evil thought concerning her, but when i beheld that smile now sealed and fixed upon her lips, i found the soul i had never known i possessed until that day. a mysterious case. it was a mystery to me, but not to the other doctors. they took, as was natural, the worst possible view of the matter, and accepted the only solution which the facts seem to warrant. but they are men, and i am a woman; besides, i knew the nurse well, and i could not believe her capable of wilful deceit, much less of the heinous crime which deceit in this case involved. so to me the affair was a mystery. the facts were these: my patient, a young typewriter, seemingly without friends or enemies, lay in a small room of a boarding-house, afflicted with a painful but not dangerous malady. though she was comparatively helpless, her vital organs were strong, and we never had a moment's uneasiness concerning her, till one morning when we found her in an almost dying condition from having taken, as we quickly discovered, a dose of poison, instead of the soothing mixture which had been left for her with the nurse. poison! and no one, not even herself or the nurse, could explain how the same got into the room, much less into her medicine. and when i came to study the situation, i found myself as much at loss as they; indeed, more so; for i knew i had made no mistake in preparing the mixture, and that, even if i had, this especial poison could not have found its way into it, owing to the fact that there neither was nor ever had been a drop of it in my possession. the mixture, then, was pure when it left my hand, and, according to the nurse, whom, as i have said, i implicitly believe, it went into the glass pure. and yet when, two hours later, without her having left the room or anybody coming into it, she found occasion to administer the draught, poison was in the cup, and the patient was only saved from death by the most immediate and energetic measures, not only on her part, but on that of dr. holmes, whom in her haste and perturbation she had called in from the adjacent house. the patient, young, innocent, unfortunate, but of a strangely courageous disposition, betrayed nothing but the utmost surprise at the peril she had so narrowly escaped. when dr. holmes intimated that perhaps she had been tired of suffering, and had herself found means of putting the deadly drug into her medicine, she opened her great gray eyes, with such a look of child-like surprise and reproach, that he blushed, and murmured some sort of apology. "poison myself?" she cried, "when you promise me that i shall get well? you do not know what a horror i have of dying in debt, or you would never say that." this was some time after the critical moment had passed, and there were in the room mrs. dayton, the landlady, dr. holmes, the nurse, and myself. at the utterance of these words we all felt ashamed and cast looks of increased interest at the poor girl. she was very lovely. though without means, and to all appearance without friends, she possessed in great degree the charm of winsomeness, and not even her many sufferings, nor the indignation under which she was then laboring, could quite rob her countenance of that tender and confiding expression which so often redeems the plainest face and makes beauty doubly attractive. "dr. holmes does not know you," i hastened to say; "i do, and utterly repel for you any such insinuation. in return, will you tell me if there is any one in the world whom you can call your enemy? though the chief mystery is how so deadly and unusual a poison could have gotten into a clean glass, without the knowledge of yourself or the nurse, still it might not be amiss to know if there is any one, here or elsewhere, who for any reason might desire your death." the surprise in the child-like eyes increased rather than diminished. "i don't know what to say," she murmured. "i am so insignificant and feeble a person that it seems absurd for me to talk of having an enemy. besides, i have none. on the contrary, every one seems to love me more than i deserve. haven't you noticed it, mrs. dayton?" the landlady smiled and stroked the sick girl's hand. "indeed," she replied, "i have noticed that people love you, but i have never thought that it was more than you deserved. you are a dear little thing, addie." and though she knew and i knew that the "every one" mentioned by the poor girl meant ourselves, and possibly her unknown employer, we were none the less touched by her words. the more we studied the mystery, the deeper and less explainable did it become. and indeed i doubt if we should have ever got to the bottom of it, if there had not presently occurred in my patient a repetition of the same dangerous symptoms, followed by the same discovery, of poison in the glass, and the same failure on the part of herself and nurse to account for it. i was aroused from my bed at midnight to attend her, and as i entered her room and met her beseeching eyes looking upon me from the very shadow of death, i made a vow that i would never cease my efforts till i had penetrated the secret of what certainly looked like a persistent attempt upon this poor girl's life. i went about the matter deliberately. as soon as i could leave her side, i drew the nurse into a corner and again questioned her. the answers were the same as before. addie had shown distress as soon as she had swallowed her usual quantity of medicine, and in a few minutes more was in a perilous condition. "did you hand the glass yourself to addie?" "i did." "where did you take it from?" "from the place where you left it--the little stand on the farther side of the bed." "and do you mean to say that you had not touched it since i prepared it?" "i do, ma'am." "and that no one else has been in the room?" "no one, ma'am." i looked at her intently. i trusted her, but the best of us are but mortal. "can you assure me that you have not been asleep during this time?" "look at this letter i have been writing," she returned. "it is eight pages long, and it was not begun when you left us at o'clock." i shook my head and fell into a deep revery. how was that matter to be elucidated, and how was my patient to be saved? another draught of this deadly poison, and no power on earth could resuscitate her. what should i do, and with what weapons should i combat a danger at once so subtle and so deadly? reflection brought no decision, and i left the room at last, determined upon but one point, and that was the immediate removal of my patient. but before i had left the house i changed my mind even on this point. removal of the patient meant safety to her, perhaps, but not the explanation of her mysterious poisoning. i would change the position of her bed, and i would even set a watch over her and the nurse, but i would not take her out of the house--not yet. and what had produced this change in my plans? the look of a woman whom i met on the stairs. i did not know her, but when i encountered her glance i felt that there was some connection between us, and i was not at all surprised to hear her ask: "and how is miss wilcox to-day?" "miss wilcox is very low," i returned. "the least neglect, the least shock to her nerves, would be sufficient to make all my efforts useless. otherwise--" "she will get well?" i nodded. i had exaggerated the condition of the sufferer, but some secret instinct compelled me to do so. the look which passed over the woman's face satisfied me that i had done well; and, though i left the house, it was with the intention of speedily returning and making inquiries into the woman's character and position in the household. i learned little or nothing. that she occupied a good room and paid for it regularly seemed to be sufficient to satisfy mrs. dayton. her name, which proved to be leroux, showed her to be french, and her promptly paid $ a week showed her to be respectable--what more could any hard-working landlady require? but i was distrustful. her face, though handsome, possessed an eager, ferocious look which i could not forget, and the slight gesture with which she had passed me at the close of the short conversation i have given above had a suggestion of triumph in it which seemed to contain whole volumes of secret and mysterious hate. i went into miss wilcox's room very thoughtful. "i am going--" but here the nurse held up her hand. "hark," she whispered; she had just set the clock, and was listening to its striking. i did hark, but not to the clock. "whose step is that?" i asked, after she had left the clock, and sat down. "oh, some one in the next room. the walls here are very thin--only boards in places." i did not complete what i had begun to say. if i could hear steps through the partition, then could our neighbors hear us talk, and what i had determined upon must be kept secret from all outsiders. i drew a sheet of paper toward me and wrote: "i shall stay here to-night. something tells me that in doing this i shall solve this mystery. but i must appear to go. take my instructions as usual, and bid me good-night. lock the door after me, but with a turn of the key instantly unlock it again. i shall go down stairs, see that my carriage drives away, and quietly return. on my re-entrance i shall expect to find miss wilcox on the couch with the screen drawn up around it, you in your big chair, and the light lowered. what i do thereafter need not concern you. pretend to go to sleep." the nurse nodded, and immediately entered upon the programme i had planned. i prepared the medicine as usual, placed it in its usual glass, and laid that glass where it had always been set, on a small table at the farther side of the bed. then i said "good-night," and passed hurriedly out. i was fortunate enough to meet no one, going or coming. i regained the room, pushed open the door, and finding everything in order, proceeded at once to the bed, upon which, after taking off my hat and cloak and carefully concealing them, i lay down and deftly covered myself up. my idea was this--that by some mesmeric influence of which she was ignorant, the nurse had been forced to either poison the glass herself or open the door for another to do it. if this were so, she or the other person would be obliged to pass around the foot of the bed in order to reach the glass, and i should be sure to see it, for i did not pretend to sleep. by the low light enough could be discerned for safe movement about the room, and not enough to make apparent the change which had been made in the occupant of the bed. i waited with indescribable anxiety, and more than once fancied i heard steps, if not a feverish breathing close to my bed-head; but no one appeared, and the nurse in her big chair did not move. at last i grew weary, and fearful of losing control over my eyelids, i fixed my gaze upon the glass, as if in so doing i should find a talisman to keep me awake, when, great god! what was it i saw! a hand, a creeping hand coming from nowhere and joined to nothing, closing about that glass and drawing it slowly away till it disappeared entirely from before my eyes! i gasped--i could not help it--but i did not stir. for now i knew i was asleep and dreaming. but no, i pinch myself under the clothes, and find that i am very wide awake indeed; and then--look! look! the glass is returning; the hand--a woman's hand--is slowly setting it back in its place, and-- with a bound i have that hand in my grasp. it is a living hand, and it is very warm and strong and fierce, and the glass has fallen and lies shattered between us, and a double cry is heard, one from behind the partition, through an opening in which this hand had been thrust, and one from the nurse, who has jumped to her feet and is even now assisting me in holding the struggling member, upon which i have managed to scratch a tell-tale mark with a piece of the fallen glass. at sight of the iron-like grip which this latter lays upon the intruding member, i at once release my own grasp. "hold on," i cried, and leaping from the bed, i hastened first to my patient, whom i carefully reassured, and then into the hall, where i found the landlady running to see what was the matter. "i have found the wretch," i cried, and drawing her after me, hurried about to the other side of the partition, where i found a closet, and in it the woman i had met on the stairs, but glaring now like a tiger in her rage, menace, and fear. that woman was my humble little patient's bitter but unknown enemy. enamoured of a man who--unwisely, perhaps--had expressed in her hearing his admiration for the pretty typewriter, she had conceived the idea that he intended to marry the latter, and, vowing vengeance, had taken up her abode in the same house with the innocent girl, where, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance of my meeting her on the stairs, she would certainly have carried out her scheme of vile and secret murder. the poison she had bought in another city, and the hole in the partition she had herself cut. this had been done at first for the purpose of observation, she having detected in passing by miss wilcox's open door that a banner of painted silk hung over that portion of the wall in such a way as to hide any aperture which might be made there. afterward, when miss wilcox fell sick, and she discovered by short glimpses through her loop-hole that the glass of medicine was placed on a table just under this banner, she could not resist the temptation to enlarge the hole to a size sufficient to admit the pushing aside of the banner and the reaching through of her murderous hand. why she did not put poison enough in the glass to kill miss wilcox at once i have never discovered. probably she feared detection. that by doing as she did she brought about the very event she had endeavored to avert, is the most pleasing part of the tale. when the gentleman of whom i have spoken learned of the wicked attempt which had been made upon miss wilcox's life, his heart took pity upon her, and a marriage ensued, which i have every reason to believe is a happy one. shall he wed her? when i met taylor at the club the other night, he looked so cheerful i scarcely knew him. "what is it?" cried i, advancing with outstretched hand. "i am going to be married," was his gay reply. "this is my last night at the club." i was glad, and showed it. taylor is a man for whom domestic life is a necessity. he has never been at home with us, though we all liked him, and he in his way liked us. "and who is the fortunate lady?" i inquired; for i had been out of town for some time, and had not as yet been made acquainted with the latest society news. "my intended bride is mrs. walworth, the young widow--" he must have seen a change take place in my expression, for he stopped. "you know her, of course?" he added, after a careful study of my face. i had by this time regained my self-possession. "of course," i repeated, "and i have always thought her one of the most attractive women in the city. another shake upon it, old man." but my heart was heavy and my mind perplexed notwithstanding the forced cordiality of my tones, and i took an early opportunity to withdraw by myself and think over the situation. mrs. walworth? she is a pretty woman, and what is more, she is to all appearance a woman whose winning manners bespeak a kindly heart. "just the person," i contemplated, "whom i would pick out for the helpmate of my somewhat exacting friend, if--" i paused on that if. it was a formidable one and grew none the smaller or less important under my broodings. indeed, it seemed to dilate until it assumed gigantic proportions, worrying me and weighing so heavily upon my conscience that i at last rose from the newspaper at which i had been hopelessly staring, and looking up taylor again asked him how soon he expected to become a benedict. his answer startled me. "in a week," he replied, "and if i have not asked you to the ceremony it is because helen is not in a position to--" i suppose he finished the sentence, but i did not hear him. if the marriage was so near, of course it would be folly on my part to attempt to hinder it. i drew off for the second time. but i could not remain easy. taylor is a good fellow, and it would be a shame to allow him to marry a woman with whom he could never be happy. he would feel any such disappointment so keenly, so much more keenly than most men. a lack of principle or even of sensibility on her part would make him miserable. anticipating heaven, he would not need a hell to make him wretched; a purgatory would do it. was i right then in letting him proceed in his intentions regarding mrs. walworth, when she possibly was the woman who--i paused and tried to call up her countenance before me. it was a sweet one and possibly a true one. i might have trusted her for myself, but i do not look for perfection, and taylor does, and will certainly go to the bad if he is deceived in his expectations. but in a week! it is too late for interference--only it is never too late till the knot is tied. as i thought of this, i decided impulsively, and perhaps you may say unwisely, to give him a hint of his danger, and i did it in this wise: "taylor," said i, when i had him safely in my own rooms, "i am going to tell you a bit of personal history, curious enough, i think, to interest you even upon the eve of your marriage. i do not know when i shall see you again, and i should like you to know how a lawyer and man of the world can sometimes be taken in." he nodded, accepting the situation good-humoredly, though i saw by the abstraction with which he gazed into the fire that i should have to be very interesting to lure him from the thoughts that engrossed him. as i meant to be very interesting, this did not greatly concern me. "one morning last spring," i began, "i received in my morning mail a letter, the delicate penmanship of which at once attracted my attention and awakened my curiosity. turning to the signature, i read the name of a young lady friend of mine, and somewhat startled at the thought that this was the first time i had ever seen the handwriting of one i knew so well, i perused the letter with an interest that presently became painful as i realized the tenor of its contents. i will not quote the letter, though i could, but confine myself to saying that after a modest recognition of my friendship for her--quite a fatherly friendship, i assure you, as she is only eighteen, and i, as you know, am well on towards fifty--she proceeded to ask in a humble and confiding spirit for the loan--do not start--of fifty dollars. such a request coming from a young girl well connected and with every visible sign of being generously provided for by her father, was certainly startling to an old bachelor of settled ways and strict notions, but remembering her youth and the childish innocence of her manner, i turned over the page and read as her reason for proffering such a request, that her heart was set upon aiding a certain poor family that stood in immediate need of food, clothes, and medicines, but that she could not do what she wished, because she had already spent all the money allowed her by her father for such purposes and dared not go to him for more, as she had once before offended him by doing this, and feared if she repeated her fault he would carry out the threat he had then made of stopping her allowance altogether. but the family was a deserving one and she could not see any member of it starve, so she came to me, of whose goodness she was assured, convinced i would understand her perplexity and excuse her, and so forth and so forth, in language quite child-like and entreating, which, if it did not satisfy my ideas of propriety, at least touched my heart and made any action which i could take in the matter extremely difficult. "to refuse her request would be at once to mortify and aggrieve her; to accede to it and give her the fifty dollars she asked--a sum by the way i could not well spare--would be to encourage an action easily pardoned once, but which if repeated would lead to unpleasant complications, to say the least. the third course, of informing her father of what she needed, i did not even consider, for i knew him well enough to be sure that nothing but pain to her would be the result. i therefore compromised the affair by inclosing the money in a letter, in which i told her that i comprehended her difficulty and sent with pleasure the amount she needed, but that as a friend i must add that while in the present instance she had run no risk of being misunderstood or unkindly censured, that such a request made to another man and under other circumstances might provoke a surprise capable of leading to the most unpleasant consequences, and advised her if she ever again found herself in such a strait to appeal directly to her father, or else to deny herself a charity which she was in no position to bestow. "this letter i undertook to deliver myself, for one of the curious points of her communication had been the entreaty that i would not delay the help she needed by trusting the money to any hand but my own, but would bring it to a certain hotel down-town and place it at the beginning of the book of isaiah in the large bible i would find lying on a side table in the small parlor off the main one. she would seek it there before the morning was over, and so, without the intervention of a third party, acquire the means she desired for helping a poor and deserving family. "i knew the hotel she mentioned, and i remembered the room, but i did not remember the bible. however, it was sure to be in the place she indicated; and though i was not in much sympathy with my errand, i respected her whim and carried the letter down-town. i had reached main street and was in sight of the hotel designated, when suddenly on the opposite corner of the street i saw the young girl herself. she looked as fresh as the morning, and smiled so gayly i felt somewhat repaid for the annoyance she had caused me, and gratified that i could cut matters short by putting the letter directly in her hand, i crossed the street to her side. as soon as we were face to face, i said: "'how fortunate i am to meet you. here is the amount you need sealed up in this letter. you see i had it all ready.' "the face she lifted to mine wore so blank a look that i paused, astonished. "'what do you mean?' she asked, her eyes looking straight into mine with such innocence in their clear blue depths, i was at once convinced she knew nothing of the matter with which my thoughts were busy. 'i am very glad to see you, but i do not in the least understand what you mean by the amount i need.' and she glanced at the letter i held out, with an air of distrust mingled with curiosity. "'you cut me short in my efforts to do a charitable action. i heard, no matter how, that you were interested just now in a destitute family, and took this way of assisting you in their behalf.' "her blue eyes opened wider. 'the poor are always with us,' she replied, 'but i know of no especial family just now that requires any such help as you intimate. if i did, papa would give me what assistance i needed.' "i was greatly pleased to hear her say this, for i am very fond of my young friend, but i was deeply indignant also against the unknown person who had taken advantage of my regard for this young girl to force money from me. i therefore did not linger at her side, but after due apologies hastened immediately here where there is a man employed who to my knowledge had once been a trusted member of the police. "telling him no more of the story than was necessary to ensure his co-operation in the plan i had formed to discover the author of this fraud, i extracted the bank-notes from the letter i had written, and put in their place stiff pieces of manila paper. taking the envelope so filled to the hotel already referred to, i placed it at the opening chapters of isaiah in the bible, as described. there was no one in any of the rooms when i went in, and i encountered only a bell-boy as i came out, but at the door i ran against a young man whom i strictly forbore to recognize, but whom i knew to be my improvised detective coming to take his stand in some place where he could watch the parlor and note who went into it. "at noon i returned to the hotel, passed immediately to the small parlor and looked into the bible. the letter was gone. coming out of the room, i was at once joined by my detective. "'has the letter been taken?' he eagerly inquired. "i nodded. "his brows wrinkled and he looked both troubled and perplexed. "'i don't understand it,' he remarked. 'i've seen every one who has gone into that room since you left it, but i do not know any more than before who took the letter. you see,' he continued, as i looked at him sharply, 'i had to remain out here. if i had gone even into the large room, the bible would not have been disturbed, nor the letter either. so, in the hope of knowing the rogue at sight, i strolled about this hall, and kept my eye constantly on that door, but--' "he looked embarrassed, and stopped. 'you say the letter is gone,' he suggested, after a moment. "'yes,' i returned. "he shook his head. 'nobody went into that room or came out of it,' he went on, 'whom you would have wished me to follow. i should have thought myself losing time if i had taken one step after any one of them.' "'but who did go into that room?' i urged, impatient at his perplexity. "'only three persons this morning,' he returned. 'you know them all.' and he mentioned first mrs. couldock." taylor, who was lending me the superficial attention of a preoccupied man, smiled frankly at the utterance of this name. "of course, she had nothing to do with such a debasing piece of business," he observed. "of course not," i repeated. "nor does it seem likely that miss dawes could have been concerned in it. yet my detective told me that she was the next person who went into the parlor." "i do not know miss dawes so well," remarked taylor, carelessly. "but i do," said i; "and i would as soon suspect my sister of a dishonorable act as this noble, self-sacrificing woman." "the third person?" suggested taylor. i got up and crossed the floor. when my back was to him, i said, quietly--"was mrs. walworth." the silence that followed was very painful. i did not care to break it, and he, doubtless, found himself unable to do so. it must have been five minutes before either of us spoke; then he suddenly cried: "where is that detective, as you call him? i want to see him." "let me see him for you," said i. "i should hardly wish sudley, discreet as i consider him, to know you had any interest in this affair." taylor rose and came to where i stood. "you believe," said he, "that she, the woman i am about to marry, is the one who wrote you that infamous letter?" i faced him quite frankly. "i do not feel ready to acknowledge that," i replied. "one of those three women took my letter out from the bible, where i placed it; which of them wrote the lines that provoked it i do not dare conjecture. you say it was not mrs. couldock, i say it was not miss dawes, but--" he broke in upon me impetuously. "have you the letter?" he asked. i had, and showed it to him. "it is not helen's handwriting," he said. "nor is it that of mrs. couldock or miss dawes." he looked at me for a moment in a wild sort of way. "you think she got some one to write it for her?" he cried. "helen! my helen! but it is not so; it cannot be so. why, huntley, to have sent such a letter as that over the name of an innocent young girl, who, but for the happy chance of meeting you as she did might never have had the opportunity of righting herself in your estimation, argues a cold and calculating selfishness closely allied to depravity. and my helen is an angel--or so i have always thought her." the depth to which his voice sank in the last sentence showed that for all his seeming confidence he was not without his doubts. i began to feel very uncomfortable, and not knowing what consolation to offer, i ventured upon the suggestion that he should see mrs. walworth and frankly ask her whether she had been to the hotel on main street on such a day, and if so, if she had seen a letter addressed to miss n---- lying on the table of the small parlor. his answer showed how much his confidence in her had been shaken. "a woman who, for the sake of paying some unworthy debt or of gratifying some whim of feminine vanity, could make use of a young girl's signature to obtain money, would not hesitate at any denial. she would not even blench at my questions." he was right. "i must be convinced in some other way," he went on. "mrs. couldock or miss dawes do not either of them possess any more truthful or ingenuous countenance than she does, and though it seems madness to suspect such women--" "wait," i broke in. "let us be sure of all the facts before we go on. you lie down here and close your eyes; now pull the rug up so. i will have sudley in and question him. if you do not turn towards the light he will not know who you are." taylor followed my suggestion, and in a few moments sudley stood before me. i opened upon him quite carelessly. "sudley," said i, throwing down the newspaper i had been ostensibly reading, "you remember that little business you did for me in main street last month? something i've been reading made me think of it again." "yes, sir." "have you never had a conviction yourself as to which of the three ladies you saw go into the parlor took the letter i left hid in the bible?" "no, sir. you see i could not. all of them are well known in society here and all of them belong to the most respectable families. i wouldn't dare to choose between them, sir." "certainly not," i rejoined, "unless you have some good reason for doing so, such as having been able to account for the visits of two of the ladies to the hotel, and not of the third." "they all had a good pretext for being there. mrs. couldock gave her card to the boy before going into the parlor, and left as soon as he returned with word that the lady she called to see was not in. miss dawes gave no card, but asked for a miss terhune, i think, and did not remain a moment after she was informed that that lady had left the hotel." "and mrs. walworth?" "she came in from the street adjusting her veil, and upon looking around for a mirror was directed to the parlor, into which she at once stepped. she remained there but a moment, and when she came out passed directly into the street." these words disconcerted me; the mirror was just over the table in the small room, but i managed to remark nonchalantly: "could you not tell whether any of these three ladies opened the bible?" "not without seeming intrusive." i sighed and dismissed the man. when he was gone i approached taylor. "he can give us no assistance," i cried. my friend was already on his feet, looking very miserable. "i know of only one thing to do," he remarked. "to-morrow i shall call upon mrs. couldock and miss dawes, and entreat them to tell me if, for any reason, they undertook to deliver a letter mysteriously left in the bible of the ---- hotel one day last month. they may have been deputed to do so, and be quite willing to acknowledge it." "and mrs. walworth? will you not ask her the same question?" he shook his head and turned away. "very well," said i to myself, "then i will." accordingly the next day i called upon mrs. walworth. taking her by the hand, i gently forced her to stand for a moment where the light from the one window fell full upon her face. i said: "you must pardon my intrusion upon you at a time when you are naturally so busy, but there is something you can do for me that will rid me of a great anxiety. you remember being in ---- hotel one morning last month?" she was looking quietly up at me, her lips parted, her eyes smiling and expectant, but at the mention of that hotel i thought--and yet i may have been mistaken--that a slight change took place in her expression, if it was only that the glance grew more gentle and the smile more marked. but her voice when she answered was the same as that with which she had uttered her greeting. "i do not remember," she replied, "yet i may have been there; i go to so many places. why do you ask?" she inquired. "because if you were there on that morning--and i have been told you were--you may be able to solve a question that is greatly perplexing me." still the same gentle, inquiring look on her face; only now there was a little furrow of wonder or interest between the eyes. "i had business in that hotel on that morning," i continued. "i had left a letter for a young friend of mine in the bible that lies on the small table of the inner parlor, and as she never received it i have been driven into making all kinds of inquiries in the hope of finding some explanation of the fact. as you were there at the time you may have seen something that would aid me. is it not possible, mrs. walworth?" her smile, which had faded, reappeared. on the lips which taylor so much admired a little pout became visible, and she looked quite enchanting. "i do not even remember being at that hotel at all," she protested. "did mr. taylor say i was there?" she inquired, with just that added look of exquisite näivete which the utterance of a lover's name should call up on the face of a prospective bride. "no," i answered gravely; "mr. taylor, unhappily, was not with you that morning." she looked startled. "unhappily," she repeated. "what do you mean by that word?" and she drew back looking very much displeased. i had expected this, and so was not thrown off my guard. "i mean," i proceeded calmly, "that if you had had such a companion with you on that morning i should now be able to put my questions to him, instead of taking your time and interrupting your affairs by my importunities." "you will tell me just what you mean," said she, earnestly. i was equally emphatic in my reply. "that is only just. you ought to know why i trouble you with this matter. it is because this letter of which i speak was taken from its hiding-place by some one who went into the hotel parlor between the hours of : and o'clock, and as to my certain knowledge only three persons crossed its threshold on that especial morning at that especial time, i naturally appeal to each of them in turn for an answer to the problem that is troubling me. you know miss n----. seeing by accident a letter addressed to her lying in a bible in a strange hotel, you might have thought it your duty to take it out and carry it to her. if you did and if you lost it--" "but i didn't," she interrupted, warmly. "i know nothing about any such letter, and if you had not declared so positively that i was in that hotel on that especial day i should be tempted to deny that too, for i have no recollection of going there last month." "not for the purpose of rearranging a veil that had been blown off?" "oh!" she said, but as one who recalls a forgotten fact, not as one who is tripped up in an evasion. i began to think her innocent, and lost some of the gloom which had been oppressing me. "you remember now?" said i. "oh, yes, i remember that." her manner so completely declared that her acknowledgments stopped there, i saw it would be useless to venture further. if she were innocent she could not tell more, if she were guilty she would not; so, feeling that the inclination of my belief was in favor of the former hypothesis, i again took her hand, and said: "i see that you can give me no help. i am sorry, for the whole happiness of a man, and perhaps that of a woman also, depends upon the discovery as to who took the letter from out the bible where i had hidden it on that unfortunate morning." and, making her another low bow, i was about to take my departure, when she grasped me impulsively by the arm. "what man?" she whispered; and in a lower tone still, "what woman?" i turned and looked at her. "great heaven!" thought i, "can such a face hide a selfish and intriguing heart?" and in a flash i summoned up in comparison before me the plain, honest, and reliable countenance of mrs. couldock and that of the comely and unpretending miss dawes, and knew not what to think. "you do not mean yourself?" she continued, as she met my look of distress. "no," i returned; "happily for me my welfare is not bound up in the honor of any woman." and leaving that shaft to work its way into her heart, if that heart were vulnerable, i took my leave, more troubled and less decided than when i entered. for her manner had been absolutely that of a woman surprised by insinuations she was too innocent to rate at their real importance. and yet, if she did not take away that letter, who did? mrs. couldock? impossible. miss dawes? the thought was untenable, even for an instant. i waited in great depression of spirits for the call i knew taylor would not fail to make that evening. when he came i saw what the result of my revelations was likely to be as plainly as i see it now. he had conversed frankly with mrs. couldock and with miss dawes, and was perfectly convinced as to the utter ignorance of them both in regard to the whole affair. in consequence, mrs. walworth was guilty in his estimation, and being held guilty could be no wife for him, much as he had loved her, and urgent as may have been the cause for her act. "but," said i, in some horror of the consequences of an interference for which i was almost ready to blame myself now, "mrs. couldock and miss dawes could have done no more than deny all knowledge of this letter. now mrs. walworth does that, and--" "you have seen her? you have asked her--" "yes, i have seen her, and i have asked her, and not an eyelash drooped as she affirmed a complete ignorance of the whole affair." taylor's head fell. "i told you how that would be," he murmured at last. "i cannot feel that it is any proof of her innocence. or rather," he added, "i should always have my doubts." "and mrs. couldock and miss dawes?" "ah!" he cried, rising and turning away; "there is no question of marriage between either of them and myself." i was therefore not astonished when the week went by and no announcement of his wedding appeared. but i was troubled and am troubled still, for if mistakes are made in criminal courts, and the innocent sometimes, through the sheer force of circumstantial evidence, are made to suffer for the guilty, might it not be that in this little question of morals mrs. walworth has been wronged, and that when i played the part of arbitrator in her fate, i only succeeded in separating two hearts whose right it was to be made happy? it is impossible to tell, nor is time likely to solve the riddle. must i then forever blame myself, or did i only do in this matter what any honest man would have done in my place? answer me, some one, for i do not find my lonely bachelor life in any wise brightened by the doubt, and would be grateful to any one who would relieve me of it. the treasure-train by arthur b. reeve frontispiece by will foster contents chapter i. the treasure-train ii. the truth-detector iii. the soul-analysis iv. the mystic poisoner v. the phantom destroyer vi. the beauty mask vii. the love meter viii. the vital principle ix. the rubber dagger x. the submarine mine xi. the gun-runner xii. the sunken treasure i the treasure-train "i am not by nature a spy, professor kennedy, but--well, sometimes one is forced into something like that." maude euston, who had sought out craig in his laboratory, was a striking girl, not merely because she was pretty or because her gown was modish. perhaps it was her sincerity and artlessness that made her attractive. she was the daughter of barry euston, president of the continental express company, and one could readily see why, aside from the position her father held, she should be among the most-sought-after young women in the city. miss euston looked straight into kennedy's eyes as she added, without waiting for him to ask a question: "yesterday i heard something that has made me think a great deal. you know, we live at the st. germaine when we are in town. i've noticed for several months past that the lobbies are full of strange, foreign-looking people. "well, yesterday afternoon i was sitting alone in the tea-room of the hotel, waiting for some friends. on the other side of a huge palm i heard a couple whispering. i have seen the woman about the hotel often, though i know that she doesn't live there. the man i don't remember ever having seen before. they mentioned the name of granville barnes, treasurer of father's company--" "is that so?" cut in kennedy, quickly. "i read the story about him in the papers this morning." as for myself, i was instantly alive with interest, too. granville barnes had been suddenly stricken while riding in his car in the country, and the report had it that he was hovering between life and death in the general hospital. the chauffeur had been stricken, too, by the same incomprehensible malady, though apparently not so badly. how the chauffeur managed to save the car was a miracle, but he brought it to a stop beside the road, where the two were found gasping, a quarter of an hour later, by a passing motorist, who rushed them to a doctor, who had them transferred to the hospital in the city. neither of them seemed able or willing to throw any light on what had happened. "just what was it you overheard?" encouraged kennedy. "i heard the man tell the woman," miss euston replied, slowly, "that now was the chance--when any of the great warring powers would welcome and wink at any blow that might cripple the other to the slightest degree. i heard him say something about the continental express company, and that was enough to make me listen, for, you know, father's company is handling the big shipments of gold and securities that are coming here from abroad by way of halifax. then i heard her mention the names of mr. barnes and of mr. lane, too, the general manager." she paused, as though not relishing the idea of having the names bandied about. "last night the--the attack on him--for that is all that i can think it was--occurred." as she stopped again, i could not help thinking what a tale of strange plotting the casual conversation suggested. new york, i knew, was full of high-class international crooks and flimflammers who had flocked there because the great field of their operations in europe was closed. the war had literally dumped them on us. was some one using a band of these crooks for ulterior purposes? the idea opened up wide possibilities. "of course," miss euston continued, "that is all i know; but i think i am justified in thinking that the two things--the shipment of gold here and the attack--have some connection. oh, can't you take up the case and look into it?" she made her appeal so winsomely that it would have been difficult to resist even if it had not promised to prove important. "i should be glad to take up the matter," replied craig, quickly, adding, "if mr. barnes will let me." "oh, he must!" she cried. "i haven't spoken to father, but i know that he would approve of it. i know he thinks i haven't any head for business, just because i wasn't born a boy. i want to prove to him that i can protect the companies interests. and mr. barnes--why, of course he will approve." she said it with an assurance that made me wonder. it was only then that i recollected that it had been one of the excuses for printing her picture in the society columns of the star so often that the pretty daughter of the president of the continental was being ardently wooed by two of the company's younger officials. granville barnes himself was one. the other was rodman lane, the young general manager. i wished now that i had paid more attention to the society news. perhaps i should have been in a better position to judge which of them it was whom she really had chosen. as it was, two questions presented themselves to me. was it barnes? and had barnes really been the victim of an attack--or of an accident? kennedy may have been thinking the problems over, but he gave no evidence of it. he threw on his hat and coat, and was ready in a moment to be driven in miss euston's car to the hospital. there, after the usual cutting of red tape which only miss euston could have accomplished, we were led by a white-uniformed nurse through the silent halls to the private room occupied by barnes. "it's a most peculiar case," whispered the young doctor in charge, as we paused at the door. "i want you to notice his face and his cough. his pulse seems very weak, almost imperceptible at times. the stethoscope reveals subcrepitant sounds all over his lungs. it's like bronchitis or pneumonia--but it isn't either." we entered. barnes was lying there almost in a state of unconsciousness. as we stood watching him he opened his eyes. but he did not see us. his vision seemed to be riveted on miss euston. he murmured something that we could not catch, and, as his eyes closed again, his face seemed to relax into a peaceful expression, as though he were dreaming of something happy. suddenly, however, the old tense lines reappeared. another idea seemed to have been suggested. "is--lane--hiring the men--himself?" he murmured. the sight of maude euston had prompted the thought of his rival, now with a clear field. what did it mean? was he jealous of lane, or did his words have a deeper meaning? what difference could it have made if lane had a free hand in managing the shipment of treasure for the company? kennedy looked long and carefully at the face of the sick man. it was blue and cyanosed still, and his lips had a violet tinge. barnes had been coughing a great deal. now and then his mouth was flecked with foamy blood, which the nurse wiped gently away. kennedy picked up a piece of the blood-soaked gauze. a moment later we withdrew from the room as quietly as we had entered and tiptoed down the hall, miss euston and the young doctor following us more slowly. as we reached the door, i turned to see where she was. a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman, sitting in the waiting-room, had happened to glance up as she passed and had moved quickly to the hall. "what--you here, maude?" we heard him say. "yes, father. i thought i might be able to do something for granville." she accompanied the remark with a sidelong glance and nod at us, which kennedy interpreted to mean that we might as well keep in the background. euston himself, far from chiding her, seemed rather to be pleased than otherwise. we could not hear all they said, but one sentence was wafted over. "it's most unfortunate, maude, at just this time. it leaves the whole matter in the hands of lane." at the mention of lane, which her father accompanied by a keen glance, she flushed a little and bit her lip. i wondered whether it meant more than that, of the two suitors, her father obviously preferred barnes. euston had called to see barnes, and, as the doctor led him up the hall again, miss euston rejoined us. "you need not drive us back," thanked kennedy. "just drop us at the subway. i'll let you know the moment i have arrived at any conclusion." on the train we happened to run across a former classmate, morehead, who had gone into the brokerage business. "queer about that barnes case, isn't it?" suggested kennedy, after the usual greetings were over. then, without suggesting that we were more than casually interested, "what does the street think of it?" "it is queer," rejoined morehead. "all the boys down-town are talking about it--wondering how it will affect the transit of the gold shipments. i don't know what would happen if there should be a hitch. but they ought to be able to run the thing through all right." "it's a pretty ticklish piece of business, then?" i suggested. "well, you know the state of the market just now--a little push one way or the other means a lot. and i suppose you know that the insiders on the street have boosted continental express up until it is practically one of the 'war stocks,' too. well, good-by--here's my station." we had scarcely returned to the laboratory, however, when a car drove up furiously and a young man bustled in to see us. "you do not know me," he introduced, "but i am rodman lane, general manager of the continental express. you know our company has had charge of the big shipments of gold and securities to new york. i suppose you've read about what happened to barnes, our treasurer. i don't know anything about it--haven't even time to find out. all i know is that it puts more work on me, and i'm nearly crazy already." i watched him narrowly. "we've had little trouble of any kind so far," he hurried on, "until just now i learned that all the roads over which we are likely to send the shipments have been finding many more broken rails than usual." kennedy had been following him keenly. "i should like to see some samples of them," he observed. "you would?" said lane, eagerly. "i've a couple of sections sawed from rails down at my office, where i asked the officials to send them." we made a hurried trip down to the express company's office. kennedy examined the sections of rails minutely with a strong pocket-lens. "no ordinary break," he commented. "you can see that it was an explosive that was used--an explosive well and properly tamped down with wet clay. without tamping, the rails would have been bent, not broken." "done by wreckers, then?" lane asked. "certainly not defective rails," replied kennedy. "still, i don't think you need worry so much about them for the next train. you know what to guard against. having been discovered, whoever they are, they'll probably not try it again. it's some new wrinkle that must be guarded against." it was small comfort, but craig was accustomed to being brutally frank. "have you taken any other precautions now that you didn't take before?" "yes," replied lane, slowly; "the railroad has been experimenting with wireless on its trains. we have placed wireless on ours, too. they can't cut us off by cutting wires. then, of course, as before, we shall use a pilot-train to run ahead and a strong guard on the train itself. but now i feel that there may be something else that we can do. so i have come to you." "when does the next shipment start?" asked kennedy. "to-morrow, from halifax." kennedy appeared to be considering something. "the trouble," he said, at length, "is likely to be at this end. perhaps before the train starts something may happen that will tell us just what additional measures to take as it approaches new york." while kennedy was at work with the blood-soaked gauze that he had taken from barnes, i could do nothing but try to place the relative positions of the various actors in the little drama that was unfolding. lane himself puzzled me. sometimes i felt almost sure that he knew that miss euston had come to kennedy, and that he was trying, in this way, to keep in touch with what was being done for barnes. some things i knew already. barnes was comparatively wealthy, and had evidently the stamp of approval of maude euston's father. as for lane, he was far from wealthy, although ambitious. the company was in a delicate situation where an act of omission would count for as much as an act of commission. whoever could foresee what was going to happen might capitalize that information for much money. if there was a plot and barnes had been a victim, what was its nature? i recalled miss euston's overheard conversation in the tea-room. both names had been mentioned. in short, i soon found myself wondering whether some one might not have tempted lane either to do or not to do something. "i wish you'd go over to the st. germaine, walter," remarked kennedy, at length, looking up from his work. "don't tell miss euston of lane's visit. but ask her if she will keep an eye out for that woman she heard talking--and the man, too. they may drop in again. and tell her that if she hears anything else, no matter how trivial, about barnes, she must let me know." i was glad of the commission. not only had i been unable to arrive anywhere in my conjectures, but it was something even to have a chance to talk with a girl like maude euston. fortunately i found her at home and, though she was rather disappointed that i had nothing to report, she received me graciously, and we spent the rest of the evening watching the varied life of the fashionable hostelry in the hope of chancing on the holders of the strange conversation in the tea-room. once in a while an idea would occur to her of some one who was in a position to keep her informed if anything further happened to barnes, and she would despatch a messenger with a little note. finally, as it grew late and the adventuress of the tea-room episode seemed unlikely to favor the st. germaine with her presence again that night, i made my excuses, having had the satisfaction only of having delivered kennedy's message, without accomplishing anything more. in fact, i was still unable to determine whether there was any sentiment stronger than sympathy that prompted her to come to kennedy about barnes. as for lane, his name was scarcely mentioned except when it was necessary. it was early the next morning that i rejoined craig at the laboratory. i found him studying the solution which he had extracted from the blood-soaked gauze after first removing the blood in a little distilled water. before him was his new spectroscope, and i could see that now he was satisfied with what the uncannily delicate light-detective had told him. he pricked his finger and let a drop of blood fall into a little fresh distilled water, some of which he placed in the spectroscope. "look through it," he said. "blood diluted with water shows the well-known dark bands between d and e, known as the oxyhemoglobin absorption." i looked as he indicated and saw the dark bands. "now," he went on, "i add some of this other liquid." he picked up a bottle of something with a faint greenish tinge. "see the bands gradually fade?" i watched, and indeed they did diminish in intensity and finally disappear, leaving an uninterrupted and brilliant spectrum. "my spectroscope," he said, simply, "shows that the blood-crystals of barnes are colorless. barnes was poisoned--by some gas, i think. i wish i had time to hunt along the road where the accident took place." as he said it, he walked over and drew from a cabinet several peculiar arrangements made of gauze. he was about to say something more when there came a knock at the door. kennedy shoved the gauze arrangements into his pocket and opened it. it was maude euston, breathless and agitated. "oh, mr. kennedy, have you heard?" she cried. "you asked me to keep a watch whether anything more happened to mr. barnes. so i asked some friends of his to let me know of anything. he has a yacht, the sea gull, which has been lying off city island. well, last night the captain received a message to go to the hospital, that mr. barnes wanted to see him. of course it was a fake. mr. barnes was too sick to see anybody on business. but when the captain got back, he found that, on one pretext or another, the crew had been got ashore--and the sea gull is gone--stolen! some men in a small boat must have overpowered the engineer. anyhow, she has disappeared. i know that no one could expect to steal a yacht--at least for very long. she'd be recognized soon. but they must know that, too." kennedy looked at his watch. "it is only a few hours since the train started from halifax," he considered. "it will be due in new york early to-morrow morning--twenty million dollars in gold and thirty millions in securities--a seven-car steel train, with forty armed guards!" "i know it," she said, anxiously, "and i am so afraid something is going to happen--ever since i had to play the spy. but what could any one want with a yacht?" kennedy shrugged his shoulders non-committally. "it is one of the things that mr. lane must guard against," he remarked, simply. she looked up quickly. "mr. lane?" she repeated. "yes," replied kennedy; "the protection of the train has fallen on him. i shall meet the train myself when it gets to worcester and come in on it. i don't think there can be any danger before it reaches that point." "will mr. lane go with you?" "he must," decided kennedy. "that train must be delivered safely here in this city." maude euston gave craig one of her penetrating, direct looks. "you think there is danger, then?" "i cannot say," he replied. "then i am going with you!" she exclaimed. kennedy paused and met her eyes. i do not know whether he read what was back of her sudden decision. at least i could not, unless there was something about rodman lane which she wished to have cleared up. kennedy seemed to read her character and know that a girl like maude euston would be a help in any emergency. "very well," he agreed; "meet us at mr. lane's office in half an hour. walter, see whether you can find whiting." whiting was one of kennedy's students with whom he had been lately conducting some experiments. i hurried out and managed to locate him. "what is it you suspect?" i asked, when we returned. "a wreck--some spectacular stroke at the nations that are shipping the gold?" "perhaps," he replied, absently, as he and whiting hurriedly assembled some parts of instruments that were on a table in an adjoining room. "perhaps?" i repeated. "what else might there be?" "robbery." "robbery!" i exclaimed. "of twenty million dollars? why, man, just consider the mere weight of the metal!" "that's all very well," he replied, warming up a bit as he saw that whiting was getting things together quickly. "but it needs only a bit of twenty millions to make a snug fortune--" he paused and straightened up as the gathering of the peculiar electrical apparatus, whatever it was, was completed. "and," he went on quickly, "consider the effect on the stock-market of the news. that's the big thing." i could only gasp. "a modern train-robbery, planned in the heart of dense traffic!" "why not?" he queried. "nothing is impossible if you can only take the other fellow unawares. our job is not to be taken unawares. are you ready, whiting?" "yes, sir," replied the student, shouldering the apparatus, for which i was very thankful, for my arms had frequently ached carrying about some of kennedy's weird but often weighty apparatus. we piled into a taxicab and made a quick journey to the office of the continental express. maude euston had already preceded us, and we found her standing by lane's desk as he paced the floor. "please, miss euston, don't go," he was saying as we entered. "but i want to go," she persisted, more than ever determined, apparently. "i have engaged professor kennedy just for the purpose of foreseeing what new attack can be made on us," he said. "you have engaged professor kennedy?" she asked. "i think i have a prior claim there, haven't i?" she appealed. kennedy stood for a moment looking from one to the other. what was there in the motives that actuated them? was it fear, hate, love, jealousy? "i can serve my two clients only if they yield to me," craig remarked, quietly. "don't set that down, whiting. which is it--yes or no?" neither lane nor miss euston looked at each other for a moment. "is it in my hands?" repeated craig. "yes," bit off lane, sourly. "and you, miss euston?" "of course," she answered. "then we all go," decided craig. "lane, may i install this thing in your telegraph-room outside?" "anything you say," lane returned, unmollified. whiting set to work immediately, while kennedy gave him the final instructions. neither lane nor miss euston spoke a word, even when i left the room for a moment, fearing that three was a crowd. i could not help wondering whether she might not have heard something more from the woman in the tea-room conversation than she had told us. if she had, she had been more frank with lane than with us. she must have told him. certainly she had not told us. it was the only way i could account for the armed truce that seemed to exist as, hour after hour, our train carried us nearer the point where we were to meet the treasure-train. at worcester we had still a long wait for the argosy that was causing so much anxiety and danger. it was long after the time scheduled that we left finally, on our return journey, late at night. ahead of us went a dummy pilot-train to be sacrificed if any bridges or trestles were blown up or if any new attempts were made at producing artificially broken rails. we four established ourselves as best we could in a car in the center of the treasure-train, with one of the armed guards as company. mile after mile we reeled off, ever southward and westward. we must have crossed the state of connecticut and have been approaching long island sound, when suddenly the train stopped with a jerk. ordinarily there is nothing to grow alarmed about at the mere stopping of a train. but this was an unusual train under unusual circumstances. no one said a word as we peered out. down the track the signals seemed to show a clear road. what was the matter? "look!" exclaimed kennedy, suddenly. off a distance ahead i could see what looked like a long row of white fuses sticking up in the faint starlight. from them the fresh west wind seemed to blow a thick curtain of greenish-yellow smoke which swept across the track, enveloping the engine and the forward cars and now advancing toward us like the "yellow wind" of northern china. it seemed to spread thickly on the ground, rising scarcely more than sixteen or eighteen feet. a moment and the cloud began to fill the air about us. there was a paralyzing odor. i looked about at the others, gasping and coughing. as the cloud rolled on, inexorably increasing in density, it seemed literally to grip the lungs. it flashed over me that already the engineer and fireman had been overcome, though not before the engineer had been able to stop the train. as the cloud advanced, the armed guards ran from it, shouting, one now and then falling, overcome. for the moment none of us knew what to do. should we run and desert the train for which we had dared so much? to stay was death. quickly kennedy pulled from his pocket the gauze arrangements he had had in his hand that morning just as miss euston's knock had interrupted his conversation with me. hurriedly he shoved one into miss euston's hands, then to lane, then to me, and to the guard who was with us. "wet them!" he cried, as he fitted his own over his nose and staggered to a water-cooler. "what is it?" i gasped, hoarsely, as we all imitated his every action. "chlorin gas," he rasped back, "the same gas that overcame granville barnes. these masks are impregnated with a glycerin solution of sodium phosphate. it was chlorin that destroyed the red coloring matter in barnes's blood. no wonder, when this action of just a whiff of it on us is so rapid. even a short time longer and death would follow. it destroys without the possibility of reconstitution, and it leaves a dangerous deposit of albumin. how do you feel?" "all right," i lied. we looked out again. the things that looked like fuses were not bombs, as i had expected, but big reinforced bottles of gas compressed at high pressure, with the taps open. the supply was not inexhaustible. in fact, it was decidedly limited. but it seemed to have been calculated to a nicety to do the work. only the panting of the locomotive now broke the stillness as kennedy and i moved forward along the track. crack! rang out a shot. "get on the other side of the train--quick!" ordered craig. in the shadow, aside from the direction in which the wind was wafting the gas, we could now just barely discern a heavy but powerful motor-truck and figures moving about it. as i peered out from the shelter of the train, i realized what it all meant. the truck, which had probably conveyed the gas-tanks from the rendezvous where they had been collected, was there now to convey to some dark wharf what of the treasure could be seized. there the stolen yacht was waiting to carry it off. "don't move--don't fire," cautioned kennedy. "perhaps they will think it was only a shadow they saw. let them act first. they must. they haven't any too much time. let them get impatient." for some minutes we waited. sure enough, separated widely, but converging toward the treasure-train at last, we could see several dark figures making their way from the road across a strip of field and over the rails. i made a move with my gun. "don't," whispered kennedy. "let them get together." his ruse was clever. evidently they thought that it had been indeed a wraith at which they had fired. swiftly now they hurried to the nearest of the gold-laden cars. we could hear them, breaking in where the guards had either been rendered unconscious or had fled. i looked around at maude euston. she was the calmest of us all as she whispered: "they are in the car. can't we do something?" "lane," whispered kennedy, "crawl through under the trucks with me. walter, and you, dugan," he added, to the guard, "go down the other side. we must rush them--in the car." as kennedy crawled under the train again i saw maude euston follow lane closely. how it happened i cannot describe, for the simple reason that i don't remember. i know that it was a short, sharp dash, that the fight was a fight of fists in which guns were discharged wildly in the air against the will of the gunner. but from the moment when kennedy's voice rang out in the door, "hands up!" to the time that i saw that we had the robbers lined up with their backs against the heavy cases of the precious metal for which they had planned and risked so much, it is a blank of grim death-struggle. i remember my surprise at seeing one of them a woman, and i thought i must be mistaken. i looked about. no; there was maude euston standing just beside lane. i think it must have been that which recalled me and made me realize that it was a reality and not a dream. the two women stood glaring at each other. "the woman in the tea-room!" exclaimed miss euston. "it was about this--robbery--then, that i heard you talking the other afternoon." i looked at the face before me. it was, had been, a handsome face. but now it was cold and hard, with that heartless expression of the adventuress. the men seemed to take their plight hard. but, as she looked into the clear, gray eyes of the other woman, the adventuress seemed to gain rather than lose in defiance. "robbery?" she repeated, bitterly. "this is only a beginning." "a beginning. what do you mean?" it was lane who spoke. slowly she turned toward him. "you know well enough what i mean." the implication that she intended was clear. she had addressed the remark to him, but it was a stab at maude euston. "i know only what you wanted me to do--and i refused. is there more still?" i wondered whether lane could really have been involved. "quick--what do you mean?" demanded kennedy, authoritatively. the woman turned to him: "suppose this news of the robbery is out? what will happen? do you want me to tell you, young lady?" she added, turning again to maude euston. "i'll tell you. the stock of the continental express company will fall like a house of cards. and then? those who have sold it at the top price will buy it back again at the bottom. the company is sound. the depression will not last--perhaps will be over in a day, a week, a month. then the operators can send it up again. don't you see? it is the old method of manipulation in a new form. it is a war-stock gamble. other stocks will be affected the same way. this is our reward--what we can get out of it by playing this game for which the materials are furnished free. we have played it--and lost. the manipulators will get their reward on the stock-market this morning. but they must still reckon with us--even if we have lost." she said it with a sort of grim humor. "and you have put granville barnes out of the way, first?" i asked, remembering the chlorin. she laughed shrilly. "that was an accident--his own carelessness. he was carrying a tank of it for us. only his chauffeur's presence of mind in throwing it into the shrubbery by the road saved his life and reputation. no, young man; he was one of the manipulators, too. but the chief of them was--" she paused as if to enjoy one brief moment of triumph at least. "the president of the company," she added. "no, no, no!" cried maude euston. "yes, yes, yes! he does not dare deny it. they were all in it." "mrs. labret--you lie!" towered lane, in a surging passion, as he stepped forward and shook his finger at her. "you lie and you know it. there is an old saying about the fury of a woman scorned." she paid no attention to him whatever. "maude euston," she hissed, as though lane had been as inarticulate as the boxes of gold about, "you have saved your lover's reputation--perhaps. at least the shipment is safe. but you have ruined your father. the deal will go through. already that has been arranged. you may as well tell kennedy to let us go and let the thing go through. it involves more than us." kennedy had been standing back a bit, carefully keeping them all covered. he glanced a moment out of the corner of his eye at maude euston, but said nothing. it was a terrible situation. had lane really been in it? that question was overshadowed by the mention of her father. impulsively she turned to craig. "oh, save him!" she cried. "can't anything be done to save my father in spite of himself?" "it is too late," mocked mrs. labret. "people will read the account of the robbery in the papers, even if it didn't take place. they will see it before they see a denial. orders will flood in to sell the stock. no; it can't be stopped." kennedy glanced momentarily at me. "is there still time to catch the last morning edition of the star, walter?" he asked, quietly. i glanced at my watch. "we may try. it's possible." "write a despatch--an accident to the engine--train delayed--now proceeding--anything. here, dugan, you keep them covered. shoot to kill if there's a move." kennedy had begun feverishly setting up the part of the apparatus which he had brought after whiting had set up his. "what can you do?" hissed mrs. labret. "you can't get word through. orders have been issued that the telegraph operators are under no circumstances to give out news about this train. the wireless is out of commission, too--the operator overcome. the robbery story has been prepared and given out by this time. already reporters are being assigned to follow it up." i looked over at kennedy. if orders had been given for such secrecy by barry euston, how could my despatch do any good? it would be held back by the operators. craig quickly slung a wire over those by the side of the track and seized what i had written, sending furiously. "what are you doing?" i asked. "you heard what she said." "one thing you can be certain of," he answered, "that despatch can never be stolen or tapped by spies." "why--what is this?" i asked, pointing to the instrument. "the invention of major squier, of the army," he replied, "by which any number of messages may be sent at the same time over the same wire without the slightest conflict. really it consists in making wireless electric waves travel along, instead of inside, the wire. in other words, he had discovered the means of concentrating the energy of a wireless wave on a given point instead of letting it riot all over the face of the earth. "it is the principle of wireless. but in ordinary wireless less than one-millionth part of the original sending force reaches the point for which it is intended. the rest is scattered through space in all directions. if the vibrations of a current are of a certain number per second, the current will follow a wire to which it is, as it were, attached, instead of passing off into space. "all the energy in wireless formerly wasted in radiation in every direction now devotes itself solely to driving the current through the ether about the wire. thus it goes until it reaches the point where whiting is--where the vibrations correspond to its own and are in tune. there it reproduces the sending impulse. it is wired wireless." craig had long since finished sending his wired wireless message. we waited impatiently. the seconds seemed to drag like hours. far off, now, we could hear a whistle as a train finally approached slowly into our block, creeping up to see what was wrong. but that made no difference now. it was not any help they could give us that we wanted. a greater problem, the saving of one man's name and the re-establishment of another, confronted us. unexpectedly the little wired wireless instrument before us began to buzz. quickly kennedy seized a pencil and wrote as the message that no hand of man could interfere with was flashed back to us. "it is for you, walter, from the star," he said, simply handing me what he had written on the back of an old envelope. i read, almost afraid to read: robbery story killed. black type across page-head last edition, "treasure-train safe!" mcgrath. "show it to miss euston," craig added, simply, gathering up his wired wireless set, just as the crew from the train behind us ran up. "she may like to know that she has saved her father from himself through misunderstanding her lover." i thought maude euston would faint as she clutched the message. lane caught her as she reeled backward. "rodman--can you--forgive me?" she murmured, simply, yielding to him and looking up into his face. ii the truth detector "you haven't heard--no one outside has heard--of the strange illness and the robbery of my employer, mr. mansfield--'diamond jack' mansfield, you know." our visitor was a slight, very pretty, but extremely nervous girl, who had given us a card bearing the name miss helen grey. "illness--robbery?" repeated kennedy, at once interested and turning a quick glance at me. i shrugged my shoulders in the negative. neither the star nor any of the other papers had had a word about it. "why, what's the trouble?" he continued to miss grey. "you see," she explained, hurrying on, "i'm mr. mansfield's private secretary, and--oh, professor kennedy, i don't know, but i'm afraid it is a case for a detective rather than a doctor." she paused a moment and leaned forward nearer to us. "i think he has been poisoned!" the words themselves were startling enough without the evident perturbation of the girl. whatever one might think, there was no doubt that she firmly believed what she professed to fear. more than that, i fancied i detected a deeper feeling in her tone than merely loyalty to her employer. "diamond jack" mansfield was known in wall street as a successful promoter, on the white way as an assiduous first-nighter, in the sporting fraternity as a keen plunger. but of all his hobbies, none had gained him more notoriety than his veritable passion for collecting diamonds. he came by his sobriquet honestly. i remembered once having seen him, and he was, in fact, a walking de beers mine. for his personal adornment, more than a million dollars' worth of gems did relay duty. he had scores of sets, every one of them fit for a king of diamonds. it was a curious hobby for a great, strong man, yet he was not alone in his love of and sheer affection for things beautiful. not love of display or desire to attract notice to himself had prompted him to collect diamonds, but the mere pleasure of owning them, of associating with them. it was a hobby. it was not strange, therefore, to suspect that mansfield might, after all, have been the victim of some kind of attack. he went about with perfect freedom, in spite of the knowledge that crooks must have possessed about his hoard. "what makes you think he has been poisoned?" asked kennedy, betraying no show of doubt that miss grey might be right. "oh, it's so strange, so sudden!" she murmured. "but how do you think it could have happened?" he persisted. "it must have been at the little supper-party he gave at his apartment last night," she answered, thoughtfully, then added, more slowly, "and yet, it was not until this morning, eight or ten hours after the party, that he became ill." she shuddered. "paroxysms of nausea, followed by stupor and such terrible prostration. his valet discovered him and sent for doctor murray--and then for me." "how about the robbery?" prompted kennedy, as it became evident that it was mansfield's physical condition more than anything else that was on miss grey's mind. "oh yes"--she recalled herself--"i suppose you know something of his gems? most people do." kennedy nodded. "he usually keeps them in a safe-deposit vault downtown, from which he will get whatever set he feels like wearing. last night it was the one he calls his sporting-set that he wore, by far the finest. it cost over a hundred thousand dollars, and is one of the most curious of all the studies in personal adornment that he owns. all the stones are of the purest blue-white and the set is entirely based on platinum. "but what makes it most remarkable is that it contains the famous m- , as he calls it. the m stands for mansfield, and the figures represent the number of stones he had purchased up to the time that he acquired this huge one." "how could they have been taken, do you think?" ventured kennedy. miss grey shook her head doubtfully. "i think the wall safe must have been opened somehow," she returned. kennedy mechanically wrote the number, m- , on a piece of paper. "it has a weird history," she went on, observing what he had written, "and this mammoth blue-white diamond in the ring is as blue as the famous hope diamond that has brought misfortune through half the world. this stone, they say, was pried from the mouth of a dying negro in south africa. he had tried to smuggle it from the mine, and when he was caught cursed the gem and every one who ever should own it. one owner in amsterdam failed; another in antwerp committed suicide; a russian nobleman was banished to siberia, and another went bankrupt and lost his home and family. now here it is in mr. mansfield's life. i--i hate it!" i could not tell whether it was the superstition or the recent events themselves which weighed most in her mind, but, at any rate, she resumed, somewhat bitterly, a moment later: "m- ! m is the thirteenth letter of the alphabet, and , , , add up to thirteen. the first and last numbers make thirteen, and john mansfield has thirteen letters in his name. i wish he had never worn the thing--never bought it!" the more i listened to her the more impressed i was with the fact that there was something more here than the feeling of a private secretary. "who were in the supper-party?" asked kennedy. "he gave it for madeline hargrave--the pretty little actress, you know, who took new york by storm last season in 'the sport' and is booked, next week, to appear in the new show, 'the astor cup.'" miss grey said it, i thought, with a sort of wistful envy. mansfield's gay little bohemian gatherings were well known. though he was not young, he was still somewhat of a lothario. "who else was there?" asked kennedy. "then there was mina leitch, a member of miss hargrave's new company," she went on. "another was fleming lewis, the wall street broker. doctor murray and myself completed the party." "doctor murray is his personal physician?" ventured craig. "yes. you know when mr. mansfield's stomach went back on him last year it was doctor murray who really cured him." kennedy nodded. "might this present trouble be a recurrence of the old trouble?" she shook her head. "no; this is entirely different. oh, i wish that you could go with me and see him!" she pleaded. "i will," agreed kennedy. a moment later we were speeding in a taxicab over to the apartment. "really," she remarked, nervously, "i feel lost with mr. mansfield so ill. he has so many interests downtown that require constant attention that just the loss of time means a great deal. of course, i understand many of them--but, you know, a private secretary can't conduct a man's business. and just now, when i came up from the office, i couldn't believe that he was too ill to care about things until i actually saw him." we entered the apartment. a mere glance about showed that; even though mansfield's hobby was diamonds, he was no mean collector of other articles of beauty. in the big living-room, which was almost like a studio, we met a tall, spare, polished-mannered man, whom i quickly recognized as doctor murray. "is he any better?" blurted out miss grey, even before our introductions were over. doctor murray shook his head gravely. "about the same," he answered, though one could find little reassurance in his tone. "i should like to see him," hinted kennedy, "unless there is some real reason why i should not." "no," replied the doctor, absently; "on the contrary, it might perhaps rouse him." he led the way down the hall, and kennedy and i followed, while miss grey attempted to busy herself over some affairs at a huge mahogany table in the library just off the living-room. mansfield had shown the same love of luxury and the bizarre even in the furnishing of his bedroom, which was a black-and-white room with furniture of chinese lacquer and teakwood. kennedy looked at the veteran plunger long and thoughtfully as he lay stretched out, listless, on the handsome bed. mansfield seemed completely indifferent to our presence. there was something uncanny about him. already his face was shrunken, his skin dark, and his eyes were hollow. "what do you suppose it is?" asked kennedy, bending over him, and then rising and averting his head so that mansfield could not hear, even if his vagrant faculties should be attracted. "his pulse is terribly weak and his heart scarcely makes a sound." doctor murray's face knit in deep lines. "i'm afraid," he said, in a low tone, "that i will have to admit not having been able to diagnose the trouble, i was just considering whom i might call in." "what have you done?" asked kennedy, as the two moved a little farther out of ear-shot of the patient. "well," replied the doctor, slowly, "when his valet called me in, i must admit that my first impression was that i had to deal with a case of diphtheria. i was so impressed that i even took a blood smear and examined it. it showed the presence of a tox albumin. but it isn't diphtheria. the antitoxin has had no effect. no; it isn't diphtheria. but the poison is there. i might have thought it was cholera, only that seems so impossible here in new york." doctor murray looked at kennedy with no effort to conceal his perplexity. "over and over i have asked myself what it could be," he went on. "it seems to me that i have thought over about everything that is possible. always i get back to the fact that there is that tox albumin present. in some respects, it seems like the bite of a poisonous animal. there are no marks, of course, and it seems altogether impossible, yet it acts precisely as i have seen snake bites affect people. i am that desperate that i would try the noguchi antivenene, but it would have no more effect than the antitoxin. no; i can only conclude that there is some narcotic irritant which especially affects the lungs and heart." "will you let me have one of the blood smears?" asked kennedy. "certainly," replied the doctor, reaching over and taking a glass slide from several lying on a table. for some time after we left the sick-room craig appeared to be considering what doctor murray had said. seeking to find miss grey in the library, we found ourselves in the handsome, all-wood-paneled dining-room. it still showed evidences of the late banquet of the night before. craig paused a moment in doubt which way to go, then picked up from the table a beautifully decorated menu-card. as he ran his eye down it mechanically, he paused. "champignons," he remarked, thoughtfully. "h-m!--mushrooms." instead of going on toward the library, he turned and passed through a swinging door into the kitchen. there was no one there, but it was in a much more upset condition than the dining-room. "pardon, monsieur," sounded a voice behind us. it was the french chef who had entered from the direction of the servants' quarters, and was now all apologies for the untidy appearance of the realm over which he presided. the strain of the dinner had been too much for his assistants, he hastened to explain. "i see that you had mushrooms--creamed," remarked kennedy. "oui, monsieur," he replied; "some that miss hargrave herself sent in from her mushroom-cellar out in the country." as he said it his eye traveled involuntarily toward a pile of ramekins on a table. kennedy noticed it and deliberately walked over to the table. before i knew what he was about he had scooped from them each a bit of the contents and placed it in some waxed paper that was lying near by. the chef watched him curiously. "you would not find my kitchen like this ordinarily," he remarked. "i would not like to have doctor murray see it, for since last year, when monsieur had the bad stomach, i have been very careful." the chef seemed to be nervous. "you prepared the mushrooms yourself?" asked kennedy, suddenly. "i directed my assistant," came back the wary reply. "but you know good mushrooms when you see them?" "certainly," he replied, quickly. "there was no one else in the kitchen while you prepared them?" "yes," he answered, hurriedly; "mr. mansfield came in, and miss hargrave. oh, they are very particular! and doctor murray, he has given me special orders ever since last year, when monsieur had the bad stomach," he repeated. "was any one else here?" "yes--i think so. you see, i am so excited--a big dinner--such epicures--everything must be just so--i cannot say." there seemed to be little satisfaction in quizzing the chef, and kennedy turned again into the dining-room, making his way back to the library, where miss grey was waiting anxiously for us. "what do you think?" she asked, eagerly. "i don't know what to think," replied kennedy. "no one else has felt any ill effects from the supper, i suppose?" "no," she replied; "at least, i'm sure i would have heard by this time if they had." "do you recall anything peculiar about the mushrooms?" shot out kennedy. "we talked about them some time, i remember," she said, slowly. "growing mushrooms is one of miss hargrave's hobbies out at her place on long island." "yes," persisted kennedy; "but i mean anything peculiar about the preparation of them." "why, yes," she said, suddenly; "i believe that miss hargrave was to have superintended them herself. we all went out into the kitchen. but it was too late. they had been prepared already." "you were all in the kitchen?" "yes; i remember. it was before the supper and just after we came in from the theater-party which mr. mansfield gave. you know mr. mansfield is always doing unconventional things like that. if he took a notion, he would go into the kitchen of the ritz." "that is what i was trying to get out of the chef--francois," remarked kennedy. "he didn't seem to have a very clear idea of what happened. i think i'll see him again--right away." we found the chef busily at work, now, cleaning up. as kennedy asked him a few inconsequential questions, his eye caught a row of books on a shelf. it was a most complete library of the culinary arts. craig selected one and turned the pages over rapidly. then he came back to the frontispiece, which showed a model dinner-table set for a number of guests. he placed the picture before francois, then withdrew it in, i should say, about ten seconds. it was a strange and incomprehensible action, but i was more surprised when kennedy added: "now tell me what you saw." francois was quite overwhelming in his desire to please. just what was going on in his mind i could not guess, nor did he betray it, but quickly he enumerated the objects on the table, gradually slowing up as the number which he recollected became exhausted. "were there candles?" prompted craig, as the flow of francois's description ceased. "oh yes, candles," he agreed, eagerly. "favors at each place?" "yes, sir." i could see no sense in the proceeding, yet knew kennedy too well to suppose, for an instant, that he had not some purpose. the questioning over, kennedy withdrew, leaving poor francois more mystified than ever. "well," i exclaimed, as we passed through the dining-room, "what was all that?" "that," he explained, "is what is known to criminologists as the 'aussage test.' just try it some time when you get a chance. if there are, say, fifty objects in a picture, normally a person may recall perhaps twenty of them." "i see," i interrupted; "a test of memory." "more than that," he replied. "you remember that, at the end, i suggested several things likely to be on the table. they were not there, as you might have seen if you had had the picture before you. that was a test of the susceptibility to suggestion of the chef. francois may not mean to lie, but i'm afraid we'll have to get along without him in getting to the bottom of the case. you see, before we go any further we know that he is unreliable--to say the least. it may be that nothing at all happened in the kitchen to the mushrooms. we'll never discover it from him. we must get it elsewhere." miss grey had been trying to straighten out some of the snarls which mansfield's business affairs had got into as a result of his illness; but it was evident that she had difficulty in keeping her mind on her work. "the next thing i'd like to see," asked kennedy, when we rejoined her, "is that wall safe." she led the way down the hall and into an ante-room to mansfield's part of the suite. the safe itself was a comparatively simple affair inside a closet. indeed, i doubt whether it had been seriously designed to be burglar-proof. rather it was merely a protection against fire. "have you any suspicion about when the robbery took place?" asked kennedy, as we peered into the empty compartment. "i wish i had been called in the first thing when it was discovered. there might have been some chance to discover fingerprints. but now, i suppose, every clue of that sort has been obliterated." "no," she replied; "i don't know whether it happened before or after mr. mansfield was discovered so ill by his valet." "but at least you can give me some idea of when the jewels were placed in the safe." "it must have been before the supper, right after our return from the theater." "so?" considered kennedy. "then that would mean that they might have been taken by any one, don't you see? why did he place them in the safe so soon, instead of wearing them the rest of the evening?" "i hadn't thought of that way of looking at it," she admitted. "why, when we came home from the theater i remember it had been so warm that mr. mansfield's collar was wilted and his dress shirt rumpled. he excused himself, and when he returned he was not wearing the diamonds. we noticed it, and miss hargrave expressed a wish that she might wear the big diamond at the opening night of 'the astor cup.' mr. mansfield promised that she might and nothing more was said about it." "did you notice anything else at the dinner--no matter how trivial?" asked kennedy. helen grey seemed to hesitate, then said, in a low voice, as though the words were wrung from her: "of course, the party and the supper were given ostensibly to miss hargrave. but--lately--i have thought he was paying quite as much attention to mina leitch." it was quite in keeping with what we knew of "diamond jack." perhaps it was this seeming fickleness which had saved him from many entangling alliances. miss grey said it in such a way that it seemed like an apology for a fault in his character which she would rather have hidden. i could not but fancy that it mitigated somewhat the wistful envy i had noticed before when she spoke of madeline hargrave. while he had been questioning her kennedy had been examining the wall safe, particularly with reference to its accessibility from the rest of the apartment. there appeared to be no reason why one could not have got at it from the hallway as well as from mansfield's room. the safe itself seemed to yield no clue, and kennedy was about to turn away when he happened to glance down at the dark interior of the closet floor. he stooped down. when he rose he had something in his hand. it was just a little thin piece of something that glittered iridescently. "a spangle from a sequin dress," he muttered to himself; then, turning to miss grey, "did any one wear such a dress last night?" helen grey looked positively frightened. "miss hargrave!" she murmured, simply. "oh, it cannot be--there must be some mistake!" just then we heard voices in the hall. "but, murray, i don't see why i can't see him," said one. "what good will it do, lewis?" returned the other, which i recognized as that of doctor murray. "fleming lewis," whispered miss grey, taking a step out into the hallway. a moment later doctor murray and lewis had joined us. i could see that there was some feeling between the two men, though what it was about i could not say. as miss grey introduced us, i glanced hastily out of the corner of my eye at kennedy. involuntarily his hand which held the telltale sequin had sought his waistcoat pocket, as though to hide it. then i saw him check the action and deliberately examine the piece of tinsel between his thumb and forefinger. doctor murray saw it, too, and his eyes were riveted on it, as though instantly he saw its significance. "what do you think--jack as sick as a dog, and robbed, too, and yet murray says i oughtn't to see him!" complained lewis, for the moment oblivious to the fact that all our eyes were riveted on the spangle between kennedy's fingers. and then, slowly it seemed to dawn on him what it was. "madeline's!" he exclaimed, quickly. "so mina did tear it, after all, when she stepped on the train." kennedy watched the faces before us keenly. no one said anything. it was evident that some such incident had happened. but had lewis, with a quick flash of genius, sought to cover up something, protect somebody? miss grey was evidently anxious to transfer the scene at least to the living-room, away from the sick-room, and kennedy, seeing it, fell in with the idea. "looks to me as though this robbery was an inside affair," remarked lewis, as we all stood for a moment in the living-room. "do you suppose one of the servants could have been 'planted' for the purpose of pulling it off?" the idea was plausible enough. yet, plausible as the suggestion might seem, it took no account of the other circumstances of the case. i could not believe that the illness of mansfield was merely an unfortunate coincidence. fleming lewis's unguarded and blunt tendency to blurt out whatever seemed uppermost in his mind soon became a study to me as we talked together in the living-room. i could not quite make out whether it was studied and astute or whether it was merely the natural exuberance of youth. there was certainly some sort of enmity between him and the doctor, which the remark about the spangle seemed to fan into a flame. miss grey manoeuvered tactfully, however, to prevent a scene. and, after an interchange of remarks that threw more heat than light on the matter, kennedy and i followed lewis out to the elevator, with a parting promise to keep in touch with miss grey. "what do you think of the spangle?" i queried of craig as lewis bade us a hasty good-by and climbed into his car at the street-entrance. "is it a clue or a stall?" "that remains to be seen," he replied, noncommittally. "just now the thing that interests me most is what i can accomplish at the laboratory in the way of finding out what is the matter with mansfield." while kennedy was busy with the various solutions which he made of the contents of the ramekins that had held the mushrooms, i wandered over to the university library and waded through several volumes on fungi without learning anything of value. finally, knowing that kennedy would probably be busy for some time, and that all i should get for my pains by questioning him would be monosyllabic grunts until he was quite convinced that he was on the trail of something, i determined to run into the up-town office of the star and talk over the affair as well as i could without violating what i felt had been given us in confidence. i could not, it turned out, have done anything better, for it seemed to be the gossip of the broadway cafes and cabarets that mansfield had been plunging rather deeply lately and had talked many of his acquaintances into joining him in a pool, either outright or on margins. it seemed to be a safe bet that not only lewis and doctor murray had joined him, but that madeline hargrave and mina leitch, who had had a successful season and some spare thousands to invest, might have gone in, too. so far the fortunes of the stock-market had not smiled on mansfield's schemes, and, i reflected, it was not impossible that what might be merely an incident to a man like mansfield could be very serious to the rest of them. it was the middle of the afternoon when i returned to the laboratory with my slender budget of news. craig was quite interested in what i had to say, even pausing for a few moments in his work to listen. in several cages i saw that he had a number of little guinea-pigs. one of them was plainly in distress, and kennedy had been watching him intently. "it's strange," he remarked. "i had samples of material from six ramekins. five of them seem to have had no effect whatever. but if the bit that i gave this fellow causes such distress, what would a larger quantity do?" "then one of the ramekins was poisoned?" i questioned. "i have discovered in it, as well as in the blood smear, the tox albumin that doctor murray mentioned," he said, simply, pulling out his watch. "it isn't late. i think i shall have to take a trip out to miss hargrave's. we ought to do it in an hour and a half in a car." kennedy said very little as we sped out over the long island roads that led to the little colony of actors and actresses at cedar grove. he seemed rather to be enjoying the chance to get away from the city and turn over in his mind the various problems which the case presented. as for myself, i had by this time convinced myself that, somehow, the mushrooms were involved. what kennedy expected to find i could not guess. but from what i had read i surmised that it must be that one of the poisonous varieties had somehow got mixed with the others, one of the amanitas, just as deadly as the venom of the rattler or the copperhead. i knew that, in some cases, amanitas had been used to commit crimes. was this such a case? we had no trouble in finding the estate of miss hargrave, and she was at home. kennedy lost no time introducing himself and coming to the point of his visit. madeline hargrave was a slender, willowy type of girl, pronouncedly blond, striking, precisely the type i should have imagined that mansfield would have been proud to be seen with. "i've just heard of mr. mansfield's illness," she said, anxiously. "mr. lewis called me up and told me. i don't see why miss grey or doctor murray didn't let me know sooner." she said it with an air of vexation, as though she felt slighted. in spite of her evident anxiety to know about the tragedy, however, i did not detect the depth of feeling that helen grey had shown. in fact, the thoughtfulness of fleming lewis almost led me to believe that it was he, rather than mansfield, for whom she really cared. we chatted a few minutes, as kennedy told what little we had discovered. he said nothing about the spangle. "by the way," remarked craig, at length, "i would very much like to have a look at that famous mushroom-cellar of yours." for the first time she seemed momentarily to lose her poise. "i've always had a great interest in mushrooms," she explained, hastily. "you--you do not think it could be the mushrooms--that have caused mr. mansfield's illness, do you?" kennedy passed off the remark as best he could under the circumstances. though she was not satisfied with his answer, she could not very well refuse his request, and a few minutes later we were down in the dark dampness of the cellar back of the house, where kennedy set to work on a most exhaustive search. i could see by the expression on his face, as his search progressed, that he was not finding what he had expected. clearly, the fungi before us were the common edible mushrooms. the upper side of each, as he examined it, was white, with brownish fibrils, or scales. underneath, some were a beautiful salmon-pink, changing gradually to almost black in the older specimens. the stem was colored like the top. but search as he might for what i knew he was after, in none did he find anything but a small or more often no swelling at the base, and no "cup," as it is called. as he rose after his thorough search, i saw that he was completely baffled. "i hardly thought you'd find anything," miss hargrave remarked, noticing the look on his face. "i've always been very careful of my mushrooms." "you have certainly succeeded admirably," he complimented. "i hope you will let me know how mr. mansfield is," she said, as we started back toward our car on the road. "i can't tell you how i feel. to think that, after a party which he gave for me, he should be taken ill, and not only that but be robbed at the same time! really, you must let me know--or i shall have to come up to the city." it seemed gratuitous for kennedy to promise, for i knew that he was by no means through with her yet; but she thanked him, and we turned back toward town. "well," i remarked, as we reeled off the miles quickly, "i must say that that puts me all at sea again. i had convinced myself that it was a case of mushroom poisoning. what can you do now?" "do?" he echoed. "why, go on. this puts us a step nearer the truth, that's all." far from being discouraged at what had seemed to me to be a fatal blow to the theory, he now seemed to be actually encouraged. back in the city, he lost no time in getting to the laboratory again. a package from the botanical department of the university was waiting there for kennedy, but before he could open it the telephone buzzed furiously. i could gather from kennedy's words that it was helen grey. "i shall be over immediately," he promised, as he hung up the receiver and turned to me. "mansfield is much worse. while i get together some material i must take over there, walter, i want you to call up miss hargrave and tell her to start for the city right away--meet us at mansfield's. then get mina leitch and lewis. you'll find their numbers in the book--or else you'll have to get them from miss grey." while i was delivering the messages as diplomatically as possible kennedy had taken a vial from a medicine-chest, and then from a cabinet a machine which seemed to consist of a number of collars and belts fastened to black cylinders from which ran tubes. an upright roll of ruled paper supported by a clockwork arrangement for revolving it, and a standard bearing a recording pen, completed the outfit. "i should much have preferred not being hurried," he confessed, as we dashed over in the car to mansfield's again, bearing the several packages. "i wanted to have a chance to interview mina leitch alone. however, it has now become a matter of life or death." miss grey was pale and worn as she met us in the living-room. "he's had a sinking-spell," she said, tremulously. "doctor murray managed to bring him around, but he seems so much weaker after it. another might--" she broke off, unable to finish. a glance at mansfield was enough to convince any one that unless something was done soon the end was not far. "another convulsion and sinking-spell is about all he can stand," remarked doctor murray. "may i try something?" asked kennedy, hardly waiting for the doctor to agree before he had pulled out the little vial which i had seen him place in his pocket. deftly kennedy injected some of the contents into mansfield's side, then stood anxiously watching the effect. the minutes lengthened. at least he seemed to be growing no worse. in the next room, on a table, kennedy was now busy setting out the scroll of ruled paper and its clockwork arrangement, and connecting the various tubes from the black cylinders in such a way that the recording pen just barely touched on the scroll. he had come back to note the still unchanged condition of the patient when the door opened and a handsome woman in the early thirties entered, followed by helen grey. it was mina leitch. "oh, isn't it terrible! i can hardly believe it!" she cried, paying no attention to us as she moved over to doctor murray. i recalled what miss grey had said about mansfield's attentions. it was evident that, as far as mina was concerned, her own attentions were monopolized by the polished physician. his manner in greeting her told me that doctor murray appreciated it. just then fleming lewis bustled in. "i thought miss hargrave was here," he said, abruptly, looking about. "they told me over the wire she would be." "she should be here any moment," returned kennedy, looking at his watch and finding that considerably over an hour had elapsed since i had telephoned. what it was i could not say, but there was a coldness toward lewis that amounted to more than latent hostility. he tried to appear at ease, but it was a decided effort. there was no mistaking his relief when the tension was broken by the arrival of madeline hargrave. the circumstances were so strange that none of them seemed to object while kennedy began to explain, briefly, that, as nearly as he could determine, the illness of mansfield might be due to something eaten at the supper. as he attached the bands about the necks and waists of one after another of the guests, bringing the little black cylinders thus close to the middle of their chests, he contrived to convey the impression that he would like to determine whether any one else had been affected in a lesser degree. i watched most intently the two women who had just come in. one would certainly not have detected from their greeting and outward manner anything more than that they were well acquainted. but they were an interesting study, two quite opposite types. madeline, with her baby-blue eyes, was of the type that craved admiration. mina's black eyes flashed now and then imperiously, as though she sought to compel what the other sought to win. as for fleming lewis, i could not fail to notice that he was most attentive to madeline, though he watched, furtively, but none the less keenly, every movement and word of mina. his preparations completed, kennedy opened the package which had been left at the laboratory just before the hasty call from miss grey. as he did so he disclosed several specimens of a mushroom of pale-lemon color, with a center of deep orange, the top flecked with white bits. underneath, the gills were white and the stem had a sort of veil about it. but what interested me most, and what i was looking for, was the remains of a sort of dirty, chocolate-colored cup at the base of the stem. "i suppose there is scarcely any need of saying," began kennedy, "that the food which i suspect in this case is the mushrooms. here i have some which i have fortunately been able to obtain merely to illustrate what i am going to say. this is the deadly amanita muscaria, the fly-agaric." madeline hargrave seemed to be following him with a peculiar fascination. "this amanita," resumed kennedy, "has a long history, and i may say that few species are quite so interesting. macerated in milk, it has been employed for centuries as a fly-poison, hence its name. its deadly properties were known to the ancients, and it is justly celebrated because of its long and distinguished list of victims. agrippina used it to poison the emperor claudius. among others, the czar alexis of russia died of eating it. "i have heard that some people find it only a narcotic, and it is said that in siberia there are actually amanita debauchees who go on prolonged tears by eating the thing. it may be that it does not affect some people as it does others, but in most cases that beautiful gossamer veil which you see about the stem is really a shroud. "the worst of it is," he continued, "that this amanita somewhat resembles the royal agaric, the amanita caesarea. it is, as you see, strikingly beautiful, and therefore all the more dangerous." he ceased a moment, while we looked in a sort of awe at the fatally beautiful thing. "it is not with the fungus that i am so much interested just now, however," kennedy began again, "but with the poison. many years ago scientists analyzed its poisonous alkaloids and found what they called bulbosine. later it was named muscarin, and now is sometimes known as amanitin, since it is confined to the mushrooms of the amanita genus. "amanitin is a wonderful and dangerous alkaloid, which is absorbed in the intestinal canal. it is extremely violent. three to five one-thousandths of a gram, or six one-hundredths of a grain, are very dangerous. more than that, the poisoning differs from most poisons in the long time that elapses between the taking of it and the first evidences of its effects. "muscarin," kennedy concluded, "has been chemically investigated more often than any other mushroom poison and a perfect antidote has been discovered. atropin, or belladonna, is such a drug." for a moment i looked about at the others in the room. had it been an accident, after all? perhaps, if any of the others had been attacked, one might have suspected that it was. but they had not been affected at all, at least apparently. yet there could be no doubt that it was the poisonous muscarin that had affected mansfield. "did you ever see anything like that?" asked kennedy, suddenly, holding up the gilt spangle which he had found on the closet floor near the wall safe. though no one said a word, it was evident that they all recognized it. lewis was watching madeline closely. but she betrayed nothing except mild surprise at seeing the spangle from her dress. had it been deliberately placed there, it flashed over me, in order to compromise madeline hargrave and divert suspicion from some one else? i turned to mina. behind the defiance of her dark eyes i felt that there was something working. kennedy must have sensed it even before i did, for he suddenly bent down over the recording needle and the ruled paper on the table. "this," he shot out, "is a pneumograph which shows the actual intensity of the emotions by recording their effects on the heart and lungs together. the truth can literally be tapped, even where no confession can be extracted. a moment's glance at this line, traced here by each of you, can tell the expert more than words." "then it was a mushroom that poisoned jack!" interrupted lewis, suddenly. "some poisonous amanita got mixed with the edible mushrooms?" kennedy answered, quickly, without taking his eyes off the line the needle was tracing: "no; this was a case of the deliberate use of the active principle itself, muscarin--with the expectation that the death, if the cause was ever discovered, could easily be blamed on such a mushroom. somehow--there were many chances--the poison was slipped into the ramekin francois was carefully preparing for mansfield. the method does not interest me so much as the fact--" there was a slight noise from the other room where mansfield lay. instantly we were all on our feet. before any of us could reach the door helen grey had slipped through it. "just a second," commanded kennedy, extending the sequin toward us to emphasize what he was about to say. "the poisoning and the robbery were the work of one hand. that sequin is the key that has unlocked the secret which my pneumograph has recorded. some one saw that robbery committed--knew nothing of the contemplated poisoning to cover it. to save the reputation of the robber--at any cost--on the spur of the moment the ruse of placing the sequin in the closet occurred." madeline hargrave turned to mina, while i recalled lewis's remark about mina's stepping on the train and tearing it. the defiance in her black eyes flashed from madeline to kennedy. "yes," she cried; "i did it! i--" as quickly the defiance had faded. mina leitch had fainted. "some water--quick!" cried kennedy. i sprang through the door into mansfield's room. as i passed i caught sight of helen grey supporting the head of mansfield--both oblivious to actresses, diamonds, everything that had so nearly caused a tragedy. "no," i heard kennedy say to lewis as i returned; "it was not mina. the person she shielded was wildly in love with her, insanely jealous of mansfield for even looking at her, and in debt so hopelessly in mansfield's ventures that only the big diamond could save him--doctor murray himself!" iii the soul-analysis "here's the most remarkable appeal," observed kennedy, one morning, as he tossed over to me a letter. "what do you make of that?" it read: montrose, conn. my dear professor kennedy: you do not know me, but i have heard a great deal about you. please, i beg of you, do not disregard this letter. at least try to verify the appeal i am making. i am here at the belleclaire sanatorium, run by dr. bolton burr, in montrose. but it is not a real sanatorium. it is really a private asylum. let me tell my story briefly. after my baby was born i devoted myself to it. but, in spite of everything, it died. meanwhile my husband neglected me terribly. after the baby's death i was a nervous wreck, and i came up here to rest. now i find i am being held here as an insane patient. i cannot get out. i do not even know whether this letter will reach you. but the chambermaid here has told me she will post it for me. i am ill and nervous--a wreck, but not insane, although they will tell you that the twilight-sleep treatment affected my mind. but what is happening here will eventually drive me insane if some one does not come to my rescue. cannot you get in to see me as a doctor or friend? i will leave all to you after that. yours anxiously, janet (mrs. roger) cranston. "what do you make of it yourself?" i returned, handing back the letter. "are you going to take it up?" he slowly looked over the letter again. "judging by the handwriting," he remarked, thoughtfully, "i should say that the writer is laboring under keen excitement--though there is no evidence of insanity on the face of it. yes; i think i'll take up the case." "but how are you going to get in?" i asked. "they'll never admit you willingly." kennedy pondered a minute. "i'll get in, all right," he said, at length; "come on--i'm going to call on roger cranston first." "roger cranston?" i repeated, dumfounded. "why, he'll never help you! ten to one he's in on it." "we'll have to take a chance," returned kennedy, hurrying me out of the laboratory. roger cranston was a well-known lawyer and man about town. we found him in his office on lower broadway. he was young and distinguished-looking, which probably accounted for the fact that his office had become a sort of fashionable court of domestic relations. "i'm a friend of dr. bolton burr, of montrose," introduced kennedy. cranston looked at him keenly, but kennedy was a good actor. "i have been studying some of the patients at the sanatorium, and i have seen mrs. cranston there." "indeed!" responded cranston. "i'm all broken up by it myself." i could not resist thinking that he took it very calmly, however. "i should like very much to make what we call a psychanalysis of mrs. cranston's mental condition," kennedy explained. "a psychanalysis?" repeated cranston. "yes; you know it is a new system. in the field of abnormal psychology, the soul-analysis is of first importance. to-day, this study is of the greatest help in neurology and psychiatry. only, i can't make it without the consent of the natural guardian of the patient. doctor burr tells me that you will have no objection." cranston thoughtfully studied the wall opposite. "well," he returned, slowly, "they tell me that without treatment she will soon be hopelessly insane--perhaps dangerously so. that is all i know. i am not a specialist. if doctor burr--" he paused. "if you can give me just a card," urged kennedy, "that is all doctor burr wishes." cranston wrote hastily on the back of one of his cards what kennedy dictated. please allow doctor kennedy to make a psychanalysis of my wife's mental condition. "you will let me know--if there is--any hope?" he asked. "as soon as i can," replied kennedy, "i'll let you have a copy of my report." cranston thanked us and bowed us to the door suavely. "well," i remarked, as we rode down in the elevator, "that was clever. he fell for it, too. you're an artist. do you think he was posing?" kennedy shrugged his shoulders. we lost no time in getting the first train for montrose, before cranston had time to reconsider and call up doctor burr. the belleclaire sanatorium was on the outskirts of the town. it was an old stone house, rather dingy, and surrounded by a high stone wall surmounted by sharp pickets. dr. bolton burr, who was at the head of the institution, met us in the plainly furnished reception-room which also served as his office. through a window we could see some of the patients walking or sitting about on a small stretch of scraggly grass between the house and the wall. doctor burr was a tall and commanding-looking man with a vandyke beard, and one would instinctively have picked him out anywhere as a physician. "i believe you have a patient here--mrs. roger cranston," began kennedy, after the usual formalities. doctor burr eyed us askance. "i've been asked by mr. cranston to make an examination of his wife," pursued craig, presenting the card which he had obtained from roger cranston. "h'm!" mused doctor burr, looking quickly from the card to kennedy with a searching glance. "i wish you would tell me something of the case before i see her," went on kennedy, with absolute assurance. "well," temporized doctor burr, twirling the card, "mrs. cranston came to me after the death of her child. she was in a terrible state. but we are slowly building up her shattered nerves by plain, simple living and a tonic." "was she committed by her husband?" queried kennedy, unexpectedly. whether or not doctor burr felt suspicious of us i could not tell. but he seemed eager to justify himself. "i have the papers committing her to my care," he said, rising and opening a safe in the corner. he laid before us a document in which appeared the names of roger cranston and julia giles. "who is this julia giles?" asked kennedy, after he had read the document. "one of our nurses," returned the doctor. "she has had mrs. cranston under observation ever since she arrived." "i should like to see both miss giles and mrs. cranston," insisted kennedy. "it is not that mr. cranston is in any way dissatisfied with your treatment, but he thought that perhaps i might be of some assistance to you." kennedy's manner was ingratiating but firm, and he hurried on, lest it should occur to doctor burr to call up cranston. the doctor, still twirling the card, finally led us through the wide central hall and up an old-fashioned winding staircase to a large room on the second floor. he tapped at the door, which was opened, disclosing an interior tastefully furnished. doctor burr introduced us to miss giles, conveying the impression, which kennedy had already given, that he was a specialist, and i his assistant. janet cranston was a young and also remarkably beautiful girl. one could see traces of sorrow in her face, which was exceedingly, though not unpleasingly, pale. the restless brilliancy of her eyes spoke of some physical, if not psychical, disorder. she was dressed in deep mourning, which heightened her pallor and excited a feeling of mingled respect and interest. thick brown coils of chestnut hair were arranged in such a manner as to give an extremely youthful appearance to her delicate face. her emotions were expressed by the constant motion of her slender fingers. miss giles was a striking woman of an entirely different type. she seemed to be exuberant with health, as though nursing had taught her not merely how to take care of others, but had given her the secret of caring, first of all, for herself. i could see, as doctor burr introduced us to his patient, that mrs. cranston instantly recognized kennedy's interest in her case. she received us with a graceful courtesy, but she betrayed no undue interest that might excite suspicion, nor was there any hint given of the note of appeal. i wondered whether that might not be an instance of the cunning for which i had heard that the insane are noted. she showed no sign of insanity, however. i looked about curiously to see if there were evidences of the treatment which she was receiving. on a table stood a bottle and a glass, as well as a teaspoon, and i recalled the doctor's remark about the tonic. "you look tired, mrs. cranston," remarked kennedy, thoughtfully. "why not rest while we are here, and then i will be sure my visit has had no ill effects." "thank you," she murmured, and i was much impressed by the sweetness of her voice. as he spoke, kennedy arranged the pillows on a chaise lounge and placed her on it with her head slightly elevated. having discussed the subject of psychanalysis with kennedy before, i knew that this was so that nothing might distract her from the free association of ideas. he placed himself near her head, and motioned to us to stand farther back of him, where she could not see us. "avoid all muscular exertion and distraction," he continued. "i want you to concentrate your attention thoroughly. tell me anything that comes into your mind. tell all you know of your symptoms. concentrate, and repeat all you think of. frankly express all the thoughts that you have, even though they may be painful and embarrassing." he said this soothingly, and she seemed to understand that much depended upon her answers and the fact of not forcing her ideas. "i am thinking of my husband," mrs. cranston began, finally, in a dreamy tone. "what of him?" suggested kennedy. "of how the baby--separated us--and--" she paused, almost in tears. from what i knew of the method of psychanalysis, i recalled it was the gaps and hesitations which were most important in arriving at the truth regarding the cause of her trouble. "perhaps it was my fault; perhaps i was a better mother than wife. i thought i was doing what he would want me to do. too late i see my mistake." it was easy to read into her story that there had been other women in his life. it had wounded her deeply. yet it was equally plain that she still loved him. "go on," urged kennedy, gently. "oh yes," she resumed, dreamily; "i am thinking about once, when i left him, i wandered through the country. i remember little except that it was the country through which we had passed on an automobile trip on our honeymoon. once i thought i saw him, and i tried to get to him. i longed for him, but each time, when i almost reached him, he would disappear. i seemed to be so deserted and alone. i tried to call him, but my tongue refused to say his name. it must have been hours that i wandered about, for i recall nothing after that until i was found, disheveled and exhausted." she paused and closed her eyes, while i could see that kennedy considered this gap very important. "don't stop," persisted kennedy. "once we quarreled over one of his clients who was suing for a divorce. i thought he was devoting too much time and attention to her. while there might not have been anything wrong, still i was afraid. in my anger and anxiety i accused him. he retorted by slamming the door, and i did not see him for two or three days. i realized my nervous condition, and one day a mutual friend of ours introduced me to doctor burr and advised me to take a rest-cure at his sanatorium. by this time roger and i were on speaking-terms again. but the death of the baby and the quarrel left me still as nervous as before. he seemed anxious to have me do something, and so i came here." "do you remember anything that happened after that?" asked craig, for the first time asking a mildly leading question. "yes; i recall everything that happened when i came here," she went on. "roger came up with me to complete the necessary arrangements. we were met at the station by doctor burr and this woman who has since been my nurse and companion. on the way up from the station to the sanatorium doctor burr was very considerate of me, and i noticed that my husband seemed interested in miss giles and the care she was to take of me." kennedy flashed a glance at me from a note-book in which he was apparently busily engaged in jotting down her answers. i did not know just what interpretation to put on it, but surmised that it meant that he had struck what the new psychologists call a "complex," in the entrance of miss giles into the case. before we realized it there came a sudden outburst of feeling. "and now--they are keeping me here by force!" she cried. doctor burr looked at us significantly, as much as to say, "just what might be expected, you see." kennedy nodded, but made no effort to stop mrs. cranston. "they have told roger that i am insane, and i know he must believe it or he would not leave me here. but their real motive, i can guess, is mercenary. i can't complain about my treatment here--it costs enough." by this time she was sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead as though amazed at her own boldness in speaking so frankly before them. "i feel all right at times--then--it is as though i had a paralysis of the body, but not of the mind--not of the mind," she repeated, tensely. there was a frightened look on her face, and her voice was now wildly appealing. what would have followed i cannot guess, for at that instant there came a noise outside from another of the rooms as though pandemonium had broken loose. by the shouting and confusion, one might easily have wondered whether keepers and lunatics might not have exchanged places. "it is just one of the patients who has escaped from his room," explained doctor burr; "nothing to be alarmed about. we'll soon have him quieted." doctor burr hurried out into the corridor while miss giles was looking out of the door. quickly kennedy reached over and abstracted several drops from a bottle of tonic on the table, pouring it into his handkerchief, which he rolled up tightly and stuffed into his pocket. mrs. cranston watched him pleadingly, and clasped her hands in mute appeal, with a hasty glance at miss giles. kennedy said nothing, either, but rapidly folded up a page of the note-book on which he had been writing and shoved it into mrs. cranston's hand, together with something he had taken from his pocket. she understood, and quickly placed it in her corsage. "read it--when you are absolutely alone," he whispered, just as miss giles shut the door and turned to us. the excitement subsided almost as quickly as it had arisen, but it had been sufficient to put a stop to any further study of the case along those lines. miss giles's keen eyes missed no action or movement of her patient. doctor burr returned shortly. it was evident from his manner that he wished to have the visit terminated, and kennedy seemed quite willing to take the hint. he thanked mrs. cranston, and we withdrew quietly, after bidding her good-by in a manner as reassuring as we could make it under the circumstances. "you see," remarked doctor burr, as we walked down the hall, "she is quite unstrung still. mr. cranston comes up here once in a while, and we notice that after these visits she is, if anything, worse." down the hall a door had been left open, and we could catch a glimpse of a patient rolled in a blanket, while two nurses forced something down his throat. doctor burr hastily closed the door as we passed. "that is the condition mrs. cranston might have got into if she had not come to us when she did," he said. "as it is, she is never violent and is one of the most tractable patients we have." we left shortly, without finding out whether doctor burr suspected us of anything or not. as we made our way back to the city, i could not help the feeling of depression such as poe mentioned at seeing the private madhouse in france. "that glimpse we had into the other room almost makes one recall the soothing system of doctor maillard. is doctor burr's system better?" i asked. "a good deal of what we used to think and practise is out of date now," returned kennedy. "i think you are already familiar with the theory of dreams that has been developed by dr. sigmund freud, of vienna. but perhaps you are not aware of the fact that freud's contribution to the study of insanity is of even greater scientific value than his dream theories taken by themselves. "hers, i feel sure now, is what is known as one of the so-called 'border-line cases,'" he continued. "it is clearly a case of hysteria--not the hysteria one hears spoken of commonly, but the condition which scientists know as such. we trace the impulses from which hysterical conditions arise, penetrate the disguises which these repressed impulses or wishes must assume in order to appear in the consciousness. such transformed impulses are found in normal people, too, sometimes. the hysteric suffers mostly from reminiscences which, paradoxically, may be completely forgotten. "obsessions and phobias have their origin, according to freud, in sexual life. the obsession represents a compensation or substitute for an unbearable sexual idea and takes its place in consciousness. in normal sexual life, no neurosis is possible, say the freudists. sex is the strongest impulse, yet subject to the greatest repression, and hence the weakest point of our cultural development. hysteria arises through the conflict between libido and sex-repression. often sex-wishes may be consciously rejected but unconsciously accepted. so when they are understood every insane utterance has a reason. there is really method in madness. "when hysteria in a wife gains her the attention of an otherwise inattentive husband it fills, from the standpoint of her deeper longing, an important place, and, in a sense, may be said to be desirable. the great point about the psychanalytic method, as discovered by breuer and freud, is that certain symptoms of hysteria disappear when the hidden causes are brought to light and the repressed desires are gratified." "how does that apply to mrs. cranston?" i queried. "mrs. cranston," he replied, "is suffering from what the psychanalysts call a psychic trauma--a soul-wound, as it were. it is the neglect, in this case, of her husband, whom she deeply loves. that, in itself, is sufficient to explain her experience wandering through the country. it was the region which she associated with her first love-affair, as she told us. the wave of recollection that swept over her engulfed her mind. in other words, reason could no longer dominate the cravings for a love so long suppressed. then, when she saw, or imagined she saw, one who looked like her lover the strain was too great." it was the middle of the afternoon when we reached the laboratory. kennedy at once set to work studying the drops of tonic which had been absorbed in the handkerchief. as kennedy worked, i began thinking over again of what we had seen at the belleclaire sanatorium. somehow or other, i could not get out of my mind the recollection of the man rolled in the blanket and trussed up as helpless as a mummy. i wondered whether that alone was sufficient to account for the quickness with which he had been pacified. then i recalled mrs. cranston's remark about her mental alertness and physical weakness. had it anything to do with the "tonic"? "suppose, while i am waiting," i finally suggested to craig, "i try to find out what cranston does with his time since his wife has been shut off from the world." "that's a very good idea," acquiesced kennedy. "don't take too long, however, for i may strike something important here any minute." after several inquiries over the telephone, i found that since his wife had been in montrose cranston had closed his apartment and was living at one of his clubs. having two or three friends who were members, i did not hesitate to drop around. unfortunately, none of my friends happened to be there, and i was forced, finally, to ask for cranston himself, although all that i really wanted to know was whether he was there or not. one of the clerks told me that he had been in, but had left in a taxicab only a short time before. as there was a cab-stand outside the club, i determined to make an inquiry and perhaps discover the driver who had had him. the starter knew him, and when i said that it was very important business on which i wanted to see him he motioned to a driver who had just pulled up. a chance for another fare and a generous tip were all that was necessary to induce him to drive me to the trocadero, a fashionable restaurant and cabaret, where he had taken cranston a short time before. it was crowded when i entered, and, avoiding the headwaiter, i stood by the door a few minutes and looked over the brilliant and gay throng. finally, i managed to catch a glimpse of cranston's head at a table in a far corner. as i made my way down the line of tables, i was genuinely amazed to see that he was with a woman. it was julia giles! she must have come down on the next train after we did, but, at any rate, it looked as though she had lost no time in seeking out cranston after our visit. i took a seat at a table next them. they were talking about kennedy, and, during a lull in the music, i overheard him asking her just what craig had done. "it was certainly very clever in him to play both you and doctor burr the way he did. he told doctor burr that you had sent him, and told you that doctor burr had sent him. by whom do you suppose he really was sent?" "could it have been my wife?" "it must have been, but how she did it is more than i can imagine." "how is she, anyway?" he asked. "sometimes she seems to be getting along finely, and then, other days, i feel quite discouraged about her. her case is very obstinate." "perhaps i had better go out and see burr," he considered. "it is early in the evening. i'll drive you out in my car. i'll stay at the sanatorium tonight, and then, perhaps, i'll know a little better what we can do." it was his tone rather than his words which gave me the impression that he was more interested in being with miss giles than with mrs. cranston. i wondered whether it was a plot of cranston's and miss giles's. had he been posing before kennedy, and were they really trying to put mrs. cranston out of the way? as the music started up again, i heard her say, "can't we have just one more dance?" a moment later they were lost in the gay whirl on the dancing-floor. they made a handsome couple, and it was evident that it was not the first time that they had dined and danced together. the music ceased, and they returned to their places reluctantly, while cranston telephoned for his car to be brought around to the cabaret. i hastened back to the laboratory to inform craig what i had seen. as i told my story he looked up at me with a sudden flash of comprehension. "i am glad to know where they will all be tonight," he said. "some one has been giving her henbane--hyoscyamin. i have just discovered it in the tonic." "what's henbane?" i asked. "it is a drug derived from the hyoscyamus plant, much like belladonna, though more distinctly sedative. it is a hypnotic used often in mania and mental excitement. the feeling which mrs. cranston described is one of its effects. you recall the brightness of her eyes? that is one of the effects of the mydriatic alkaloids, of which this is one. the ancients were familiar with several of its peculiar properties, as they knew of the closely allied poison hemlock. "many of the text-books at the present time fail to say anything about the remarkable effect produced by large doses of this terrible alkaloid. this effect can be described technically so as to be intelligible, but no description can convey, even approximately, the terrible sensation produced in many insane patients by large doses. in a general way, it is the condition of paralysis of the body without the corresponding paralysis of the mind." "and it's this stuff that somebody has been putting into her tonic?" i asked, startled. "do you suppose that is part of burr's system, or did miss giles lighten her work by putting it into the tonic?" kennedy did not betray his suspicion, but went on describing the drug which was having such a serious effect on mrs. cranston. "the victim lies in an absolutely helpless condition sometimes with his muscles so completely paralyzed that he cannot so much as move a finger, cannot close his lips or move his tongue to moisten them. this feeling of helplessness is usually followed by unconsciousness and then by a period of depression. the combined feeling of helplessness and depression is absolutely unlike any other feeling imaginable, if i may judge from the accounts of those who have experienced it. other sensations, such as pain, may be judged, in a measure, by comparison with other painful sensations, but the sensation produced by hyoscyamin in large doses seems to have no basis for comparison. there is no kindred feeling. practically every institution for the insane used it a few years ago for controlling patients, but now better methods have been devised." "the more i think of what i saw at the trocadero," i remarked, "the more i wonder if miss giles has been seeking to win cranston herself." "in large-enough doses and repeated often enough," continued kennedy, "i suppose the toxic effect of the drug might be to produce insanity. at any rate, if we are going to do anything, it might better be done at once. they are all out there now. if we act to-night, surely we shall have the best chance of making the guilty person betray himself." kennedy telephoned for a fast touring-car, and in half an hour, while he gathered some apparatus together, the car was before the door. in it he placed a couple of light silk-rope ladders, some common wooden wedges, and an instrument which resembled a surveyor's transit with two conical horns sticking out at the ends. we made the trip out of new york and up the boston post-road, following the route which cranston and miss giles must have taken some hours before us. in the town of montrose, kennedy stopped only long enough to get a bite to eat and to study up in the roads in the vicinity. it was long after midnight when we struck up into the country. the night was very dark, thick, and foggy. with the engine running as muffled as possible and the lights dimmed, kennedy quietly jammed on the brakes as we pulled up along the side of the road. a few rods farther ahead i could make out the belleclaire sanatorium surrounded by its picketed stone wall. not a light was visible in any of the windows. "now that we're here," i whispered, "what can we do?" "you remember the paper i gave mrs. cranston when the excitement in the hall broke loose?" "yes," i nodded, as we moved over under the shadow of the wall. "i wrote on a sheet from my note-book," said kennedy, "and told her to be ready when she heard a pebble strike the window; and i gave her a piece of string to let down to the ground." kennedy threw the silk ladder up until it caught on one of the pickets; then, with the other ladder and the wedges, he reached the top of the wall, followed by me. we pulled the first ladder up as we clung to the pickets, and let it down again inside. noiselessly we crossed the lawn. above was mrs. cranston's window. craig picked up some bits of broken stone from a walk about the house and threw them gently against the pane. then we drew back into the shadow of the house, lest any prying eyes might discover us. in a few minutes the window on the second floor was stealthily opened. the muffled figure of mrs. cranston appeared in the dim light; then a piece of string was lowered. to it kennedy attached a light silk ladder and motioned in pantomime for her to draw it up. it took her some time to fasten the ladder to one of the heavy pieces of furniture in the room. swaying from side to side, but clinging with frantic desperation to the ladder while we did our best to steady it, she managed to reach the ground. she turned from the building with a shudder, and whispered: "this terrible place! how can i ever thank you for getting me out of it?" kennedy did not pause long enough to say a word, but hurried her across to the final barrier, the wall. suddenly there was a shout of alarm from the front of the house under the columns. it was the night watchman, who had discovered us. instantly kennedy seized a chair from a little summer-house. "quick, walter," he cried, "over the wall with mrs. cranston, while i hold him! then throw the ladder back on this side. i'll join you in a moment, as soon as you get her safely over." a chair is only an indifferent club, if that is all one can think of using it for. kennedy ran squarely at the watchman, holding it out straight before him. only once did i cast a hasty glance back. there was the man pinned to the wall by the chair, with kennedy at the other end of it and safely out of reach. mrs. cranston and i managed to scramble over the wall, although she tore her dress on the pickets before we reached the other side. i hustled her into the car and made everything ready to start. it was only a couple of minutes after i threw the ladder back before craig rejoined us. "how did you get away from the watchman?" i demanded, breathlessly, as we shot away. "i forced him back with the chair into the hall and slammed the door. then i jammed a wedge under it," he chuckled. "that will hold it better than any lock. every push will jam it tighter." above the hubbub, inside now, we could hear a loud gong sounding insistently. all about were lights flashing up at the windows and moving through the passageways. shouts came from the back of the house as a door was finally opened there. but we were off now, with a good start. i could imagine the frantic telephoning that was going on in the sanatorium. and i knew that the local police of montrose and every other town about us were being informed of the escape. they were required by the law to render all possible assistance, and, as the country boasted several institutions quite on a par with belleclaire, an attempt at an escape was not an unusual occurrence. the post-road by which we had come was therefore impossible, and kennedy swung up into the country, in the hope of throwing off pursuit long enough to give us a better chance. "take the wheel, walter," he muttered. "i'll tell you what turns to make. we must get to the state line of new york without being stopped. we can beat almost any car. but that is not enough. a telephone message ahead may stop us, unless we can keep from being seen." i took the wheel, and did not stop the car as kennedy climbed over the seat. in the back of the car, where mrs. cranston was sitting, he hastily adjusted the peculiar apparatus. "sounds at night are very hard to locate," he explained. "up this side road, walter; there is some one coming ahead of us." i turned and shot up the detour, stopping in the shadow of some trees, where we switched off every light and shut down the engine. kennedy continued to watch the instrument before him. "what is it?" i whispered. "a phonometer," he replied. "it was invented to measure the intensity of sound. but it is much more valuable as an instrument that tells with precision from what direction a sound comes. it needs only a small dry battery and can be carried around easily. the sound enters the two horns of the phonometer, is focused at the neck, and strikes on a delicate diaphragm, behind which is a needle. the diaphragm vibrates and the needle moves. the louder the sound the greater the movement of this needle. "at this end, where it looks as though i were sighting like a surveyor, i am gazing into a lens, with a tiny electric bulb close to my eye. the light of this bulb is reflected in a mirror which is moved by the moving needle. when the sound is loudest the two horns are at right angles to the direction whence it comes. so it is only necessary to twist the phonometer about on its pivot until the sound is received most loudly in the horns and the band of light is greatest. i know then that the horns are at right angles to the direction from which the sound proceeds, and that, as i lift my head, i am looking straight toward the source of the sound. i can tell its direction to a few degrees." i looked through it myself to see how sound was visualized by light. "hush!" cautioned kennedy. down on the main road we could see a car pass along slowly in the direction of montrose, from which we had come. without the phonometer to warn us, it must inevitably have met us and blocked our escape over the road ahead. that danger passed, on we sped. five minutes, i calculated, and we should cross the state line to new york and safety. we had been going along nicely when, "bang!" came a loud report back of us. "confound it!" muttered kennedy; "a blowout always when you least expect it." we climbed out of the car and had the shoe off in short order. "look!" cried janet cranston, in a frightened voice, from the back of the car. the light of the phonometer had flashed up. a car was following us. "there's just one chance!" cried kennedy, springing to the wheel. "we might make it on the rim." banging and pounding, we forged ahead, straining our eyes to watch the road, the distance, the time, and the phonometer all at once. it was no use. a big gray roadster was overtaking us. the driver crowded us over to the very edge of the road, then shot ahead, and, where the road narrowed down, deliberately pulled up across the road in such a way that we had to run into him or stop. quickly craig's automatic gleamed in the dim beams from the side lights. "just a minute," cautioned a voice. "it was a plot against me, quite as much as it was against her--the nurse to lead me on, while the doctor got a rich patient. i suspected all was not right. that's why i gave you the card. i knew you didn't come from burr. then, when i heard nothing from you, i let the giles woman think i was coming to montrose to be with her. but, really, i wanted to beat that fake asylum--" two piercing headlights shone down the road back of us. we waited a moment until they, too, came to a stop. "here they are!" shouted the voice of a man, as he jumped out, followed by a woman. kennedy stepped forward, waving his automatic menacingly. "you are under arrest for conspiracy--both of you!" he cried, as we recognized doctor burr and miss giles. a little cry behind me startled me, and i turned. janet cranston had flung herself into the arms of the only person who could heal her wounded soul. iv the mystic poisoner "it's almost as though he had been struck down by a spirit hand, kennedy." grady, the house detective of the prince edward charles hotel, had routed us out of bed in the middle of the night with a hurried call for help, and now met us in the lobby of the fashionable hostelry. all that he had said over the wire was that there had been a murder--"an englishman, a captain shirley." "why," exclaimed grady, lowering his voice as he led us through the lobby, "it's the most mysterious thing, i think, that i've ever seen!" "in what way?" prompted kennedy. "well," continued grady, "it must have been just a bit after midnight that one of the elevator-boys heard what sounded like a muffled report in a room on the tenth floor. there were other employees and some guests about at the time, and it was only a matter of seconds before they were on the spot. finally, the sound was located as having come probably from captain shirley's room. but the door was locked--on the inside. there was no response, although some one had seen him ride up in the elevator scarcely five minutes before. by that time they had sent for me. we broke in. there was shirley, alone, fully dressed, lying on the floor before a writing-table. his face was horribly set, as though he had perhaps seen something that frightened and haunted him--though i suppose it might have been the pain that did it. i think he must have heard something, jumped from the chair, perhaps in fear, then have fallen down on the floor almost immediately. "we hurried over to him. he was still alive, but could not speak. i turned him over, tried to rouse him and make him comfortable. it was only then that i saw that he was really conscious. but it seemed as if his tongue and most of his muscles were paralyzed. somehow he managed to convey to us the idea that it was his heart that troubled him most. "really, at first i thought it was a case of suicide. but there was no sign of a weapon about and not a trace of poison--no glass, no packet. there was no wound on him, either--except a few slight cuts and scratches on his face and hands. but none of them looked to be serious. and yet, before we could get the house physician up to him he was dead." "and with not a word?" queried kennedy. "that's the strangest part of it. no; not a word spoken. but as he lay there, even in spite of his paralyzed muscles, he was just able to motion with his hands. i thought he wanted to write, and gave him a pencil and a piece of paper. he clutched at them, but here is all he was able to do." grady drew from his pocket a piece of paper and handed it to us. on it were printed in trembling, irregular characters, "g a d," the "d" scarcely finished and trailing off into nothing. what did it all mean? how had shirley met his death, and why? "tell me something about him," said kennedy, studying the paper with a frown. grady shrugged his shoulders. "an englishman--that's about all i know. looked like one of the younger sons who so frequently go out to seek their fortunes in the colonies. by his appearance, i should say he had been in the far east--india, no doubt. and i imagine he had made good. he seemed to have plenty of money. that's all i know about him." "is anything missing from his room?" i asked. "could it have been a robbery?" "i searched the room hastily," replied grady. "apparently not a thing had been touched. i don't think it was robbery." by this time we had made our way through the lobby and were in the elevator. "i've kept the room just as it was," went on grady to kennedy, lowering his voice. "i've even delayed a bit in notifying the police, so that you could get here first." a moment later we entered the rooms, a fairly expensive suite, consisting of a sitting-room, bedroom, and bath. everything was in a condition to indicate that shirley had just come in when the shot, if shot it had been, was fired. there, on the floor, lay his body, still in the same attitude in which he had died and almost as grady had found him gasping. grady's description of the horrible look on his face was, if anything, an understatement. as i stood with my eyes riveted on the horror-stricken face on the floor, kennedy had been quietly going over the furniture and carpet about the body. "look!" he exclaimed at last, scarcely turning to us. on the chair, the writing-table, and even on the walls were little pitted marks and scratches. he bent down over the carpet. there, reflecting the electric light, scattered all about, were little fine pieces of something that glittered. "you have a vacuum cleaner, i suppose?" inquired craig, rising quickly. "certainly--a plant in the cellar." "no; i mean one that is portable." "yes; we have that, too," answered grady, hurrying to the room telephone to have the cleaner sent up. kennedy now began to look through shirley's baggage. there was, however, nothing to indicate that it had been rifled. i noted, among other things, a photograph of a woman in oriental dress, dusky, languorous, of more than ordinary beauty and intelligence. on it something was written in native characters. just then a boy wheeled the cleaner down the hall, and kennedy quickly shoved the photograph into his pocket. first, kennedy removed the dust that was already in the machine. then he ran the cleaner carefully over the carpet, the upholstery, everything about that corner of the room where the body lay. when he had finished he emptied out the dust into a paper and placed it in his pocket. he was just finishing when there came a knock at the door, and it was opened. "mr. grady?" said a young man, entering hurriedly. "oh, hello, glenn! one of the night clerks in the office, kennedy," introduced the house detective. "i've just heard of the--murder," glenn began. "i was in the dining-room, being relieved for my little midnight luncheon as usual, when i heard of it, and i thought that perhaps you might want to know something that happened just before i went off duty." "yes; anything," broke in kennedy. "it was early in the evening," returned the clerk, slowly, "when a messenger left a little package for captain shirley--said that captain shirley had had it sent himself and asked that it be placed in his room. it was a little affair in a plain, paper-wrapped parcel. i sent one of the boys up with it and a key, and told him to put the package on the writing-desk tip here." kennedy looked at me. that, then, was the way something, whatever it might be, was introduced into the room. "when the captain came in," resumed the night clerk, "i saw there was a letter for him in the mailbox and handed it to him. he stood before the office desk while he opened it. i thought he looked queer. the contents seemed to alarm him." "what was in it?" asked kennedy. "could you see?" "i got one glimpse. it seemed to be nothing but a little scarlet bead with a black spot on it. in his surprise, he dropped a piece of paper from the envelope in which the bead had been wrapped up. i thought it was strange, and, as he hurried over to the elevator, i picked it up. here it is." the clerk handed over a crumpled piece of notepaper. on it was scrawled the word "gadhr," and underneath, "beware!" i spelled out the first strange word. it had an ominous sound--"gadhr." suddenly there flashed through my mind the letters shirley had tried to print but had not finished, "g a d." kennedy looked at the paper a moment. "gadhr!" he exclaimed, in a low, tense tone. "revolt--the native word for unrest in india, the revolution!" we stared at each other blankly. all of us had been reading lately in the despatches about the troubles there, hidden under the ban of the censorship. i knew that the hindu propaganda in america was as yet in its infancy, although several plots and conspiracies had been hatched here. "is there any one in the hotel whom you might suspect?" asked kennedy. grady cleared his throat and looked at the night clerk significantly. "well," he answered, thoughtfully, "across the hall there is a new guest who came to-day--or, rather, yesterday--a mrs. anthony. we don't know anything about her, except that she looks like a foreigner. she did not come directly from abroad, but must have been living in new york for some time. they tell me she asked for a room on this floor, at this end of the hall." "h'm!" considered kennedy. "i'd like to see her--without being seen." "i think i can arrange that," acquiesced grady. "you and jameson stay in the bedroom. i'll ask her to come over here, and then you can get a good look at her." the plan satisfied kennedy, and together we entered the bedroom, putting out the light and leaving the door just a trifle ajar. a moment later mrs. anthony entered. i heard a suppressed gasp from kennedy. "the woman in the photograph!" he whispered to me. i studied her face minutely from our coign of vantage. there was, indeed, a resemblance, too striking to be mere coincidence. in the presence of grady, she seemed to be nervous and on guard, as though she knew, intuitively, that she was suspected. "did you know captain shirley?" shot out grady. kennedy looked over at me and frowned. i knew that something more subtle than new york police methods would be necessary in order to get anything from a woman like this. "no," she replied, quietly. "you see, i just came here to-day." her voice had an english accent. "did you hear a shot?" "no," she replied. "the voices in the hall wakened me, though i did not know what was the matter until just now." "then you made no effort to find out?" inquired grady, suspiciously. "i am alone here in the city," she answered, simply. "i was afraid to intrude." throughout she gave the impression that she was strangely reticent about herself. evidently kennedy had not much faith that grady would elicit anything of importance. he tiptoed to the door that led from the bedroom to the hall and found that it could be opened from the inside. while grady continued his questioning, craig and i slipped out into the hall to the room which mrs. anthony occupied. it was a suite much plainer than that occupied by shirley. craig switched on the light and looked about hastily and keenly. for a moment he stood before a dressing-table on which were several toilet articles. a jewel-case seemed to attract his attention, and he opened it. inside were some comparatively trifling trinkets. the thing that caused him to exclaim, however, was a necklace, broken and unstrung. i looked, too. it was composed of little crimson beads, each with a black spot on it! quickly he drew from his pocket the photograph he had taken from shirley's baggage. as i looked at it again there could be no doubt now in my mind of the identity of the original. it was the same face. and about the neck, in the picture, was a necklace, plainly the same as that before us. "what are the beads?" i asked, fingering them. "i've never seen anything like them." "not beads at all," he replied. "they are hindu prayer-beans, sometimes called ruttee, jequirity beans, seeds of the plant known to science as abrus precatorius. they produce a deadly poison--abrin." he slipped four or five of them into his pocket. then he resumed his cursory search of the room. there, on a writing-pad, was a note which mrs. anthony had evidently been engaged in writing. craig pored over it for some time, while i fidgeted. it was nothing but a queer jumble of letters: sowc fssjwa eknlffby wovhlx ihwajykh mlel epjnvpsl wclurl ghihda elba. "come," i cautioned; "she may return any moment." quickly he copied off the letters. "it's a cipher," he said, simply, "a new and rather difficult one, too, i imagine. but i may be able to decipher it." kennedy withdrew from the room and, instead of going back to shirley's, rode down in the elevator to find the night clerk. "had captain shirley any friends in the city?" asked craig. glenn shrugged his shoulders. "he was out most of the time," he replied. "he seemed to be very occupied about something. no, i don't think i ever saw him speak to a soul here, except a word to the waiters and the boys. once, though," he recollected, "he was called up by a mrs. beekman rogers." "mrs. beekman rogers," repeated kennedy, jotting the name down and looking it up in the telephone-book. she lived on riverside drive, and, slender though the information was, kennedy seemed glad to get it. grady joined us a moment later, having been wondering where we had disappeared. "you saw her?" he asked. "what did you think of her?" "worth watching," was all kennedy would say. "did you get anything out of her?" grady shook his head. "but i am convinced she knows something," he insisted. kennedy was about to reply when he was interrupted by the arrival of a couple of detectives from the city police, tardily summoned by grady. "i shall let you know the moment i have discovered anything," he said, as he bade grady good-by. "and thank you for letting me have a chance at the case before all the clues had been spoiled." late though it was, in the laboratory kennedy set to work examining the dust which he had swept up by the vacuum cleaner, as well as the jequirity beans he had taken from mrs. anthony's jewel-case. i do not know how much sleep he had, but i managed to snatch a few hours' rest, and early in the morning i found him at work again, examining the cipher message which he had copied. "by the way," he said, scarcely looking up as he saw me again, "there is something quite important which you can do for me." rather pleased to be of some use, i waited eagerly. "i wish you'd go out and see what you can find out about that mrs. beekman rogers," he continued. "i've some work here that will keep me for several hours; so come back to me here." it was such a commission as he had often given me before, and, through my connection with the star, i found no difficulty in executing it. i found that mrs. rogers was well known in a certain circle of society in the city. she was wealthy and had the reputation of having given quite liberally to many causes that had interested her. just now, her particular fad was oriental religions, and some of her bizarre beliefs had attracted a great deal of attention. a couple of years before she had made a trip around the world, and had lived in india for several months, apparently fascinated by the life and attracted to the mysteries of oriental faiths. with my budget of information i hastened back again to join kennedy at the laboratory. i could see that the cipher was still unread. from that, i conjectured that it was, as he had guessed, constructed on some new and difficult plan. "what do you think of mrs. rogers?" i asked, as i finished reciting what i had learned. "is it possible that she can be in this revolutionary propaganda?" he shook his head doubtfully. "much of the disaffection that exists in india to-day," he replied, "is due to the encouragement and financial assistance which it has received from people here in this country, although only a fraction of the natives of india have ever heard of us. much of the money devoted to the cause of revolution and anarchy in india is contributed by worthy people who innocently believe that their subscriptions are destined to promote the cause of native enlightenment. i prefer to believe that there is some such explanation in her case. at any rate, i think that we had better make a call on mrs. rogers." early that afternoon, accordingly, we found ourselves at the door of the large stone house on riverside drive in which mrs. rogers lived. kennedy inquired for her, and we were admitted to a large reception-room, the very decorations of which showed evidence of her leaning toward the orient. mrs. rogers proved to be a widow of baffling age, good-looking, with a certain indefinable attractiveness. kennedy's cue was obvious. it was to be an eager neophyte in the mysteries of the east, and he played the part perfectly without overdoing it. "perhaps you would like to come to some of the meetings of our cult of the occult," she suggested. "delighted, i am sure," returned kennedy. she handed him a card. "we have a meeting this afternoon at four," she explained. "i should be glad to welcome you among us." kennedy thanked her and rose to go, preferring to say nothing more just then about the problems which vexed us in the shirley case, lest it should make further investigation more difficult. nothing more had happened at the hotel, as we heard from grady a few minutes later, and, as there was some time before the cult met, we returned to the laboratory. things had evidently progressed well, even in the few hours that he had been studying his meager evidence. not only was he making a series of delicate chemical tests, but, in cases, he had several guinea-pigs which he was using also. he now studied through a microscope some of the particles of dust from the vacuum cleaner. "little bits of glass," he said, briefly, taking his eye from the eyepiece. "captain shirley was not shot." "not shot?" i repeated. "then how was he killed?" kennedy eyed me gravely. "shirley was murdered by a poisoned bomb!" i said nothing, for the revelation was even more startling than i had imagined. "in that package which was placed in his room," he went on, "must have been a little infernal machine of glass, constructed so as to explode the moment the wrapper was broken. the flying pieces of glass injected the poison as by a myriad of hypodermic needles--the highly poisonous toxin of abrin, product of the jequirity, which is ordinarily destroyed in the stomach but acts powerfully if injected into the blood. shirley died of jequirity poisoning, or rather of the alkaloid in the bean. it has been used in india for criminal poisoning for ages. only, there it is crushed, worked into a paste, and rolled into needle-pointed forms which prick the skin. abrin is composed of two albuminous bodies, one of which resembles snake-venom in all its effects, attacking the heart, making the temperature fall rapidly, and leaving the blood fluid after death. it is a vegetable toxin, quite comparable with ricin from the castor-oil bean." in spite of my horror at the diabolical plot that had been aimed at shirley, my mind ran along, keenly endeavoring to piece together the scattered fragments of the case. some one, of course, had sent the package while he was out and had it placed in his room. had it been the same person who had sent the single jequirity bean? my mind instantly reverted to the strange woman across the hall, the photograph in his luggage, and the broken necklace in the jewel-case. kennedy continued looking at the remainder of the jequirity beans and a liquid he had developed from some of them. finally, with a glance at his watch, he placed a tube of the liquid in a leather case in his pocket. "this may not be the only murder," he remarked, sententiously. "it is best to be prepared. come; we must get up to that meeting." we journeyed up-town and arrived at the little private hall which the cult of the occult had hired somewhat ahead of the time set for the meeting, as kennedy had aimed to do. mrs. rogers was already there and met us at the door. "so glad to see you," she welcomed, leading us in. as we entered we could breathe the characteristic pervading odor of sandalwood. rich oriental hangings were on the walls, interspersed with cabalistic signs, while at one end was a raised dais. mrs. rogers introduced us to a rather stout, middle-aged, sallow-faced individual in a turban and flowing robes of rustling purple silk. his eyes were piercing, small, and black. the plump, unhealthy, milk-white fingers of his hands were heavy with ornate rings. he looked like what i should have imagined a swami to be, and such, i found, was indeed his title. "the swami rajmanandra," introduced mrs. rogers. he extended his flabby hand in welcome, while kennedy eyed him keenly. we were not permitted many words with the swami, however, for mrs. rogers next presented us to a younger but no less interesting-looking oriental who was in occidental dress. "this is mr. singh bandematarain," said mrs. rogers. "you know, he has been sent here by the nizam of his province to be educated at the university." mrs. rogers then hastened to conduct us to seats as, one by one, the worshipers entered. they were mostly women of the aristocratic type who evidently found in this cult a new fad to occupy their jaded craving for the sensational. in the dim light, there was something almost sepulchral about the gathering, and their complexions seemed as white as wax. again the door opened and another woman entered. i felt the pressure of kennedy's hand on my arm and turned my eyes unobtrusively. it was mrs. anthony. quietly she seemed to glide over the floor toward the swami and, for a moment, stood talking to him. i saw singh eye her with a curious look. was it fear or suspicion? i had come expecting to see something weird and wild, perhaps the exhibition of an indian fakir--i know not what. in that, at least, i was disappointed. the swami rajmanandra, picturesque though he was, talked most fascinatingly about his religion, but either the theatricals were reserved for an inner circle or else we were subtly suspected, for i soon found myself longing for the meeting to close so that we could observe those whom we had come to watch. i had almost come to the conclusion that our mission had been a failure when the swami concluded and the visitors swarmed forward to talk with the holy man from the east. kennedy managed to make his way about the circle to mrs. rogers and soon was in an animated conversation. "were you acquainted with a captain shirley?" he asked, finally, as she opened the way for the question by a remark about her life in calcutta. "y-yes," she replied, hesitating; "i read in the papers this morning that he was found dead, most mysteriously. terrible, wasn't it? yes, i met him in calcutta while i was there. why, he was on his way to london, and came to new york and called on me." my eye followed the direction of mrs. rogers's. she was talking to us, but really her attention was centered on mrs. anthony and the swami together. as i glanced back at her i caught sight of singh, evidently engaged in watching the same two that i was. did he have some suspicion of mrs. anthony? why was he watching mrs. rogers? i determined to study the two women more closely. i saw that kennedy had already noticed what i had seen. "one very peculiar thing," he said, deliberately modulating his voice so that it could be heard by those about us, "was that, just before he was killed, some one sent a prayer-bean from a necklace to him." at the mention of the necklace i saw that mrs. rogers was all attention. involuntarily she shot a glance at mrs. anthony, as if she noted that she was not wearing the necklace now. "is that englishwoman a member of the cult?" queried kennedy, a moment later, as, quite naturally, he looked over at mrs. anthony. "who is she?" "oh," replied mrs. rogers, quickly, "she isn't an englishwoman at all. she is a hindu--i believe, a former nautch-girl, daughter of a nautch-girl. she passes by the name of mrs. anthony, but really her name is kalia dass. every one in calcutta knew her." kennedy quietly drew his card-case from his pocket and handed a card to mrs. rogers. "i should like to talk to you about her some time," he said, in a careful whisper. "if anything happens--don't hesitate to call on me." before mrs. rogers could recover from her surprise kennedy had said good-by and we were on our way to the laboratory. "that's a curious situation," i observed. "can you make it out? how does shirley fit into this thing?" craig hesitated a moment, as though debating whether to say anything, even to me, about his suspicions. "suppose," he said, slowly, "that shirley was a secret agent of the british government, charged with the mission of finding out whether mrs. rogers was contributing--unknowingly, perhaps--to hatching another indian mutiny? would that suggest anything to you?" "and the nautch-girl whom he had known in calcutta followed him, hoping to worm from him the secrets which he--" "not too fast," he cautioned. "let us merely suppose that shirley was a spy. if i am not mistaken, we shall see something happen soon, as a result of what i said to mrs. rogers." excited now by the possibilities opened up by his conjecture regarding shirley, which i knew must have amounted to a certainty in his mind, i watched him impatiently, as he calmly set to work cleaning up the remainder of the laboratory investigation in the affair. it was scarcely half an hour later that a car drove up furiously to our door and mrs. rogers burst in, terribly agitated. "you remember," she cried, breathlessly, "you said that a jequirity bean was sent to captain shirley?" "yes," encouraged kennedy. "well, after you left, i was thinking about it. that kalia dass used to wear a necklace of them, but she didn't have it on to-day. i began thinking about it. while she was talking to the swami i went over. i've noticed how careful she always is of her hand-bag. so i managed to catch my hand in the loop about her wrist. it dropped on the floor. we both made a dive for it, but i got it. i managed, also, to open the catch and, when i picked it up to hand to her, with an apology, what should roll out but a score of prayer-beans! some papers dropped out, too. she almost tore them from my hands; in fact, one of them did tear. after it was over i had this scrap, a corner torn off one of them." kennedy took the scrap which she handed to him and studied it carefully, while we looked over his shoulder. on it was a queer alphabetical table. across the first line were the letters singly, each followed by a dash. then, in squares underneath, were pairs of letters--aa, ba, ca, da, and so on, while, vertically, the column on the left read: aa, ab, ac, ad, and so on. "thank you, mrs. rogers," craig said, rising. "this is very important." she seemed reluctant to go, but, as there was no excuse for staying longer, she finally left. kennedy immediately set to work studying the scrap of paper and the cipher message he had copied, while i stifled my impatience as best i could. i could do nothing but reflect on the possibility of what a jealous woman might do. mrs. rogers had given us one example. did the same explanation shed any light on the mystery of the nautch-girl and the jequirity bean sent to shirley? there was no doubt now that shirley had known her in calcutta--intimately, also. perhaps the necklace had some significance. at least, he must have remembered it, as his agitation over the single bean and the word "gadhr" seemed to indicate. if she had sent it to him, was it as a threat? to all appearance, he had not known that she was in new york, much less that she was at the same hotel and on the same floor. why had she followed him? had she misinterpreted his attentions to mrs. rogers? longing to ask kennedy the myriad questions that flashed through my mind, i turned to him as he scowled at the scrap of paper and the cipher before him. presently he glanced up at me, still scowling. "it's no use, walter," he said; "i can't make it out without the key--at least, it will take so long to discover the key that it may be useless." just then the telephone-bell rang and he sprang to it eagerly. as i listened i gathered that it was another hurried call from grady. "something has happened to mrs. anthony!" cried craig, as he hooked up the receiver and seized his hat. a second time we posted to the prince edward charles, spurred by the mystery that surrounded the case. no one met us in the lobby this time, and we rode up directly in the elevator to mrs. anthony's room. as we came down the hall and grady met us at the door, he did not need to tell us that something was wrong. one experience like that with shirley had put the hotel people on guard, and the house physician was already there, administering stimulants to mrs. anthony, who was lying on the bed. "it's just like the other case," whispered grady. "there are the same scratches on her face and hands." the doctor glanced about at us. by the look on his face, i read that it was a losing fight. kennedy bent down. the floor about the door was covered with little glittering slivers of glass. on mrs. anthony's face was the same drawn look as on shirley's. was it a suicide? had we been getting too close on her trail, or had mrs. anthony been attacked? had some one been using her, and now was afraid of her and sought to get her out of the way for safety? what was the secret locked in her silent lips? the woman was plainly dying. would she carry the secret with her, after all? kennedy quickly drew from his pocket the vial which i had seen him place there in the laboratory early in the day. from the doctor's case he selected a hypodermic and coolly injected a generous dose of the stuff into her arm. "what is it?" asked the doctor, as we all watched her face anxiously. "the antitoxin to abrin," he replied. "i developed some of it at the same time that i was studying the poison. if an animal that is immune to a toxin is bled and the serum collected, the antitoxin in it may be injected into a healthy animal and render it immune. ricin and abrin are vegetable protein toxins of enormous potency and exert a narcotic action. guinea-pigs fed on them in proper doses attain such a degree of immunity that, in a short time, they can tolerate four hundred times the fatal dose. the serum also can be used to neutralize the toxin in another animal, to a certain extent." we crowded about kennedy and the doctor, our eyes riveted on the drawn face before us. would the antitoxin work? meanwhile, kennedy moved over to the writing-table which he had examined on our first visit to the room. covered up in the writing-pad was still the paper which he had copied. only, mrs. anthony had added much more to it. he looked at it desperately. what good would it do if, after hours, his cleverness might solve the cipher--too late? mrs. anthony seemed to be struggling bravely. once i thought she was almost conscious. glazed though her eyes looked, she saw kennedy vaguely, with the paper in his hand. her lips moved. kennedy bent down, though whether he heard or read her lip movements i do not know. "her pocket-book!" he exclaimed. we found it crushed under her coat which she had taken off when she entered. craig opened it and drew forth a crumpled sheet of paper from which a corner had been torn. it exactly fitted the scrap that mrs. rogers had given us. there, contained within twenty-seven horizontal and twenty-seven vertical lines, making in all six hundred and seventy-six squares, was every possible combination of two letters of the alphabet. kennedy looked up, still in desperation. it did him no good. he could have completed the table himself. "in--the--lining." her lips managed to frame the words. kennedy literally tore the bag apart. there was nothing but a plain white blank card. with a superhuman effort she moved her lips again. "smelling-salts," she seemed to say. i looked about. on the dressing-table stood a little dark-green bottle. i pulled the ground-glass stopper from it and a most pungent odor of carbonate of ammonia filled the room. quickly i held it under her nose, but she shook her head weakly. kennedy seemed to understand. he snatched the bottle from me and held the card directly over its mouth. as the fumes of the ammonia poured out, i saw faintly on the card the letters hr. we turned to mrs. anthony. the effort had used up her strength. she had lapsed again into unconsciousness as craig bent over her. "will she live?" lasted. "i think so," he replied, adding a hasty word to the doctor. "what's that? look!" i exclaimed, pointing to the card from which the letters hr had already faded as mysteriously as they had appeared, leaving the card blank again. "it is the key!" he cried, excitedly. "written in sympathetic ink. at last we have it all." on the queer alphabetical table which the two pieces of paper made, he now wrote quickly the alphabet again, horizontally across the top, starting with h, and vertically down the side, starting with r, thus: h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z a b c d e f g r a- b- c- d- e- f- g- h- i- j- k- l- m- n- o- p- q- r- s- t- u- v- w- x- y- z-s aa ba ca da ea fa ga ha ia ja ka la ma na oa pa qa ra sa ta ua va wa xa ya za t ab bb cb db eb fb gb hb ib jb kb lb mb nb ob pb qb rb sb tb ub vb wb xb yb zb u ac bc cc dc ec fc gc hc ic jc kc lc mc nc oc pc qc rc sc tc uc vc wc xc yc zc v ad bd cd dd ed fd gd hd id jd kd ld md nd od pd qd rd sd td ud vd wd xd yd zd w ae be ce de ee fe ge he ie je ke le me ne oe pe qe re se te ue ve we xe ye ze x af bf cf df ef ff gf hf if jf kf lf mf nf of pf qf rf sf tf uf vf wf xf yf zf y ag bg cg dg eg fg gg hg ig jg kg lg mg ng og pg qg rg sg tg ug vg wg xg yg zg z ah bh ch dh eh fh gh hh ih jh kh lh mh nh oh ph qh rh sh th uh vy wh xh yh zh & ai bi ci di ei fi gi hi ii ji ki li mi ni oi pi qi ri si ti ui vi wi xi yi zi a aj bj cj dj ej fj gj hj ij jj kj lj mj nj oj pj qj rj sj tj uj vj wj xj yj zj b ak bk ck dk ek fk gk hk ik jk kk lk mk nk ok pk qk rk sk tk uk vk wk xk yk zk c al bl cl dl el fl gl hl il jl kl ll ml nl ol pl ql rl sl tl ul vl wl xl yl zl d am bm cm dm em fm gm hm im jm km lm mm nm om pm qm rm sm tm um vm wm xm ym zm e an bn cn dn en fn gn hn in jn kn ln mn nn on pn qn rn sn tn un vn wn xn yn zn f ao bo co do eo fo go ho io jo ko lo mo no oo po qo ro so to uo vo wo xo yo zo g ap bp cp dp ep fp gp hp ip jp kp lp mp np op pp qp rp sp tp up vp wp xp yp zp h aq bq cq dq eq fq gq hq iq jq kq lq mq nq oq pq qq rq sq tq uq vq wq xq yq zq i ar br cr dr er fr gr hr ir jr kr lr mr nr or pr qr rr sr tr ur vr wr xr yr zr j as bs cs ds es fs gs hs is js ks ls ms ns os ps qs rs ss ts us vs ws xs ys zs k at bt ct dt et ft gt ht it jt kt lt mt nt ot pt qt rt st tt ut vt wt xt yt zt l au bu cu du eu fu gu hu iu ju ku lu mu nu ou pu qu ru su tu uu vu wu xu yu zu m av bv cv dv ev fv gv hv iv jv kv lv mv nv ov pv qv rv sv tv uv vv wv xv yv zv n aw bw cw dw ew fw gw hw iw jw kw lw mw nw ow pw qw rw sw tw uw vw ww xw yw zw o ax bx cx dx ex fx gx hx ix jx kx lx mx nx ox px qx rx sx tx ux vx wx xx yx zx p ay by cy dy ey fy gy hy iy jy ky ly my ny oy py qy ry sy ty uy vy wy xy yy zy q az bz cz dz ez fz gz hz iz jz kz lz mz nz oz pz qz rz sz tz uz vz wz xz yz zz "see!" exclaimed kennedy, triumphantly, working rapidly. "take the word 'war' for instance. the square which contains wa is in line s, column d. so i put down sd. the odd letter r, with a dash, is in line r, column y. so i put down ry. war thus becomes sdry. working it backward from sdry, i take the two letters sd. in line s, column d, i find wa in the square, and in line r, column y, i find just r--making the translation of the cipher read 'war.' now," he went on, excitedly, "take the message we have: "sowc fssjwa eknlffby wovhlx ihwajykh mlel epjnvpsl wclurl ghihda elba. "i translate each pair of letters as i come to them." he was writing rapidly. there was the message: have located new york headquarters at eveningside avenue, apartment k. kennedy did not pause, but dashed from the room, followed by grady and myself. as our taxi pulled up on the avenue, we saw that the address was a new but small apartment-house. we entered and located apartment k. casting about for a way to get in, craig discovered that the fire-escape could be reached from a balcony by the hall window. he swung himself over the gap, and we followed. it was the work of only a minute to force the window-latch. we entered. no one was there. as we pressed after him, he stopped short and flashed his electric bull's-eye about with an exclamation of startled surprise. there was a fully equipped chemical and electrical laboratory. there were explosives enough to have blown not only us but a whole block to kingdom come. more than that, it was a veritable den of poisons. on a table stood beakers and test-tubes in which was crushed a paste that still showed parts of the red ruttee beans. "some one planned here to kill shirley, get him out of the way," reconstructed kennedy, gazing about; "some one working under the cloak of oriental religion." "mrs. anthony?" queried grady. kennedy shook his head. "on the contrary, like shirley, she was an agent of the indian secret service. the rest of the cipher shows it. she was sent to watch some one else, as he was sent to watch mrs. rogers. neither could have known that the other was on the case. she found out, first, that the package with the prayer-bean and the word 'gadhr' was an attempt to warn and save shirley, whom she had known in calcutta and still loved, but feared to compromise. she must have tried to see him, but failed. she hesitated to write, but finally did. then some one must have seen that she was dangerous. another poisoned bomb was sent to her. no; the nautch-girl is innocent." "'sh!" cautioned grady. outside we could hear the footsteps of some one coming along the hall. kennedy snapped off his light. the door opened. "stand still! one motion and i will throw it!" as kennedy's voice rang out from the direction of the table on which stood the half-finished glass bombs, grady and i flung ourselves forward at the intruder, not knowing what we would encounter. a moment later kennedy had found the electric switch and flashed up the lights. it was singh, who had used both mrs. rogers's money and raimanandra's religion to cover his conspiracy of revolt. v the phantom destroyer "guy fawkes himself would shudder in that mill. think of it--five explosions on five successive days, and not a clue!" our visitor had presented a card bearing the name of donald macleod, chief of the nitropolis powder company's secret service. it was plain that he was greatly worried over the case about which he had at last been forced to consult kennedy. as he spoke, i remembered having read in the despatches about the explosions, but the accounts had been so meager that i had not realized that there was anything especially unusual about them, for it was at the time when accidents in and attacks on the munitions-plants were of common occurrence. "why," went on macleod, "the whole business is as mysterious as if there were some phantom destroyer at work! the men are so frightened that they threaten to quit. several have been killed. there's something strange about that, too. there are ugly rumors of poisonous gases being responsible, quite as much as the explosions, though, so far, i've been able to find nothing in that notion." "what sort of place is it?" asked kennedy, interested at once. "well, you see," explained macleod, "since the company's business has increased so fast lately, it has been forced to erect a new plant. perhaps you have heard of the old grove amusement park, which failed? it's not far from that." macleod looked at us inquiringly, and kennedy nodded to go on, though i am sure neither of us was familiar with the place. "they've called the new plant nitropolis--rather a neat name for a powder-works, don't you think?" resumed macleod. "everything went along all right until a few days ago. then one of the buildings, a storehouse, was blown up. we couldn't be sure that it was an accident, so we redoubled our precautions. it was of no use. that started it. the very next day another building was blown up, then another, until now there have been five of them. what may happen to-day heaven only knows! i want to get back as soon as i can." "rather too frequent, i must admit, to be coincidences," remarked kennedy. "no; they can't all be accidents," asserted macleod, confidently. "there's too great regularity for that. i think i've considered almost everything. i don't see how they can be from bombs placed by workmen. at least, it's not a bit likely. besides, the explosions all occur in broad daylight, not at night. we're very careful about the men we employ, and they're watched all the time. the company has a guard of its own, twenty-five picked men, under me--all honorably discharged united states army men." "you have formed no theory of your own?" queried kennedy. macleod paused, then drew from his pocket the clipping of a despatch from the front in which one of the war correspondents reported the destruction of wire entanglements with heat supposed to have been applied by the use of reflecting mirrors. "i'm reduced to pure speculation," he remarked. "to-day they seem to be reviving all the ancient practices. maybe some one is going at it like archimedes." "not impossible," returned craig, handing back the clipping. "buffon tested the probability of the achievement of archimedes in setting fire to the ships of marcellus with mirrors and the sun's rays. he constructed a composite mirror of a hundred and twenty-eight plane mirrors, and with it he was able to ignite wood at two hundred and ten feet. however, i shrewdly suspect that, even if this story is true, they are using hydrogen or acetylene flares over there. but none of these things would be feasible in your case. you'd know it." "could it be some one who is projecting a deadly wireless force which causes the explosions?" i put in, mindful of a previous case of kennedy's. "we all know that inventors have been working for years on the idea of making explosives obsolete and guns junk. if some one has hit on a way of guiding an electric wave through the air and concentrating power at a point, munitions-plants could be wiped out." macleod looked anxiously from me to kennedy, but craig betrayed nothing by his face except his interest. "sometimes i have imagined i heard a peculiar, faint, whirring noise in the air," he remarked, thoughtfully. "i thought of having the men on the watch for air-ships, but they've never seen a trace of one. it might be some power either like this," he added, shaking the clipping, "or like that which mr. jameson suggests." "it's something like that you meant, i presume, when you called it a 'phantom destroyer' a moment ago?" asked kennedy. macleod nodded. "if you're interested," he pursued, hastily, "and feel like going down there to look things over, i think the best place for you to go would be to the sneddens'. they're some people who have seen a chance to make a little money out of the boom. many visitors are now coming and going on business connected with the new works. they have started a boarding-house--or, rather, mrs. snedden has. there's a daughter, too, who seems to be very popular." kennedy glanced whimsically at me. "well, walter," he remarked, tentatively, "entirely aside from the young lady, this ought to make a good story for the star." "indeed it ought!" i replied, enthusiastically. "then you'll go down to nitropolis?" queried macleod, eagerly. "you can catch a train that will get you there about noon. and the company will pay you well." "macleod, with the mystery, miss snedden, and the remuneration, you are irresistible," smiled kennedy. "thank you," returned the detective. "you won't regret it. i can't tell you how much relieved i feel to have some one else, and, above all, yourself, on the case. you can get a train in half an hour. i think it would be best for you to go as though you had no connection with me--at least for the present." kennedy agreed, and macleod excused himself, promising to be on the train, although not to ride with us, in case we should be the target of too inquisitive eyes. for a few moments, while our taxicab was coming, kennedy considered thoughtfully what the company detective had said. by the time the vehicle arrived he had hurriedly packed up some apparatus in two large grips, one of which it fell to my lot to carry. the trip down to nitropolis was uninteresting, and we arrived at the little station shortly after noon. macleod was on the train, but did not speak to us, and it was perhaps just as well, for the cabmen and others hanging about the station were keenly watching new arrivals, and any one with macleod must have attracted attention. we selected or were, rather, selected by one of the cabmen and driven immediately to the snedden house. our cover was, as craig and i had decided, to pose as two newspaper men from new york, that being the easiest way to account for any undue interest we might show in things. the powder-company's plant was situated on a large tract of land which was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, six feet high and constructed in a manner very similar to the fences used in protecting prison-camps in war-times. at various places along the several miles of fence gates were placed, with armed guards. many other features were suggestive of war-times. one that impressed us most was that each workman had to carry a pass similar, almost, to a passport. this entire fence, we learned, was patrolled day and night by armed guards. a mile or so from the plant, or just outside the main gate, quite a settlement had grown up, like a mushroom, almost overnight--the product of a flood of new money. originally, there had been only one house for some distance about--that of the sneddens. but now there were scores of houses, mostly those of officials and managers, some of them really pretentious affairs. macleod himself lived in one of them, and we could see him ahead of us, being driven home. the workmen lived farther along the line, in a sort of company town, which at present greatly resembled a western mining-camp, though ultimately it was to be a bungalow town. just at present, however, it was the snedden house that interested us most, for we felt the need of getting ourselves established in this strange community. it was an old-fashioned farm-house and had been purchased very cheaply by snedden several years before. he had altered it and brought it up to date, and the combination of old and new proved to be typical of the owner as well as of the house. kennedy carried off well the critical situation of our introduction, and we found ourselves welcomed rather than scrutinized as intruders. garfield snedden was much older than his second wife, ida. in fact, she did not seem to be much older than snedden's daughter gertrude, whom macleod had already mentioned--a dashing young lady, never intended by nature to vegetate in the rural seclusion that her father had sought before the advent of the powder-works. mrs. snedden was one of those capable women who can manage a man without his knowing it. indeed, one felt that snedden, who was somewhat of both student and dreamer, needed a manager. "i'm glad your train was on time," bustled mrs. snedden. "luncheon will be ready in a few moments now." we had barely time to look about before gertrude led us into the dining-room and introduced us to the other boarders. knowing human nature, kennedy was careful to be struck with admiration and amazement at everything we had seen in our brief whirl through nitropolis. it was not a difficult or entirely assumed feeling, either, when one realized that, only a few short months before, the region had been nothing better than an almost hopeless wilderness of scrub-pines. we did not have to wait long before the subject uppermost in our minds was brought up--the explosions. among the boarders there were at least two who, from the start, promised to be interesting as well as important. one was a tall, slender chap named garretson, whose connection with the company, i gathered from the conversation, took him often on important matters to new york. the other was an older man, jackson, who seemed to be connected with the management of the works, a reticent fellow, more given to listening to others than to talking himself. "nothing has happened so far to-day, anyhow," remarked garretson, tapping the back of his chair with his knuckle, as a token of respect for that evil spirit who seems to be exorcised by knocking wood. "oh," exclaimed gertrude, with a little half-suppressed shudder, "i do hope those terrible explosions are at last over!" "if i had my way," asserted garretson, savagely, "i'd put this town under martial law until they were over." "it may come to that," put in jackson, quietly. "quite in keeping with the present tendency of the age," agreed snedden, in a tone of philosophical disagreement. "i don't think it makes much difference how you accomplish the result, garfield," chimed in his wife, "as long as you accomplish it, and it is one that should be accomplished." snedden retreated into the refuge of silence. though this was only a bit of the conversation, we soon found out that he was an avowed pacifist. garretson, on the other hand, was an ardent militarist, a good deal of a fire-eater. i wondered whether there might not be a good deal of the poseur about him, too. it needed no second sight to discover that both he and gertrude were deeply interested in each other. garretson was what broadway would call "a live one," and, though there is nothing essentially wrong in that, i fancied that i detected, now and then, an almost maternal solicitude on the part of her stepmother, who seemed to be watching both the young man and her husband alternately. once jackson and mrs. snedden exchanged glances. there seemed to be some understanding between them. the time to return to the works was approaching, and we all rose. somehow, gertrude and garretson seemed naturally to gravitate toward the door together. some distance from the house there was a large barn. part of it had been turned into a garage, where garretson kept a fast car. jackson, also, had a roadster. in fact, in this new community, with its superabundant new wealth, everybody had a car. kennedy and i sauntered out after the rest. as we turned an angle of the house we came suddenly upon garretson in his racer, talking to gertrude. the crunch of the gravel under our feet warned them before we saw them, but not before we could catch a glimpse of a warning finger on the rosy lips of gertrude. as she saw us she blushed ever so slightly. "you'll be late!" she cried, hastily. "mr. jackson has been gone five minutes." "on foot," returned garretson, nonchalantly. "i'll overtake him in thirty seconds." nevertheless, he did not wait longer, but swung up the road at a pace which was the admiration of all speed-loving nitropolitans. craig had ordered our taxicab driver to stop for us after lunch, and, without exciting suspicion, managed to stow away the larger part of the contents of our grips in his car. still without openly showing our connection with macleod, kennedy sought out the manager of the works, and, though scores of correspondents and reporters from various newspapers had vainly applied for permission to inspect the plant, somehow we seemed to receive the freedom of the place and without exciting suspicion. craig's first move was to look the plant over. as we approached it our attention was instantly attracted to the numerous one-story galvanized-iron buildings that appeared to stretch endlessly in every direction. they seemed to be of a temporary nature, though the power-plants, offices, and other necessary buildings were very substantially built. the framework of the factory-buildings was nothing but wood, covered by iron sheathing, and even the sides seemed to be removable. the floors, however, were of concrete. "they serve their purpose well," observed kennedy, as we picked our way about. "explosions at powder-mills are frequent, anyhow. after an explosion there is very little debris to clear away, as you may imagine. these buildings are easily repaired or replaced, and they keep a large force of men for these purposes, as well as materials for any emergency." one felt instinctively the hazard of the employment. everywhere were signs telling what not and what to do. one that stuck in my mind was, "it is better to be careful than sorry." throughout the plant at frequent intervals were first-aid stations with kits for all sorts of accidents, including respirators, for workmen were often overcome by ether or alcohol fumes. everything was done to minimize the hazard, yet one could not escape the conviction that human life and limb were as much a cost of production in this industry as fuel and raw material. once, in our wanderings about the plant, i recall we ran across both garretson and jackson in one of the offices. they did not see us, but seemed to be talking very earnestly about something. what it was we could not guess, but this time it seemed to be jackson who was doing most of the talking. kennedy watched them as they parted. "there's something peculiar under the surface with those people at the boarding-house," was all he observed. "come; over there, about an eighth of a mile, i think i see evidences of the latest of the explosions. let's look at it." macleod had evidently reasoned that, sooner of later, kennedy would appear in this part of the grounds, and as we passed one of the shops he joined us. "you mentioned something about rumors of poisonous gases," hinted craig, as we walked along. "yes," assented macleod; "i don't know what there is in it. i suppose you know that there is a very poisonous gas, carbon monoxide, or carbonic oxide, formed in considerable quantity by the explosion of several of the powders commonly used in shells. the gas has the curious power of combining with the blood and refusing to let go, thus keeping out the oxygen necessary for life. it may be that that is what accounts for what we've seen--that it is actual poisoning to death of men not killed by the immediate explosion." we had reached the scene of the previous day's disaster. no effort had yet been made to clear it up. kennedy went over it carefully. what it was he found i do not know, but he had not spent much time before he turned to me. "walter," he directed, "i wish you would go back to the office near the gate, where i left that paraphernalia we brought down. carry it over--let me see--there's an open space there on that knoll. i'll join you there." whatever was in the packages was both bulky and heavy, and i was glad to reach the hillside he had indicated. craig was waiting for me there with macleod, and at once opened the packages. from them he took a thin steel rod, which he set up in the center of the open space. to it he attached a frame and to the frame what looked like four reversed megaphones. attached to the frame, which was tubular, was an oak box with a little arrangement of hard rubber and metal which fitted into the ears. for some time kennedy's face wore a set, far-away expression, as if he were studying something. "the explosions seem always to occur in the middle of the afternoon," observed macleod, fidgeting apprehensively. kennedy motioned petulantly for silence. then suddenly he pulled the tubes out of his ears and gazed about sharply. "there's something in the air!" he cried. "i can hear it!" macleod and i strained our eyes. there was nothing visible. "this is an anti-aircraft listening-post, such as the french use," explained craig, hurriedly. "between the horns and the microphone in the box you can catch the hum of an engine, even when it is muffled. if there's an aeroplane or a zeppelin about, this thing would locate it." still, there was nothing that we could see, though now the sound was just perceptible to the ear if one strained his attention a bit. i listened. it was plain in the detector; yet nothing was visible. what strange power could it be that we could not see or feel in broad daylight? just then came a low rumbling, and then a terrific roar from the direction of the plant. we swung about in time to see a huge cloud of debris lifted literally into the air above the tree-tops and dropped to earth again. the silence that succeeded the explosion was eloquent. the phantom destroyer had delivered his blow again. "the distillery--where we make the denatured alcohol!" cried macleod, gazing with tense face as from other buildings, we could see men pouring forth, panic-stricken, and the silence was punctured by shouts. kennedy bent over his detector. "that same mysterious buzzing," he muttered, "only fainter." together we hastened now toward the distillery, another of those corrugated-iron buildings. it had been completely demolished. here and there lay a dark, still mass. i shuddered. they were men! as we ran toward the ruin we crossed a baseball-field which the company had given the men. i looked back for kennedy. he had paused at the wire backstop behind the catcher. something caught in the wires interested him. by the time i reached him he had secured it--a long, slender metal tube, cleverly weighted so as to fall straight. "not a hundred per cent. of hits, evidently," he muttered. "still, one was enough." "what is it?" asked macleod. "an incendiary pastille. on contact, the nose burns away anything it hits, goes right through corrugated iron. it carries a charge of thermit ignited by this piece of magnesium ribbon. you know what thermit will penetrate with its thousands of degrees of heat. only the nose of this went through the netting and never touched a thing. this didn't explode anything, but another one did. thousands of gallons of alcohol did the rest." kennedy had picked up his other package as we ran, and was now busily unwrapping it. i looked about at the crowd that had collected, and saw that there was nothing we could do to help. once i caught sight of gertrude's face. she was pale, and seemed eagerly searching for some one. then, in the crowd, i lost her. i turned to macleod. he was plainly overwhelmed. kennedy was grimly silent and at work on something he had jammed into the ground. "stand back!" he cautioned, as he touched a match to the thing. with a muffled explosion, something whizzed and shrieked up into the air like a sky-rocket. far above, i could now see a thing open out like a parachute, while below it trailed something that might have been the stick of the rocket. eagerly kennedy followed the parachute as the wind wafted it along and it sank slowly to the earth. when, at last, he recovered it i saw that between the parachute and the stick was fastened a small, peculiar camera. "a scheimpflug multiple camera," he explained as he seized it almost ravenously. "is there a place in town where i can get the films in this developed quickly?" macleod, himself excited now, hurried us from the scene of the explosion to a local drug-store, which combined most of the functions of a general store, even being able to improvise a dark-room in which kennedy could work. it was some time after the excitement over the explosion had quieted down that macleod and i, standing impatiently before the drug-store, saw snedden wildly tearing down the street in his car. he saw us and pulled up at the curb with a jerk. "where's gertrude?" he shouted, wildly. "has any one seen my daughter?" breathlessly he explained that he had been out, had returned to find his house deserted, gertrude gone, his wife gone, even jackson's car gone from the barn. he had been to the works. neither garretson nor jackson had been seen since the excitement of the explosion, they told him. garretson's racer was gone, too. there seemed to have been a sort of family explosion, also. kennedy had heard the loud talking and had left his work to the druggist to carry on and joined us. there was no concealment now of our connection with macleod, for it was to him that every one in town came when in trouble. in almost no time, so accurately did he keep his fingers on the fevered pulse of nitropolis, macleod had found out that gertrude had been seen driving away from the company's grounds with some one in garretson's car, probably garretson himself. jackson had been seen hurrying down the street. some one else had seen ida snedden in jackson's car, alone. meanwhile, over the wire, macleod had sent out descriptions of the four people and the two cars, in the hope of intercepting them before they could be plunged into the obscurity of any near-by city. not content with that, macleod and kennedy started out in the former's car, while i climbed in with snedden, and we began a systematic search of the roads out of nitropolis. as we sped along, i could not help feeling, though i said nothing, that, somehow, the strange disappearances must have something to do with the mysterious phantom destroyer. i did not tell even snedden about the little that kennedy had discovered, for i had learned that it was best to let craig himself tell, at his own time and in his own way. but the man seemed frantic in his search, and i could not help the impression that there was something, perhaps only a suspicion, that he knew which might shed some light. we were coming down the river, or, rather, the bay, after a fruitless search of unfrequented roads and were approaching the deserted old grove amusement park, to which excursions used, years ago, to come in boats. no one could make it pay, and it was closed and going to ruin. there had been some hint that garretson's racer might have disappeared down this unfrequented river road. as we came to a turn in the road, we could see kennedy and macleod in their car, coming up. instead of keeping on, however, they turned into the grove, kennedy leaning far over the running-board as macleod drove slowly, following his directions, as though craig were tracing something. with a hurried exclamation of surprise, snedden gave our car the gas and shot ahead, swinging around after them. they were headed, following some kind of tire-tracks, toward an old merry-go-round that was dismantled and all boarded up. they heard us coming and stopped. "has any one told you that garretson's car went down the river road, too?" called snedden, anxiously. "no; but some one thought he saw jackson's car come down here," called back macleod. "jackson's?" exclaimed snedden. "maybe both are right," i ventured, as we came closer. "what made you turn in here?'" "kennedy thought he saw fresh tire-tracks running into the grove." we were all out of our cars by this time, and examining the soft roadway with craig. it was evident to any one that a car had been run in, and not so very long ago, in the direction of the merry-go-round. we followed the tracks on foot, bending about the huge circle of a building until we came to the side away from the road. the tracks seemed to run right in under the boards. kennedy approached and touched the boards. they were loose. some one had evidently been there, had taken them down, and put them up. in fact, by the marks on them, it seemed as though he had made a practice of doing so. macleod and kennedy unhooked the boarding, while snedden looked on in a sort of daze. they had taken down only two or three sections, which indicated that that whole side might similarly be removed, when i heard a low, startled exclamation from snedden. we peered in. there, in the half-light of the gloomy interior, we could see a car. before we knew it snedden had darted past us. an instant later i distinguished what his more sensitive eye had seen--a woman, all alone in the car, motionless. "ida!" he cried. there was no answer. "she--she's dead!" he shouted. it was only too true. there was ida snedden, seated in jackson's car in the old deserted building, all shut up--dead. yet her face was as pink as if she were alive and the blood had been whipped into her cheeks by a walk in the cold wind. we looked at one another, at a loss. how did she get there--and why? she must have come there voluntarily. no one had seen any one else with her in the car. snedden was now almost beside himself. "misfortunes never come singly," he wailed. "my daughter gertrude gone--now my wife dead. confound that young fellow garretson--and jackson, too! where are they? why have they fled? the scoundrels--they have stolen my whole family. oh, what shall i do? what shall i do?" trying to quiet snedden, at the same time we began to look about the building. on one side was a small stove, in which were still the dying coals of a fire. near by were a work-bench, some tools, pieces of wire, and other material. scattered about were pieces of material that looked like celluloid. some one evidently used the place as a secret workshop. kennedy picked up a piece of the celluloid-like stuff and carefully touched a match to it. it did not burn rapidly as celluloid does, and craig seemed more than ever interested. macleod himself was no mean detective. accustomed to action, he had an idea of what to do. "wait here!" he called back, dashing out. "i'm going to the nearest house up the road for help. i'll be back in a moment." we heard him back and turn his car and shoot away. meanwhile, kennedy was looking over carefully jackson's roadster. he tapped the gas-tank in the rear, then opened it. there was not a drop of gas in it. he lifted up the hood and looked inside at the motor. whatever he saw there, he said nothing. finally, by siphoning some gas from snedden's tank and making some adjustments, he seemed to have the car in a condition again for it to run. he was just about to start it when macleod returned, carrying a canary-bird in a cage. "i've telephoned to town," he announced. "some one will be here soon now. meanwhile, an idea occurred to me, and i borrowed this bird. let me see whether the idea is any good." kennedy, by this time, had started the engine. macleod placed the bright little songster near the stove on the work-bench and began to watch it narrowly. more than ever up in the air over the mystery, i could only watch kennedy and macleod, each following his own lines. it might, perhaps, have been ten minutes after macleod returned, and during that time he had never taken his eyes off the bird, when i began to feel a little drowsy. a word from macleod roused me. "there's carbon monoxide in the air, kennedy!" he exclaimed. "you know how this gas affects birds." kennedy looked over intently. the canary had begun to show evident signs of distress over something. "it must be that this stove is defective," pursued macleod, picking up the poor little bird and carrying it quickly into the fresh air, where it could regain its former liveliness. then, when he returned, he added, "there must be some defect in the stove or the draught that makes it send out the poisonous gas." "there's some gas," agreed kennedy. "it must have cleared away mostly, though, or we couldn't stand it ourselves." craig continued to look about the car and the building, in the vain hope of discovering some other clue. had mrs. snedden been killed by the carbonic oxide? was it a case of gas poisoning? then, too, why had she been here at all? who had shut her up? had she been overcome first and, in a stupor, been unable to move to save herself? above all, what had this to do with the mysterious phantom slayer that had wrecked so much of the works in less than a week? it was quite late in the afternoon when, at last, people came from the town and took away both the body of mrs. snedden and jackson's car. snedden could only stare and work his fingers, and after we had seen him safely in the care of some one we could trust kennedy, macleod, and i climbed into macleod's car silently. "it's too deep for me," acknowledged macleod. "what shall we do next?" "surely that fellow must have my pictures developed by this time," considered kennedy. "shoot back there." "they came out beautifully--all except one," reported the druggist, who was somewhat of a camera fiend himself. "that's a wonderful system, sir." kennedy thanked him for his trouble and took the prints. with care he pieced them together, until he had several successive panoramas of the country taken from various elevations of the parachute. then, with a magnifying-glass, he went over each section minutely. "look at that!" he pointed out at last with the sharp tip of a pencil on one picture. in what looked like an open space among some trees was a tiny figure of a man. it seemed as if he were hacking at something with an ax. what the something was did not appear in the picture. "i should say that it was half a mile, perhaps a mile, farther away than that grove," commented kennedy, making a rough calculation. "on the old davis farm," considered macleod. "look and see if you can't make out the ruins of a house somewhere near-by. it was burned many years ago." "yes, yes," returned kennedy, excitedly; "there's the place! do you think we can get there in a car before it's dark?" "easily," replied macleod. it was only a matter of minutes before we three were poking about in a tangle of wood and field, seeking to locate the spot where kennedy's apparatus had photographed the lone axman. at last, in a large, cleared field, we came upon a most peculiar heap of debris. as nearly as i could make out, it was a pile of junk, but most interesting junk. practically all of it consisted in broken bits of the celluloid-like stuff we had seen in the abandoned building. twisted inextricably about were steel wires and bits of all sorts of material. in the midst of the wreckage was something that looked for all the world like the remains of a gas-motor. it was not rusted, either, which indicated that it had been put there recently. as he looked at it, craig's face displayed a smile of satisfaction. "looks as though it might have been an aeroplane of the tractor type," he vouchsafed, finally. "surely there couldn't have been an accident," objected macleod. "no aviator could have lived through it, and there's no body." "no; it was purposely destroyed," continued craig. "it was landed here from somewhere else for that purpose. that was what the man in the picture was doing with the ax. after the last explosion something happened. he brought the machine here to destroy the evidence." "but," persisted macleod, "if there had been an aeroplane hovering about we should have seen it in the air, passing over the works at the time of the explosion." kennedy picked the pieces, significantly. "some one about here has kept abreast of the times, if not ahead. see; the planes were of this non-inflammable celluloid that made it virtually transparent and visible only at a few hundred feet in the air. the aviator could fly low and so drop those pastilles accurately--and unseen. the engine had one of those new muffler-boxes. he would have been unheard, too, except for that delicate air-ship detector." macleod and i could but stare at each other, aghast. without a doubt it was in the old merry-go-round building that the phantom aviator had established his hangar. what the connection was between the tragedy in the snedden family and the tragedy in the powder-works we did not know, but, at least, now we knew that there was some connection. it was growing dark rapidly, and, with some difficulty, we retraced our steps to the point where we had left the car. we whirled back to the town, and, of course, to the snedden house. snedden was sitting in the parlor when we arrived, by the body of his wife, staring, speechless, straight before him, while several neighbors were gathered about, trying to console him. we had scarcely entered when a messenger-boy came up the path from the gate. both kennedy and macleod turned toward him, expecting some reply to the numerous messages of alarm sent out earlier in the afternoon. "telegram for mrs. snedden," announced the boy. "mrs. snedden?" queried kennedy, surprised, then quickly: "oh yes, that's all right. i'll take care of it." he signed for the message, tore it open, and read it. for a moment his face, which had been clouded, smoothed out, and he took a couple of turns up and down the hall, as though undecided. finally he crumpled the telegram abstractedly and shoved it into his pocket. we followed him as he went into the parlor and stood for several moments, looking fixedly on the strangely flushed face of mrs. snedden. "macleod," he said, finally, turning gravely toward us, and, for the present, seeming to ignore the presence of the others, "this amazing series of crimes has brought home to me forcibly the alarming possibilities of applying modern scientific devices to criminal uses. new modes and processes seem to bring new menaces." "like carbon-monoxide poisoning?" suggested macleod. "of course it has long been known as a harmful gas, but--" "let us see," interrupted kennedy. "walter, you were there when i examined jackson's car. there was not a drop of gasolene in the tank, you will recall. even the water in the radiator was low. i lifted the hood. some one must have tampered with the carburetor. it was adjusted so that the amount of air in the mixture was reduced. more than that, i don't know whether you noticed it or not, but the spark and gas were set so that, when i did put gasolene in the tank, i had but to turn the engine over and it went. in other words, that car had been standing there, the engine running, until it simply stopped for want of fuel." he paused while we listened intently, then resumed. "the gas-engine and gas-motor have brought with them another of those unanticipated menaces of which i spoke. whenever the explosion of the combustible mixture is incomplete or of moderated intensity a gas of which little is known may be formed in considerable quantities. "in this case, as in several others that have come to my attention, vapors arising from the combustion must have emitted certain noxious products. the fumes that caused ida snedden's death were not of carbon monoxide from the stove, macleod. they were splitting-products of gasolene, which are so new to science that they have not yet been named. "mrs. snedden's death, i may say for the benefit of the coroner, was due to the absorption of some of these unidentified gaseous poisons. they are as deadly as a knife-thrust through the heart, under certain conditions. due to the non-oxidation of some of the elements of gasolene, they escape from the exhaust of every running gas-engine. in the open air, where only a whiff or two would be inhale now and then, they are not dangerous. but in a closed room they may kill in an incredibly short time. in fact, the condition has given rise to an entirely new phenomenon which some one has named 'petromortis.'" "petromortis?" repeated snedden, who, for the first time, began to show interest in what was going on about him. "then it was an accident?" "i did not say it was an accident," corrected craig. "there is an old adage that murder will out. and this expression of human experience is only repeated in what we modern scientific detectives are doing. no man bent on the commission of a crime can so arrange the circumstances of that crime that it will afterward appear, point by point, as an accident." kennedy had us all following him breathlessly now. "i do not consider it an accident," he went on, rapidly piecing together the facts as we had found them. "ida snedden was killed because she was getting too close to some one's secret. even at luncheon, i could see that she had discovered gertrude's attachment for garretson. how she heard that, following the excitement of the explosion this afternoon, gertrude and garretson had disappeared, i do not pretend to know. but it is evident that she did hear, that she went out and took jackson's car, probably to pursue them. if we have heard that they went by the river road, she might have heard it, too. "in all probability she came along just in time to surprise some one working on the other side of the old merry-go-round structure. there can be no reason to conceal the fact longer. from that deserted building some one was daily launching a newly designed invisible aeroplane. as mrs. snedden came along, she must have been just in time to see that person at his secret hangar. what happened i do not know, except that she must have run the car off the river road and into the building. the person whom she found must have suddenly conceived a method of getting her out of the way and making it look like an accident of some kind, perhaps persuaded her to stay in the car with the engine running, while he went off and destroyed the aeroplane which was damning evidence now." startling as was the revelation of an actual phantom destroyer, our minds were more aroused as to who might be the criminal who had employed such an engine of death. kennedy drew from his pocket the telegram which had just arrived, and spread it out flat before us on a table. it was dated philadelphia, and read: mrs. ida snedden, nitropolis: garretson and gertrude were married to-day. have traced them to the wolcott. try to reconcile mr. snedden. hunter jackson. i saw at once that part of the story. it was just a plain love-affair that had ended in an elopement at a convenient time. the fire-eating garretson had been afraid of the sneddens and jackson, who was their friend. before i could even think further, kennedy had drawn out the films taken by the rocket-camera. "with the aid of a magnifying-glass," he was saying, "i can get just enough of the lone figure in this picture to identify it. these are the crimes of a crazed pacifist, one whose mind had so long dwelt on the horrors of--" "look out!" shouted macleod, leaping in front of kennedy. the strain of the revelation had been too much. snedden--a raving maniac--had reeled forward, wildly and impotently, at the man who had exposed him. vi the beauty mask "oh, mr. jameson, if they could only wake her up--find out what is the matter--do something! this suspense is killing both mother and myself." scenting a good feature story, my city editor had sent me out on an assignment, my sole equipment being a clipping of two paragraphs from the morning star. girl in coma six days--shows no sign of revival virginia blakeley, the nineteen-year-old daughter of mrs. stuart blakeley, of riverside drive, who has been in a state of coma for six days, still shows no sign of returning consciousness. ever since monday some member of her family has been constantly beside her. her mother and sister have both vainly tried to coax her back to consciousness, but their efforts have not met with the slightest response. dr. calvert haynes, the family physician, and several specialists who have been called in consultation, are completely baffled by the strange malady. often i had read of cases of morbid sleep lasting for days and even for weeks. but this was the first case i had ever actually encountered and i was glad to take the assignment. the blakeleys, as every one knew, had inherited from stuart blakeley a very considerable fortune in real estate in one of the most rapidly developing sections of upper new york, and on the death of their mother the two girls, virginia and cynthia, would be numbered among the wealthiest heiresses of the city. they lived in a big sandstone mansion fronting the hudson and it was with some misgiving that i sent up my card. both mrs. blakeley and her other daughter, however, met me in the reception-room, thinking, perhaps, from what i had written on the card, that i might have some assistance to offer. mrs. blakeley was a well-preserved lady, past middle-age, and very nervous. "mercy, cynthia!" she exclaimed, as i explained my mission, "it's another one of those reporters. no, i cannot say anything--not a word. i don't know anything. see doctor haynes. i--" "but, mother," interposed cynthia, more calmly, "the thing is in the papers. it may be that some one who reads of it may know of something that can be done. who can tell?" "well, i won't say anything," persisted the elder woman. "i don't like all this publicity. did the newspapers ever do anything but harm to your poor dear father? no, i won't talk. it won't do us a bit of good. and you, cynthia, had better be careful." mrs. blakeley backed out of the door, but cynthia, who was a few years older than her sister, had evidently acquired independence. at least she felt capable of coping with an ordinary reporter who looked no more formidable than myself. "it is quite possible that some one who knows about such cases may learn of this," i urged. she hesitated as her mother disappeared, and looked at me a moment, then, her feelings getting the better of her, burst forth with the strange appeal i have already quoted. it was as though i had come at just an opportune moment when she must talk to some outsider to relieve her pent-up feelings. by an adroit question here and there, as we stood in the reception-hall, i succeeded in getting the story, which seemed to be more of human interest than of news. i even managed to secure a photograph of virginia as she was before the strange sleep fell on her. briefly, as her sister told it, virginia was engaged to hampton haynes, a young medical student at the college where his father was a professor of diseases of the heart. the hayneses were of a fine southern family which had never recovered from the war and had finally come to new york. the father, dr. calvert haynes, in addition to being a well-known physician, was the family physician of the blakeleys, as i already knew. "twice the date of the marriage has been set, only to be postponed," added cynthia blakeley. "we don't know what to do. and hampton is frantic." "then this is really the second attack of the morbid sleep?" i queried. "yes--in a few weeks. only the other wasn't so long--not more than a day." she said it in a hesitating manner which i could not account for. either she thought there might be something more back of it or she recalled her mother's aversion to reporters and did not know whether she was saying too much or not. "do you really fear that there is something wrong?" i asked, significantly, hastily choosing the former explanation. cynthia blakeley looked quickly at the door through which her mother had retreated. "i--i don't know," she replied, tremulously. "i don't know why i am talking to you. i'm so afraid, too, that the newspapers may say something that isn't true." "you would like to get at the truth, if i promise to hold the story back?" i persisted, catching her eye. "yes," she answered, in a low tone, "but--" then stopped. "i will ask my friend, professor kennedy, at the university, to come here," i urged. "you know him?" she asked, eagerly. "he will come?" "without a doubt," i reassured, waiting for her to say no more, but picking up the telephone receiver on a stand in the hall. fortunately i found craig at his laboratory and a few hasty words were all that was necessary to catch his interest. "i must tell mother," cynthia cried, excitedly, as i hung up the receiver. "surely she cannot object to that. will you wait here?" as i waited for craig, i tried to puzzle the case out for myself. though i knew nothing about it as yet, i felt sure that i had not made a mistake and that there was some mystery here. suddenly i became aware that the two women were talking in the next room, though too low for me to catch what they were saying. it was evident, however, that cynthia was having some difficulty in persuading her mother that everything was all right. "well, cynthia," i heard her mother say, finally, as she left the room for one farther back, "i hope it will be all right--that is all i can say." what was it that mrs. blakeley so feared? was it merely the unpleasant notoriety? one could not help the feeling that there was something more that she suspected, perhaps knew, but would not tell. yet, apparently, it was aside from her desire to have her daughter restored to normal. she was at sea, herself, i felt. "poor dear mother!" murmured cynthia, rejoining me in a few moments. "she hardly knows just what it is she does want-except that we want virginia well again." we had not long to wait for craig. what i had told him over the telephone had been quite enough to arouse his curiosity. both mrs. blakeley and cynthia met him, at first a little fearfully, but quickly reassured by his manner, as well as my promise to see that nothing appeared in the star which would be distasteful. "oh, if some one could only bring back our little girl!" cried mrs. blakeley, with suppressed emotion, leading the way with her daughter up-stairs. it was only for a moment that i could see craig alone to explain the impressions i had received, but it was enough. "i'm glad you called me," he whispered. "there is something queer." we followed them up to the dainty bedroom in flowered enamel where virginia blakeley lay, and it was then for the first time that we saw her. kennedy drew a chair up beside the little white bed and went to work almost as though he had been a physician himself. partly from what i observed myself and partly from what he told me afterward, i shall try to describe the peculiar condition in which she was. she lay there lethargic, scarcely breathing. once she had been a tall, slender, fair girl, with a sort of wild grace. now she seemed to be completely altered. i could not help thinking of the contrast between her looks now and the photograph in my pocket. not only was her respiration slow, but her pulse was almost imperceptible, less than forty a minute. her temperature was far below normal, and her blood pressure low. once she had seemed fully a woman, with all the strength and promise of precocious maturity. but now there was something strange about her looks. it is difficult to describe. it was not that she was no longer a young woman, but there seemed to be something almost sexless about her. it was as though her secondary sex characteristics were no longer feminine, but--for want of a better word--neuter. yet, strange to say, in spite of the lethargy which necessitated at least some artificial feeding, she was not falling away. she seemed, if anything, plump. to all appearances there was really a retardation of metabolism connected with the trance-like sleep. she was actually gaining in weight! as he noted one of these things after another, kennedy looked at her long and carefully. i followed the direction of his eyes. over her nose, just a trifle above the line of her eyebrows, was a peculiar red mark, a sore, which was very disfiguring, as though it were hard to heal. "what is that?" he asked mrs. blakeley, finally. "i don't know," she replied, slowly. "we've all noticed it. it came just after the sleep began." "you have no idea what could have caused it?" "both virginia and cynthia have been going to a face specialist," she admitted, "to have their skins treated for freckles. after the treatment they wore masks which were supposed to have some effect on the skin. i don't know. could it be that?" kennedy looked sharply at cynthia's face. there was no red mark over her nose. but there were certainly no freckles on either of the girls' faces now, either. "oh, mother," remonstrated cynthia, "it couldn't be anything doctor chapelle did." "doctor chapelle?" repeated kennedy. "yes, dr. carl chapelle," replied mrs. blakeley. "perhaps you have heard of him. he is quite well known, has a beauty-parlor on fifth avenue. he--" "it's ridiculous," cut in cynthia, sharply. "why, my face was worse than virgie's. car--he said it would take longer." i had been watching cynthia, but it needed only to have heard her to see that doctor chapelle was something more than a beauty specialist to her. kennedy glanced thoughtfully from the clear skin of cynthia to the red mark on virginia. though he said nothing, i could see that his mind was on it. i had heard of the beauty doctors who promise to give one a skin as soft and clear as a baby's--and often, by their inexpert use of lotions and chemicals, succeed in ruining the skin and disfiguring the patient for life. could this be a case of that sort? yet how explain the apparent success with cynthia? the elder sister, however, was plainly vexed at the mention of the beauty doctor's name at all, and she showed it. kennedy made a mental note of the matter, but refrained from saying any more about it. "i suppose there is no objection to my seeing doctor haynes?" asked kennedy, rising and changing the subject. "none whatever," returned mrs. blakeley. "if there's anything you or he can do to bring virginia out of this--anything safe--i want it done," she emphasized. cynthia was silent as we left. evidently she had not expected doctor chapelle's name to be brought into the case. we were lucky in finding doctor haynes at home, although it was not the regular time for his office hours. kennedy introduced himself as a friend of the blakeleys who had been asked to see that i made no blunders in writing the story for the star. doctor haynes did not question the explanation. he was a man well on toward the sixties, with that magnetic quality that inspires the confidence so necessary for a doctor. far from wealthy, he had attained a high place in the profession. as kennedy finished his version of our mission, doctor haynes shook his head with a deep sigh. "you can understand how i feel toward the blakeleys," he remarked, at length. "i should consider it unethical to give an interview under any circumstances--much more so under the present." "still," i put in, taking kennedy's cue, "just a word to set me straight can't do any harm. i won't quote you directly." he seemed to realize that it might be better to talk carefully than to leave all to my imagination. "well," he began, slowly, "i have considered all the usual causes assigned for such morbid sleep. it is not auto-suggestion or trance, i am positive. nor is there any trace of epilepsy. i cannot see how it could be due to poisoning, can you?" i admitted readily that i could not. "no," he resumed, "it is just a case of what we call narcolepsy--pathological somnolence--a sudden, uncontrollable inclination to sleep, occurring sometimes repeatedly or at varying intervals. i don't think it hysterical, epileptic, or toxemic. the plain fact of the matter, gentlemen, is that neither myself nor any of my colleagues whom i have consulted have the faintest idea what it is--yet." the door of the office opened, for it was not the hour for consulting patients, and a tall, athletic young fellow, with a keen and restless face, though very boyish, entered. "my son," the doctor introduced, "soon to be the sixth doctor haynes in direct line in the family." we shook hands. it was evident that cynthia had not by any means exaggerated when she said that he was frantic over what had happened to his fiancee. accordingly, there was no difficulty in reverting to the subject of our visit. gradually i let kennedy take the lead in the conversation so that our position might not seem to be false. it was not long before craig managed to inject a remark about the red spot over virginia's nose. it seemed to excite young hampton. "naturally i look on it more as a doctor than a lover," remarked his father, smiling indulgently at the young man, whom it was evident he regarded above everything else in the world. "i have not been able to account for it, either. really the case is one of the most remarkable i have ever heard of." "you have heard of a dr. carl chapelle?" inquired craig, tentatively. "a beauty doctor," interrupted the young man, turning toward his father. "you've met him. he's the fellow i think is really engaged to cynthia." hampton seemed much excited. there was unconcealed animosity in the manner of his remark, and i wondered why it was. could there be some latent jealousy? "i see," calmed doctor haynes. "you mean to infer that this--er--this doctor chapelle--" he paused, waiting for kennedy to take the initiative. "i suppose you've noticed over miss blakeley's nose a red sore?" hazarded kennedy. "yes," replied doctor haynes, "rather refractory, too. i--" "say," interrupted hampton, who by this time had reached a high pitch of excitement, "say, do you think it could be any of his confounded nostrums back of this thing?" "careful, hampton," cautioned the elder man. "i'd like to see him," pursued craig to the younger. "you know him?" "know him? i should say i do. good-looking, good practice, and all that, but--why, he must have hypnotized that girl! cynthia thinks he's wonderful." "i'd like to see him," suggested craig. "very well," agreed hampton, taking him at his word. "much as i dislike the fellow, i have no objection to going down to his beauty-parlor with you." "thank you," returned craig, as we excused ourselves and left the elder doctor haynes. several times on our journey down hampton could not resist some reference to chapelle for commercializing the profession, remarks which sounded strangely old on his lips. chapelle's office, we found, was in a large building on fifth avenue in the new shopping district, where hundreds of thousands of women passed almost daily. he called the place a dermatological institute, but, as hampton put it, he practised "decorative surgery." as we entered one door, we saw that patients left by another. evidently, as craig whispered, when sixty sought to look like sixteen the seekers did not like to come in contact with one another. we waited some time in a little private room. at last doctor chapelle himself appeared, a rather handsome man with the manner that one instinctively feels appeals to the ladies. he shook hands with young haynes, and i could detect no hostility on chapelle's part, but rather a friendly interest in a younger member of the medical profession. again i was thrown forward as a buffer. i was their excuse for being there. however, a newspaper experience gives you one thing, if no other--assurance. "i believe you have a patient, a miss virginia blakeley?" i ventured. "miss blakeley? oh yes, and her sister, also." the mention of the names was enough. i was no longer needed as a buffer. "chapelle," blurted out hampton, "you must have done something to her when you treated her face. there's a little red spot over her nose that hasn't healed yet." kennedy frowned at the impetuous interruption. yet it was perhaps the best thing that could have happened. "so," returned chapelle, drawing back and placing his head on one side as he nodded it with each word, "you think i've spoiled her looks? aren't the freckles gone?" "yes," retorted hampton, bitterly, "but on her face is this new disfigurement." "that?" shrugged chapelle. "i know nothing of that--nor of the trance. i have only my specialty." calm though he appeared outwardly, one could see that chapelle was plainly worried. under the circumstances, might not his professional reputation be at stake? what if a hint like this got abroad among his rich clientele? i looked about his shop and wondered just how much of a faker he was. once or twice i had heard of surgeons who had gone legitimately into this sort of thing. but the common story was that of the swindler--or worse. i had heard of scores of cases of good looks permanently ruined, seldom of any benefit. had chapelle ignorantly done something that would leave its scar forever? or was he one of the few who were honest and careful? whatever the case, kennedy had accomplished his purpose. he had seen chapelle. if he were really guilty of anything the chances were all in favor of his betraying it by trying to cover it up. deftly suppressing hampton, we managed to beat a retreat without showing our hands any further. "humph!" snorted hampton, as we rode down in the elevator and hopped on a 'bus to go up-town. "gave up legitimate medicine and took up this beauty doctoring--it's unprofessional, i tell you. why, he even advertises!" we left hampton and returned to the laboratory, though craig had no present intention of staying there. his visit was merely for the purpose of gathering some apparatus, which included a crookes tube, carefully packed, a rheostat, and some other paraphernalia which we divided. a few moments later we were on our way again to the blakeley mansion. no change had taken place in the condition of the patient, and mrs. blakeley met us anxiously. nor was the anxiety wholly over her daughter's condition, for there seemed to be an air of relief when kennedy told her that we had little to report. up-stairs in the sick-room, craig set silently to work, attaching his apparatus to an electric-light socket from which he had unscrewed the bulb. as he proceeded i saw that it was, as i had surmised, his new x-ray photographing machine which he had brought. carefully, from several angles, he took photographs of virginia's head, then, without saying a word, packed up his kit and started away. we were passing down the hall, after leaving mrs. blakeley, when a figure stepped out from behind a portiere. it was cynthia, who had been waiting to see us alone. "you--don't think doctor chapelle had anything to do with it?" she asked, in a hoarse whisper. "then hampton haynes has been here?" avoided kennedy. "yes," she admitted, as though the question had been quite logical. "he told me of your visit to carl." there was no concealment, now, of her anxiety. indeed, i saw no reason why there should be. it was quite natural that the girl should worry over her lover, if she thought there was even a haze of suspicion in kennedy's mind. "really i have found out nothing yet," was the only answer craig gave, from which i readily deduced that he was well satisfied to play the game by pitting each against all, in the hope of gathering here and there a bit of the truth. "as soon as i find out anything i shall let you and your mother know. and you must tell me everything, too." he paused to emphasize the last words, then slowly turned again toward the door. from the corner of my eye i saw cynthia take a step after him, pause, then take another. "oh, professor kennedy," she called. craig turned. "there's something i forgot," she continued. "there's something wrong with mother!" she paused, then resumed: "even before virginia was taken down with this--illness i saw a change. she is worried. oh, professor kennedy, what is it? we have all been so happy. and now--virgie, mother--all i have in the world. what shall i do?" "just what do you mean?" asked kennedy, gently. "i don't know. mother has been so different lately. and now, every night, she goes out." "where?" encouraged kennedy, realizing that his plan was working. "i don't know. if she would only come back looking happier." she was sobbing, convulsively, over she knew not what. "miss blakeley," said kennedy, taking her hand between both of his, "only trust me. if it is in my power i shall bring you all out of this uncertainty that haunts you." she could only murmur her thanks as we left. "it is strange," ruminated kennedy, as we sped across the city again to the laboratory. "we must watch mrs. blakeley." that was all that was said. although i had no inkling of what was back of it all, i felt quite satisfied at having recognized the mystery even on stumbling on it as i had. in the laboratory, as soon as he could develop the skiagraphs he had taken, kennedy began a minute study of them. it was not long before he looked over at me with the expression i had come to recognize when he found something important. i went over and looked at the radiograph which he was studying. to me it was nothing but successive gradations of shadows. but to one who had studied roentgenography as kennedy had each minute gradation of light and shade had its meaning. "you see," pointed out kennedy, tracing along one of the shadows with a fine-pointed pencil, and then along a corresponding position on another standard skiagraph which he already had, "there is a marked diminution in size of the sella turcica, as it is called. yet there is no evidence of a tumor." for several moments he pondered deeply over the photographs. "and it is impossible to conceive of any mechanical pressure sufficient to cause such a change," he added. unable to help him on the problem, whatever it might be, i watched him pacing up and down the laboratory. "i shall have to take that picture over again--under different circumstances," he remarked, finally, pausing and looking at his watch. "to-night we must follow this clue which cynthia has given us. call a cab, walter." we took a stand down the block from the blakeley mansion, near a large apartment, where the presence of a cab would not attract attention. if there is any job i despise it is shadowing. one must keep his eyes riveted on a house, for, once let the attention relax and it is incredible how quickly any one may get out and disappear. our vigil was finally rewarded when we saw mrs. blakeley emerge and hurry down the street. to follow her was easy, for she did not suspect that she was being watched, and went afoot. on she walked, turning off the drive and proceeding rapidly toward the region of cheap tenements. she paused before one, and as our cab cruised leisurely past we saw her press a button, the last on the right-hand side, enter the door, and start up the stairs. instantly kennedy signaled our driver to stop and together we hopped out and walked back, cautiously entering the vestibule. the name in the letter-box was "mrs. reba rinehart." what could it mean? just then another cab stopped up the street, and as we turned to leave the vestibule kennedy drew back. it was too late, however, not to be seen. a man had just alighted and, in turn, had started back, also realizing that it was too late. it was chapelle! there was nothing to do but to make the best of it. "shadowing the shadowers?" queried kennedy, keenly watching the play of his features under the arc-light of the street. "miss cynthia asked me to follow her mother the other night," he answered, quite frankly. "and i have been doing so ever since." it was a glib answer, at any rate, i thought. "then, perhaps you know something of reba rinehart, too," bluffed kennedy. chapelle eyed us a moment, in doubt how much we knew. kennedy played a pair of deuces as if they had been four aces instead. "not much," replied chapelle, dubiously. "i know that mrs. blakeley has been paying money to the old woman, who seems to be ill. once i managed to get in to see her. it's a bad case of pernicious anemia, i should say. a neighbor told me she had been to the college hospital, had been one of doctor haynes's cases, but that he had turned her over to his son. i've seen hampton haynes here, too." there was an air of sincerity about chapelle's words. but, then, i reflected that there had also been a similar ring to what we had heard hampton say. were they playing a game against each other? perhaps--but what was the game? what did it all mean and why should mrs. blakeley pay money to an old woman, a charity patient? there was no solution. both kennedy and chapelle, by a sort of tacit consent, dismissed their cabs, and we strolled on over toward broadway, watching one another, furtively. we parted finally, and craig and i went up to our apartment, where he sat for hours in a brown study. there was plenty to think about even so far in the affair. he may have sat up all night. at any rate, he roused me early in the morning. "come over to the laboratory," he said. "i want to take that x-ray machine up there again to blakeley's. confound it! i hope it's not too late." i lost no time in joining him and we were at the house long before any reasonable hour for visitors. kennedy asked for mrs. blakeley and hurriedly set up the x-ray apparatus. "i wish you would place that face mask which she was wearing exactly as it was before she became ill," he asked. her mother did as kennedy directed, replacing the rubber mask as virginia had worn it. "i want you to preserve that mask," directed kennedy, as he finished taking his pictures. "say nothing about it to any one. in fact, i should advise putting it in your family safe for the present." hastily we drove back to the laboratory and kennedy set to work again developing the second set of skiagraphs. i had not long to wait, this time, for him to study them. his first glance brought me over to him as he exclaimed loudly. at the point just opposite the sore which he had observed on virginia's forehead, and overlying the sella turcica, there was a peculiar spot on the radiograph. "something in that mask has affected the photographic plate," he explained, his face now animated. before i could ask him what it was he had opened a cabinet where he kept many new things which he studied in his leisure moments. from it i saw him take several glass ampules which he glanced at hastily and shoved into his pocket as we heard a footstep out in the hall. it was chapelle, very much worried. could it be that he knew his society clientele was at stake, i wondered. or was it more than that? "she's dead!" he cried. "the old lady died last night!" without a word kennedy hustled us out of the laboratory, stuffing the x-ray pictures into his pocket, also, as we went. as we hurried down-town chapelle told us how he had tried to keep a watch by bribing one of the neighbors, who had just informed him of the tragedy. "it was her heart," said one of the neighbors, as we entered the poor apartment. "the doctor said so." "anemia," insisted chapelle, looking carefully at the body. kennedy bent over, also, and examined the poor, worn frame. as he did so he caught sight of a heavy linen envelope tucked under her pillow. he pulled it out gently and opened it. inside were several time-worn documents and letters. he glanced over them hastily, unfolding first a letter. "walter," he whispered, furtively, looking at the neighbors in the room and making sure that none of them had seen the envelope already. "read these. that's her story." one glance was sufficient. the first was a letter from old stuart blakeley. reba rinehart had been secretly married to him--and never divorced. one paper after another unfolded her story. i thought quickly. then she had had a right in the blakeley millions. more than that, the blakeleys themselves had none, at least only what came to them by blakeley's will. i read on, to see what, if any, contest she had intended to make. and as i read i could picture old stuart blakeley to myself--strong, direct, unscrupulous, a man who knew what he wanted and got it, dominant, close-mouthed, mysterious. he had understood and estimated the future of new york. on that he had founded his fortune. according to the old lady's story, the marriage was a complete secret. she had demanded marriage when he had demanded her. he had pointed out the difficulties. the original property had come to him and would remain in his hands only on condition that he married one of his own faith. she was not of the faith and declined to become so. there had been other family reasons, also. they had been married, with the idea of keeping it secret until he could arrange his affairs so that he could safely acknowledge her. it was, according to her story, a ruse. when she demanded recognition he replied that the marriage was invalid, that the minister had been unfrocked before the ceremony. she was not in law his wife and had no claim, he asserted. but he agreed to compromise, in spite of it all. if she would go west and not return or intrude, he would make a cash settlement. disillusioned, she took the offer and went to california. somehow, he understood that she was dead. years later he married again. meanwhile she had invested her settlement, had prospered, had even married herself, thinking the first marriage void. then her second husband died and evil times came. blakeley was dead, but she came east. since then she had been fighting to establish the validity of the first marriage and hence her claim to dower rights. it was a moving story. as we finished reading, kennedy gathered the papers together and took charge of them. taking chapelle, who by this time was in a high state of excitement over both the death and the discovery, kennedy hurried to the blakeley mansion, stopping only long enough to telephone to doctor haynes and his son. evidently the news had spread. cynthia blakeley met us in the hall, half frightened, yet much relieved. "oh, professor kennedy," she cried, "i don't know what it is, but mother seems so different. what is it all about?" as kennedy said nothing, she turned to chapelle, whom i was watching narrowly. "what is it, carl?" she whispered. "i--i can't tell," he whispered back, guardedly. then, with an anxious glance at the rest of us, "is your sister any better?" cynthia's face clouded. relieved though she was about her mother, there was still that horror for virginia. "come," i interrupted, not wishing to let chapelle get out of my sight, yet wishing to follow kennedy, who had dashed up-stairs. i found craig already at the bedside of virginia. he had broken one of the ampules and was injecting some of the extract in it into the sleeping girl's arm. mrs. blakeley bent over eagerly as he did so. even in her manner she was changed. there was anxiety for virginia yet, but one could feel that a great weight seemed to be lifted from her. so engrossed was i in watching kennedy that i did not hear doctor haynes and hampton enter. chapelle heard, however, and turned. for a moment he gazed at hampton. then with a slight curl of the lip he said, in a low tone, "is it strictly ethical to treat a patient for disease of the heart when she is suffering from anemia--if you have an interest in the life and death of the patient?" i watched hampton's face closely. there was indignation in every line of it. but before he could reply doctor haynes stepped forward. "my son was right in the diagnosis," he almost shouted, shaking a menacing finger at chapelle. "to come to the point, sir, explain that mark on miss virginia's forehead!" "yes," demanded hampton, also taking a step toward the beauty doctor, "explain it--if you dare." cynthia suppressed a little cry of fear. for a moment i thought that the two young men would forget everything in the heat of their feelings. "just a second," interposed kennedy, quickly stepping between them. "let me do the talking." there was something commanding about his tone as he looked from one to the other of us. "the trouble with miss virginia," he added, deliberately, "seems to lie in one of what the scientists have lately designated the 'endocrine glands'--in this case the pituitary. my x-ray pictures show that conclusively. "let me explain for the benefit of the rest. the pituitary is an oval glandular body composed of two lobes and a connecting area, which rest in the sella turcica, enveloped by a layer of tissue, about under this point." he indicated the red spot on her forehead as he spoke. "it is, as the early french surgeons called it, l'organe enigmatique. the ancients thought it discharged the pituita, or mucus, into the nose. most scientists of the past century asserted that it was a vestigial relic of prehistoric usefulness. to-day we know better. "one by one the functions of the internal secretions are being discovered. our variously acquired bits of information concerning the ductless glands lie before us like the fragments of a modern picture puzzle. and so, i may tell you, in connection with recent experimental studies of the role of the pituitary, doctor cushing and other collaborators at johns hopkins have noticed a marked tendency to pass into a profoundly lethargic state when the secretion of the pituitary is totally or nearly so removed." kennedy now had every eye riveted on him as he deftly led the subject straight to the case of the poor girl before us. "this," he added, with a wave of his hand toward her, "is much like what is called the frohlich syndrome--the lethargy, the subnormal temperature, slow pulse, and respiration, lowered blood pressure, and insensitivity, the growth of fat and the loss of sex characteristics. it has a name--dystrophia adiposogenitalis." he nodded to doctor haynes, but did not pause. "this case bears a striking resemblance to the pronounced natural somnolence of hibernation. and induced hypopituitarism--under activity of the gland--produces a result just like natural hibernation. hibernation has nothing to do with winter, or with food, primarily; it is connected in some way with this little gland under the forehead. "as the pituitary secretion is lessened, the blocking action of the fatigue products in the body be-comes greater and morbid somnolence sets in. there is a high tolerance of carbohydrates which are promptly stored as fat. i am surprised, doctor haynes, that you did not recognize the symptoms." a murmur from mrs. blakeley cut short doctor haynes's reply. i thought i noticed a movement of the still face on the white bed. "virgie! virgie!" called mrs. blakeley, dropping on her knee beside her daughter. "i'm here--mother!" virginia's eyes opened ever so slightly. her face turned just an inch or two. she seemed to be making a great effort, but it lasted only a moment. then she slipped back into the strange condition that had baffled skilled physicians and surgeons for nearly a week. "the sleep is being dispelled," said kennedy, quietly placing his hand on mrs. blakeley's shoulder. "it is a sort of semi-consciousness now and the improvement should soon be great." "and that?" i asked, touching the empty ampule from which he had injected the contents into her. "pituitrin--the extract of the anterior lobe of the pituitary body. some one who had an object in removing her temporarily probably counted on restoring her to her former blooming womanhood by pituitrin--and by removing the cause of the trouble." kennedy reached into his pocket and drew forth the second x-ray photograph he had taken. "mrs. blakeley, may i trouble you to get that beauty mask which your daughter wore?" mechanically mrs. blakeley obeyed. i expected chapelle to object, but not a word broke the death-like stillness. "the narcolepsy," continued kennedy, taking the mask, "was due, i find, to something that affected the pituitary gland. i have here a photograph of her taken when she was wearing the mask." he ran his finger lightly over the part just above the eyes. "feel that little lump, walter," he directed. i did so. it was almost imperceptible, but there was something. "what is it?" i asked. "located in one of the best protected and most inaccessible parts of the body," kennedy considered, slowly, "how could the pituitary be reached? if you will study my skiagraph, you will see how i got my first clue. there was something over that spot which caused the refractory sore. what was it? radium--carefully placed in the mask with guards of lead foil in such a way as to protect the eyes, but direct the emission full at the gland which was to be affected, and the secretions stopped." chapelle gave a gasp. he was pale and agitated. "some of you have already heard of reba rinehart," shot out kennedy, suddenly changing the subject. mrs. blakeley could not have been more astounded if a bomb had dropped before her. still kneeling before virginia's bed, she turned her startled face at kennedy, clasping her hands in appeal. "it was for my girls that i tried to buy her off--for their good name--their fortune--their future," she cried, imploringly. kennedy bent down, "i know that is all," he reassured, then, facing us, went on: "behind that old woman was a secret of romantic interest. she was contemplating filing suit in the courts to recover a widow's interest in the land on which now stand the homes of millionaires, hotel palaces, luxurious apartments, and popular theaters--millions of dollars' worth of property." cynthia moved over and drew her arms about the convulsed figure of her mother. "some one else knew of this old marriage of stuart blakeley," proceeded kennedy, "knew of reba rinehart, knew that she might die at any moment. but until she died none of the blakeleys could be entirely sure of their fortune." it flashed over me that chapelle might have conceived the whole scheme, seeking to gain the entire fortune for cynthia. "who was interested enough to plot this postponement of the wedding until the danger to the fortune was finally removed?" i caught sight of hampton haynes, his eyes riveted on the face on the bed before us. virginia stirred again. this time her eyes opened wider. as if in a dream she caught sight of the face of her lover and smiled wanly. could it have been hampton? it seemed incredible. "the old lady is dead," pursued kennedy, tensely. "her dower right died with her. nothing can be gained by bringing her case back again--except to trouble the blakeleys in what is rightfully theirs." gathering up the beauty mask, the x-ray photographs, and the papers of mrs. rinehart, kennedy emphasized with them the words as he whipped them out suddenly. "postponing the marriage, at the possible expense of chapelle, until reba rinehart was dead, and trusting to a wrong diagnosis and hampton's inexperience as the surest way of bringing that result about quickly, it was your inordinate ambition for your son, doctor haynes, that led you on. i shall hold these proofs until virginia blakeley is restored completely to health and beauty." vii the love meter "since we brought him home, my brother just tosses and gasps for air. oh, i think eulalie and i shall both go mad!" the soft, pleading voice of anitra barrios and her big, appealing brown eyes filled with tears were doubly affecting as, in spite of her own feelings, she placed her hand on that of a somewhat younger girl who had accompanied her to the laboratory. "we were to have been married next month," sobbed eulalie sandoval. "can't you come and see jose, professor kennedy? there must be something you can do. we fear he is dying--yes, dying." "poor little girl!" murmured anitra, still patting her hand affectionately, then to us, "you know, eulalie is the sister of manuel sandoval, who manages the new york business of my brother." she paused. "oh, i can't believe it, myself. it's all so strange, so sudden." for the moment her own grief overwhelmed anitra, and both sister and sweetheart of jose barrios clung to each other. "what is the trouble?" soothed craig. "what has happened? how can i help you?" "everything was so happy with us," cried anitra, "until jose and i came to new york--and--now--" she broke down again. "please be calm," encouraged kennedy. "tell me everything--anything." with an effort anitra began again. "it was last night--quite late--at his office at the foot of wall street--he was there alone," she strove to connect her broken thoughts. "some one--i think it must have been the janitor--called me up at home and said that my brother was very ill. eulalie was there with me. we hurried down to him. when we got there jose was on the floor by his desk, unconscious, struggling for breath, just as he is now." "did you observe anything peculiar?" queried kennedy. "was there anything that might give you a hint of what had happened?" anitra barrios considered. "nothing," she replied, slowly, "except that the windows were all closed. there was a peculiar odor in the room. i was so excited over jose, though, that i couldn't tell you just what it was like." "what did you do?" inquired craig. "what could we do, just two girls, all alone? it was late. the streets were deserted. you know how they are down-town at night. we took him home, to the hotel, in a cab, and called the hotel physician, doctor scott." both girls were again weeping silently in each other's arms. if there was anything that moved kennedy to action it was distress of this sort. without a word he rose from his desk, and i followed him. anitra and eulalie seemed to understand. though they said nothing, they looked their gratitude as we four left the laboratory. on the way down to the hotel anitra continued to pour out her story in a fragmentary way. her brother and she, it seemed, had inherited from their father a large sugar-plantation in santa clara, the middle province of cuba. jose had not been like many of the planters. he had actually taken hold of the plantation, after the revolution had wrecked it, and had re-established it on modern, scientific lines. now it was one of the largest independent plantations on the island. to increase its efficiency, he had later established a new york office to look after the sale of the raw sugar and had placed it in charge of a friend, manuel sandoval. a month or so before he had come to new york with his sister to sell the plantation, to get the high price that the boom in sugar had made it worth. it was while he had been negotiating for the sale that he had fallen in love with eulalie and they had become engaged. doctor scott met us in the sitting-room of the suite which anitra and her brother occupied, and, as she introduced us, with an anxious glance in the direction of the door of the sick-room, he shook his head gravely, though he did his best to seem encouraging. "it's a case of poisoning of some kind, i fear," he whispered aside to us, at the first opportunity. "but i can't quite make out just what it is." we followed the doctor into the room. eulalie had preceded us and had dropped down on her knees by the bed, passing her little white hand caressingly over the pale and distorted face of jose. he was still unconscious, gasping and fighting for breath, his features pinched and skin cold and clammy. kennedy examined the stricken man carefully, first feeling his pulse. it was barely perceptible, rapid, thready, and irregular. now and then there were muscular tremblings and convulsive movements of the limbs. craig moved over to the side of the room away from the two girls, where doctor scott was standing. "sometimes," i heard the doctor venture, "i think it is aconite, but the symptoms are not quite the same. besides, i don't see how it could have been administered. there's no mark on him that might have come from a hypodermic, no wound, not even a scratch. he couldn't have swallowed it. suicide is out of the question. but his nose and throat are terribly swollen and inflamed. it's beyond me." i tried to recall other cases i had seen. there was one case of kennedy's in which several deaths had occurred due to aconite. was this another of that sort? i felt unqualified to judge, where doctor scott himself confessed his inability. kennedy himself said nothing, and from his face i gathered that even he had no clue as yet. as we left the sick-room, we found that another visitor had arrived and was standing in the sitting-room. it was manuel sandoval. sandoval was a handsome fellow, tall, straight as an arrow, with bushy dark hair and a mustache which gave him a distinguished appearance. born in cuba, he had been educated in the united states, had taken special work in the technology of sugar, knew the game from cane to centrifugal and the ship to the sugar trust. he was quite as much a scientist as a business man. he and eulalie talked for a moment in low tones in cuban spanish, but it needed only to watch his eyes to guess where his heart was. he seemed to fairly devour every move that anitra made about the apartment. a few minutes later the door opened again and a striking-looking man entered. he was a bit older than sandoval, but still young. as he entered he bowed to sandoval and eulalie but greeted anitra warmly. "mr. burton page," introduced anitra, turning to us quickly, with just the trace of a flush on her face. "mr. page has been putting my brother in touch with people in new york who are interested in cuban sugar-plantations." a call from doctor scott for some help took both girls into the sick-room for a moment. "is barrios any better?" asked page, turning to sandoval. sandoval shook his head in the negative, but said nothing. one could not help observing that there seemed to be a sort of antipathy between the two, and i saw that craig was observing them both closely. page was a typical, breezy westerner, who had first drifted to new york as a mining promoter. prom that he had gone into selling ranches, and, by natural stages, into the promotion of almost anything in the universe. sugar being at the time uppermost in the mind of the "street," page was naturally to be found crammed with facts about that staple. one could not help being interested in studying a man of his type, as long as one kept his grip on his pocket-book. for he was a veritable pied piper when it came to enticing dollars to follow him, and in his promotions he had the reputation of having amassed an impressive pile of dollars himself. no important change in the condition of barrios had taken place, except that he was a trifle more exhausted, and doctor scott administered a stimulant. kennedy, who was eager to take up the investigation of the case on the outside in the hope of discovering something that might be dignified into being a clue, excused himself, with a nod to anitra to follow into the hall. "i may look over the office?" craig ventured when we were alone with her. "surely," she replied, frankly, opening her handbag which was lying on a table near the door. "i have an equal right in the business with my brother. here are the keys. the office has been closed to-day." kennedy took the keys, promising to let her know the moment he discovered anything important, and we hurried directly down-town. the office of the barrios company was at the foot of wall street, where the business of importing touched on the financial district. from the window one could see freighters unloading their cargoes at the docks. in the other direction, capital to the billions was represented. but in all that interesting neighborhood nothing just at present could surpass the mystery of what had taken place in the lonely little office late the night before. kennedy passed the rail that shut the outer office off from a sort of reception space. he glanced about at the safe, the books, papers, and letter-files. it would take an accountant and an investigator days, perhaps weeks, to trace out anything in them, if indeed it were worth while at all. two glass doors opened at one end to two smaller private offices, one belonging evidently to sandoval, the other to barrios. what theory craig formed i could not guess, but as he tiptoed from the hall door, past the rail, to the door of jose's office, i could see that first of all he was trying to discover whether it was possible to enter the outer office and reach jose's door unseen and unheard by any one sitting at the desk inside. apparently it was easily possible, and he paused a moment to consider what good that knowledge might do. as he did so his eye rested on the floor. a few feet away stood one of the modern "sanitary" desks. in this case the legs of the desk raised the desk high enough from the floor so that one could at least see where the cleaning-woman had left a small pile of unsanitary dust near the wall. suddenly kennedy bent down and poked something out of the pile of dust. there on the floor was an empty shell of a cartridge. kennedy picked it up and looked at it curiously. what did it mean? i recalled that doctor scott had particularly said that barrios had not been wounded. still regarding the cartridge shell, kennedy sat down at the desk of barrios. looking for a piece of paper in which to wrap the shell, he pulled out the middle drawer of the desk. in a back corner was a package of letters, neatly tied. we glanced at them. the envelopes bore the name of jose barrios and were in the handwriting of a woman. some were postmarked cuba; others, later, new york. kennedy opened one of them. i could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment. i had expected that they were from eulalie sandoval. but they were signed by a name that we had not heard--teresa de leon! hastily kennedy read through the open letter. its tone seemed to be that of a threat. one sentence i recall was, "i would follow you anywhere--i'll make you want me." one after another kennedy ran through them. all were vague and veiled, as though the writer wished by some circumlocution to convey an idea that would not be apparent to some third, inquisitive party. what was back of it all? had jose been making love to another woman at the same time that he was engaged to eulalie sandoval? as far as the contents of the letters went there was nothing to show that he had done anything wrong. the mystery of the "other woman" only served to deepen the mystery of what little we already knew. craig dropped the letters into his pocket along with the shell, and walked around into the office of sandoval. i followed him. quickly he made a search, but it did not seem to net him anything. meanwhile i had been regarding a queer-looking instrument that stood on a flat table against one wall. it seemed to consist of a standard on each end of which was fastened a disk, besides several other arrangements the purpose of which i had not the slightest idea. between the two ends rested a glass tube of some liquid. at one end was a lamp; the other was fitted with an eyepiece like a telescope. beside the instrument on the table lay some more glass-capped tubes and strewn about were samples of raw sugar. "it is a saccharimeter," explained kennedy, also looking at it, "an instrument used to detect the amount of sugar held in solution, a form of the polariscope. we won't go into the science of it now. it's rather abstruse." he was about to turn back into the outer office when an idea seemed to occur to him. he took the cartridge from his pocket and carefully scraped off what he could of the powder that still adhered to the outer rim. it was just a bit, but he dissolved it in some liquid from a bottle on the table, filled one of the clean glass tubes, capped the open end, and placed this tube in the saccharimeter where the first one i noticed had been. carefully he lighted the lamp, then squinted through the eyepiece at the tube of liquid containing what he had derived from the cartridge. he made some adjustments, and as he did so his face indicated that at last he began to see something dimly. the saccharimeter had opened the first rift in the haze that surrounded the case. "i think i know what we have here," he said, briefly, rising and placing the tube and its contents in his pocket with the other things he had discovered. "of course it is only a hint. this instrument won't tell me finally. but it is worth following up." with a final glance about to make sure that we had overlooked nothing, kennedy closed and locked the outside door. "i'm going directly up to the laboratory, walter," decided kennedy. "meanwhile you can help me very much if you will look up this teresa de leon. i noticed that the new york letters were written on the stationery of the pan-america hotel. get what you can. i leave it to you. and if you can find out anything about the others, so much the better. i'll see you as soon as you finish." it was rather a large contract. if the story had reached the newspaper stage, i should have known how to go about it. for there is no detective agency in the world like the star, and even on the slender basis that we had, with a flock of reporters deployed at every point in the city, with telephones, wires, and cables busily engaged, i might have gathered priceless information in a few hours. but, as it was, whatever was to be got must be got by me alone. i found teresa de leon registered at the pan-america, as craig had surmised. such inquiries as i was able to make about the hotel did not show a trace of reason for believing that jose barrios had been numbered among her visitors. while that proved nothing as to the relations of the two, it was at least reassuring as far as anitra and eulalie were concerned, and, after all, as in such cases, this was their story. not having been able to learn much about the lady, i decided finally to send up my card, and to my satisfaction she sent back word that she would receive me in the parlor of the hotel. teresa de leon proved to be a really striking type of latin-american beauty. she was no longer young, but there was an elusiveness about her personality that made a more fascinating study than youth. i felt that with such a woman directness might be more of a surprise than subtlety. "i suppose you know that senor barrios is very seriously ill?" i ventured, in answer to her inquiring gaze that played from my card to my face. for a fleeting instant she looked startled. yet she betrayed nothing as to whether it was fear or surprise. "i have called his office several times," she replied, "but no one answered. even senor sandoval was not there." i felt that she was countering as cleverly as i might lead. "then you know mr. sandoval also?" i asked, adding, "and mr. page?" "i have known senor barrios a long time in cuba," she answered, "and the others, too--here." there was something evasive about her answers. she was trying to say neither too much nor too little. she left one in doubt whether she was trying to shield herself or to involve another. though we chatted several minutes, i could gain nothing that would lead me to judge how intimately she knew barrios. except that she knew sandoval and page, her conversation might have been a replica of the letters we had discovered. even when she hinted politely, but finally, that the talk was over she left me in doubt even whether she was an adventuress. the woman was an enigma. had revenge or jealousy brought her to new york, or was she merely a tool in the hands of another? i was not ready to return to kennedy merely with another unanswered question, and i determined to stop again at the hotel where barrios and his sister lived, in the hope of picking up something there. the clerk at the desk told me that no one had called since we had been there, adding: "except the tall gentleman, who came back. i think senorita barrios came down and met him in the tea-room." wondering whether it was page or sandoval the clerk meant, i sauntered down the corridor past the door of the tea-room. it was page with whom anitra was talking. there was no way in which i could hear what was said, although page was very earnest and anitra showed plainly that she was anxious to return to the sick-room up-stairs. as i watched, i took good care that i should not be seen. it was well that i did, for once when i looked about i saw that some one else in another doorway was watching them, too, so intently that he did not see me. it was sandoval. jealousy of page was written in every line of his face. studying the three, while i could not escape the rivalry of the two men, i was unable to see now or recollect anything that had happened which would convey even an inkling of her feelings toward them. yet i was convinced that that way lay a problem quite as important as relations between the other triangle of eulalie, teresa, and barrios. i was not psychologist enough to deal with either triangle. there was something that distinctly called for the higher mathematics of kennedy. determined not to return to him entirely empty-mouthed, i thought it would be a good opportunity to see eulalie alone, and hurried to the elevator, which whisked me up to the barrios apartment. doctor scott had not left his patient, though he seemed to realize that eulalie was a most efficient nurse. "no change," whispered the doctor, "except that he is reaching a crisis." interested as i was in the patient, it had been for the purpose of seeing eulalie that i had come, and i was glad when doctor scott left us a moment. "has mr. kennedy found out anything yet?" she asked, in a tremulous whisper. "i think he is on the right track now," i encouraged. "has anything happened here? remember--it is quite as important that you should tell him all as it is for him to tell you." she looked at me a moment, then drew from a fold of her waist a yellow paper. it was a telegram. i took it and read: beware of teresa de leon, hotel pan-america. a friend. "you know her?" i asked, folding the telegram, but not returning it. eulalie looked at me frankly and shook her head. "i have no idea who she is." "or of who sent the telegram?" "none at all." "when did you receive it?" "only a few minutes ago." here was another mystery. who had sent the anonymous telegram to eulalie so soon after it had been evident that kennedy had entered the case? what was its purpose? "i may keep this?" i asked, indicating the telegram. "i was about to send it to professor kennedy," she replied. "oh, i hope he will find something won't you go to him and tell him to hurry?" i needed no urging, not only for her sake, but also because i did not wish to be seen or to have the receipt of the telegram by kennedy known so soon. in the hotel i stopped only long enough to see that anitra was now hurrying toward the elevator, eager to get back to her brother and oblivious to every one around. what had become of page and the sinister watcher whom he had not seen i did not know, nor did i have time to find out. a few moments later i rejoined kennedy at the laboratory. he was still immersed in work, and, scarcely stopping, nodded to me to tell what i had discovered. he listened with interest until i came to the receipt of the anonymous telegram. "did you get it?" he asked, eagerly. he almost seized it from my hands as i pulled it out of my pocket and studied it intently. "strange," he muttered. "any of them might have sent it." "have you discovered anything?" i asked, for i had been watching him, consumed by curiosity, as i told my story. "do you know yet how the thing was done?" "i think i do," he replied, abstractedly. "how was it?" i prompted, for his mind was now on the telegram. "a poison-gas pistol," he resumed, coming back to the work he had just been doing. "instead of bullets, this pistol used cartridges charged with some deadly powder. it might have been something like the anesthetic pistol devised by the police authorities in paris some years ago when the motor bandits were operating." "but who could have used it?" i asked. kennedy did not answer directly. either he was not quite sure yet or did not feel that the time was ripe to hazard a theory. "in this case," he continued, after a moment's thought, "i shouldn't be surprised if even the wielder of the pistol probably wore a mask, doubly effective, for disguise and to protect the wielder from the fumes that were to overcome the victim." "you have no idea who it was?" i reiterated. before kennedy could answer there came a violent ring at the laboratory bell, and i hurried to the door. it was one of the bell-boys from the hotel where the barrioses had their apartment, with a message for kennedy. craig tore it open and read it hurriedly. "from doctor scott," he said, briefly, in answer to my anxious query. "barrios is dead." even though i had been prepared for the news by my last visit, death came as a shock, as it always does. i had felt all along that kennedy had been called in too late to do anything to save barrios, but i had been hoping against hope. but i knew that it was not too late to catch the criminal who had done the dastardly, heartless deed. a few hours and perhaps all clues might have been covered up. but there is always something that goes wrong with crime, always some point where murder cannot be covered up. i think if people could only be got to realize it, as my experience both on the star and with kennedy have impressed it on me, murder would become a lost art. without another word kennedy seized his hat and together we hurried to the hotel. we found anitra crying softly to herself, while near her sat eulalie, tearless, stunned by the blow, broken-hearted. in the realization of the tragedy everything had been forgotten, even the mysterious anonymous telegram signed, judas-like, "a friend." sandoval, we learned, had been there when the end came, and had now gone out to make what arrangements were necessary. i had nothing against the man, but i could not help feeling that, now that the business was all anitra's, might he not be the one to profit most by the death? the fact was that kennedy had expressed so little opinion on the case so far that i might be pardoned for suspecting any one--even teresa de leon, who must have seen jose slipping away from her in spite of her pursuit, whatever actuated it. it was while i was in the midst of these fruitless speculations that doctor scott beckoned us outside, and we withdrew quietly. "i don't know that there is anything more that i can do," he remarked, "but i promised senor sandoval that i would stay here until he came back. he begged me to, seems scarcely to know how to do enough to comfort his sister and senorita barrios." i listened to the doctor keenly. was it possible that sandoval had one of those jekyll-hyde natures which seem to be so common in some of us? had his better nature yielded to his worse? to my mind that has often been an explanation of crime, never an adequate defense. kennedy was about to say something when the elevator door down the hall opened. i expected that it was sandoval returning, but it was burton page. "they told me you were here," he said, greeting us. "i have been looking all over for you, down at your laboratory and at your apartment. would you mind stepping down around the bend in the hall?" we excused ourselves from doctor scott, wondering what page had to reveal. "i knew sandoval had not returned," he began as soon as we were out of ear-shot of the doctor, "and i don't want to see him--again--not after what happened this afternoon. the man is crazy." we had reached an alcove and sank down into a soft settee. "why, what was that?" i asked, recalling the look of hate on the man's face as he had watched page talking to anitra in the tea-room. "i'm giving you this for what it may be worth," began page, turning from me to kennedy. "down in the lobby this afternoon, after you had been gone some time, i happened to run into sandoval. he almost seized hold of me. 'you have been at the office,' he said. 'you've been rummaging around there.' well, i denied it flatly. 'who took those letters?' he shot back at me. all i could do was to look at him. 'i don't know about any letters. what letters?' i asked. oh, he's a queer fellow all right. i thought he was going to kill me by the black look he gave me. he cooled down a bit, but i didn't wait for any apology. the best thing to do with these hot-headed people is to cut out and let them alone." "how do you account for his strange actions?" asked kennedy. "have you ever heard anything more that he did?" page shrugged his shoulders as if in doubt whether to say anything, then decided quickly. "the other day i heard barrios and sandoval in the office. they were quite excited. barrios was talking loudly. i didn't know at first what it was all about. but i soon found out. sandoval had gone to him, as the head of the family, following their custom, i believe, to ask whether he might seek to win anitra." "have you ever heard of teresa de leon?" interrupted kennedy suddenly. page looked at him and hesitated. "there's some scandal, there, i'm afraid," he nodded, combining his answers. "i heard sandoval say something about her to barrios that day--warn him against something. that was when the argument was heated. it seemed to make barrios angry. sandoval said something about barrios refusing to let him court anitra while at the same time barrios was engaged to eulalie. barrios retorted that the cases were different. he said he had decided that anitra was going to marry an american millionaire." there could be no doubt about how page himself interpreted the remark. it was evident that he took it to mean himself. "sandoval had warned against this de leon?" asked kennedy, evidently having in mind the anonymous telegram. "something--i don't know what it was all about," returned page, then added, in a burst of confidence: "i never heard of the lady until she came to new york and introduced herself to me. for a time she was interesting. but i'm too old for that sort of thing. besides, she always impressed me as though she had some ulterior motive, as though she was trying to get at something through me. i cut it all out." kennedy nodded, but for a moment said nothing. "i think i'll be getting out," remarked page, with a half smile. "i don't want a knife in the back. i thought you ought to know all this, though. and if i hear anything else i'll let you know." kennedy thanked him and together we rode down in the next elevator, parting with page at the hotel entrance. it was still early in the evening, and kennedy had no intention now of wasting a moment. he beckoned for a cab and directed the man to drive immediately to the pan-america. this time teresa de leon was plainly prepared for a visit, though i am not sure that she was prepared to receive two visitors. "i believe you were acquainted with senior barrios, who died to-night?" opened kennedy, after i had introduced him. "he was acquainted with me," she corrected, with a purr in her voice that suggested claws. "you were not married to him," shot out kennedy; then before she could reply, "nor even engaged." "he had known me a long time. we were intimate--" "friends," interrupted kennedy, leaving no doubt as to the meaning of his emphasis. she colored. it was evident that, at least to her, it was more than friendship. "senor sandoval says," romanced kennedy, in true detective style, "that you wrote--" it was her turn to interrupt. "if senor sandoval says anything against me, he tells what is not--the truth." in spite of kennedy's grilling she was still mistress of herself. "you introduced yourself to burton page, and--" "you had better remember your own proverb," she retorted. "don't believe anything you hear and only half you see." kennedy snapped down the yellow telegram before her. it was a dramatic moment. the woman did not flinch at the anonymous implication. straight into kennedy's eyes she shot a penetrating glance. "watch both of them," she replied, shortly, then turned and deliberately swept out of the hotel parlor as though daring us to go as far as we cared. "i think we have started forces working for us," remarked kennedy, coolly consulting his watch. "for the present at least let us retire to the laboratory. some one will make a move. my game is to play one against the other--until the real one breaks." we had scarcely switched on the lights and kennedy was checking over the results he had obtained during his afternoon's investigations, when the door was flung open and a man dashed in on us unexpectedly. it was sandoval, and as he advanced furiously at kennedy i more than feared that page's idea was correct. "it was you, kennedy," he hissed, "who took those letters from jose's desk. it is you--or page back of you--who are trying to connect me with that woman, de leon. but let me tell you--" a sharp click back of sandoval caused him to cut short the remark and look about apprehensively. kennedy's finger, sliding along the edge of the laboratory table, had merely found an electric button by which he could snap the lock on the door. "we are two to one," returned kennedy, nonchalantly. "that was nothing but the lock on the door closing. mr. jameson has a revolver in the top drawer of his desk over there. you will pardon me if i do a little telephoning--through the central office of the detective bureau? some of our friends may not be overanxious to come here, and it may be necessary to compel their attendance." sandoval subsided into a sullen silence as kennedy made arrangements to have burton page, anitra, eulalie, and teresa de leon hurried to us at once. there was nothing for me to do but watch sandoval as kennedy prepared a little instrument with a scale and dial upon which rested an indicator resembling a watch hand, something like the new horizontal clocks which have only one hand to register seconds, minutes, and hours. in them, like a thermometer held sidewise, the hand moves along from zero to twenty-four. in this instrument a little needle did the same thing. pairs of little wire-like strings ran to the instrument. kennedy had finished adjusting another instrument which was much like the saccharimeter, only more complicated, when the racing of an engine outside announced the arrival of the party in one of the police department cars. between us, craig and i lost no time in disposing the visitors so that each was in possession of a pair of the wire-like strings, and then disdaining to explain why he had gathered them together so unceremoniously, kennedy turned and finished adjusting the other apparatus. "most people regard light, so abundant, so necessary, so free as a matter of course," he remarked, contemplatively. "not one person in ten thousand ever thinks of its mysterious nature or ever attempts to investigate it. in fact, most of us are in utter darkness as to light." he paused, tapped the machine and went on, "this is a polarimeter--a simple polariscope--a step beyond the saccharimeter," he explained, with a nod at sandoval. "it detects differences of structure in substances not visible in ordinary light. "light is polarized in several ways--by reflection, by transmission, but most commonly through what i have here, a prism of calcite, or iceland spar, commonly called a nicol prism. light fully polarized consists of vibrations transverse to the direction of the ray, all in one plane. ordinary light has transverse vibrations in all planes. certain substances, due to their molecular structure, are transparent to vibrations in one plane, but opaque to those at right angles. "here we have," he explained, tapping the parts in order, "a source of light, passing in through this aperture, here a nicol polarizer, next a liquid to be examined in a glass-capped tube; here on this other side an arrangement of quartz plates with rotary power which i will explain in a moment, next an analyzer, and finally the aperture for the eye of an observer." kennedy adjusted the glass tube containing the liquid which bore the substance scraped from the cartridge--he had picked up in the office of jose. "look through the eyepiece, walter," he directed. the field appeared halved. he made an adjustment and at once the field of vision appeared wholly the same tint. when he removed the tube it was dark. "if a liquid has not what we call rotary power both halves of the double disk appear of the same tint," he explained. "if it has rotary power, the halves appear of different tints and the degree of rotation is measured by the alteration of thickness of this double quartz plate necessary to counteract it. it is, as i told mr. jameson early to-day, a rather abstruse subject, this of polarized light. i shall not bore you with it, but i think you will see in a moment why it is necessary, perhaps why some one who knew thought it would never be used. "what i am getting at now is that some substances with the same chemical formula rotate polarized light to the right, are dextro-rotary, as, for instance, what is known as dextrose. others rotate it to the left, are levo-rotary, as the substance called levose. both of them are glucose. so there are substances which give the same chemical reactions which can only be distinguished by their being left or right rotary." craig took a bit of crystalline powder and dissolved it in ether. then he added some strong sulphuric acid. the liquid turned yellow, then slowly a bright scarlet. beside the first he repeated the operation with another similar-looking powder, with the identical result. "both of those," he remarked, holding up the vials, "were samples of pure veratrine, but obtained from different sources. you see the brilliant reaction--unmistakable. but it makes all the difference in the world in this case what was the source of the veratrine. it may mean the guilt or innocence of one of you." he paused, to let the significance of his remark sink in. "veratrine," he resumed, "is a form of hellebore, known to gardeners for its fatal effect on insects. there are white and green hellebore, veratrum alba and veratrum viride. it is the pure alkaloid, or rather one of them, that we have to deal with here--veratrine. "there are various sources of veratrine. for instance, there is the veratrine that may be derived from the sabadilla seeds which grow in the west indies and mexico. it is used, i am informed, by the germans in their lachrymatory and asphyxiating bombs." the mention of the west indies brought, like a flash, to my mind sandoval and senorita de leon. "then, too," continued kennedy, "there is a plant out in our own western country, of which you may have heard, known as the death camas, very fatal to cattle when they eat it. the active principle in this is also veratrine." i began to see what kennedy was driving at. if it were veratrine derived from death camas it would point toward page. "abderhalden, the great german physiological chemist, has discovered that substances that once get into the blood produce specific ferments. not long ago, in a case, i showed it by the use of dialyzing membranes. but abderhalden has found that the polariscope can show it also. and in this case only the polariscope can show what chemistry cannot show when we reach the point of testing senor barrios's blood--if that becomes necessary." it was plain that kennedy was confident. "there are other sources of drugs of the nature used in this case to asphyxiate and kill, but the active principle of all is veratrine. the point is, veratrine from what source? the sabadilla is dextro-rotary; the death camas is levo-rotary. which is it here?" as i tried to figure out the ramifications of the case, i could see that it was a cruel situation for one or the other of the girls. was one of her lovers the murderer of anitra's brother? or was her own brother the murderer of eulalie's lover? i looked at the faces before me, now tensely watching kennedy, forgetful of the wire-like strings which they held in their hands. i studied teresa de leon intently for a while. she was still the enigma which she had been the first time i saw her. kennedy paused long enough to look through the eyepiece again as if to reassure himself finally that he was right. there was a tantalizing suspense as we waited for the verdict of science on this intensely human tragedy. then he turned to the queer instrument over which the needle-hand was moving. "though some scientists would call this merely a sensitive form of galvanometer," he remarked, "it is, to me, more than that. it registers feelings, emotions. it has been registering your own every moment that i have been talking. "but most of all it registers the grand passion. i might even call it a love meter. love might seem to be a subject which could not be investigated. but even love can be attributed to electrical forces, or, perhaps better, is expressed by the generation of an electric current, as though the attraction between men and women were the giving off of electrons or radiations of one to the other. i have seen this galvanometer stationary during the ordinary meeting of men and women, yet exhibit all sorts of strange vibrations when true lovers meet." not used to kennedy's peculiar methods, they were now on guard, ignorant of the fact that that alone was sufficient to corroborate unescapably any evidence they had already given of their feelings toward each other. kennedy passed lightly over the torn and bleeding heart of eulalie. but, much as he disliked to do so, he could not so quickly pass anitra. in spite of her grief, i could see that she was striving to control herself. a quick blush suffused her face and her breath came and went faster. "this record," went on kennedy, lowering his voice, "tells me that two men are in love with anitra barrios. i will not say which exhibits the deeper, truer passion. you shall see for yourself in a moment. but, more than that, it tells me which of the two she cares for most--a secret her heart would never permit her lips to disclose. nor will i disclose it. "one of them, with supreme egotism, was so sure that he would win her heart that he plotted this murder of her brother so that she would have the whole estate to bring to him--a terrible price for a dowry. my love meter tells me, however, that anitra has something to say about it yet. she does not love this man. "as for teresa de leon, it was jealousy that impelled her to follow jose barrios from cuba to new york. the murderer, in his scheming, knew it, saw a chance to use her, to encourage her, perhaps throw suspicion on her, if necessary. when i came uncomfortably close to him he even sent an anonymous telegram that might point toward her. it was sent by the same person who stole in barrios's office and shot him with an asphyxiating pistol which discharged a fatal quantity of pure veratrine full at him. "my love meter, in registering hidden emotions, supplements what the polarimeter tells me. it was the levo-rotary veratrine of the fatal death camas which you used, page," concluded craig, as again the electric attachment clicked shut the lock on the laboratory door. viii the vital principle "that's the handwriting of a woman--a jealous woman," remarked kennedy, handing to me a dainty note on plain paper which had come in the morning mail. i did not stop to study the writing, for the contents of the letter were more fascinating than even kennedy's new science of graphology. you don't know me [the note read], but i know of your work of scientific investigation. let me inform you of something that ought to interest you. in the forum apartments you will find that there is some strange disease affecting the wardlaw family. it is a queer disease of the nerves. one is dead. others are dying. look into it. a friend. as i read it i asked myself vainly what it could mean. there was no direct accusation against any one, yet the implication was plain. a woman had been moved by one of the primal passions to betray--some one. i looked up from the note on the table at craig. he was still studying the handwriting. "it's that peculiar vertical, angular hand affected by many women," he commented, half to himself. "even at a glance you can see that it's written hastily, as if under the stress of excitement and sudden resolution. you'll notice how those capitals--" the laboratory door opened, interrupting him. "hello, kennedy," greeted doctor leslie, our friend, the coroner's physician, who had recently been appointed health commissioner of the city. it was the first time we had seen him since the appointment and we hastened to congratulate him. he thanked us absently, and it was evident that there was something on his mind, some problem which, in his new office, he felt that he must solve if for no other purpose than to justify his reputation. craig said nothing, preferring to let the commissioner come to the point in his own way. "do you know, kennedy," he said, at length, turning in his chair and facing us, "i believe we have found one of the strangest cases in the history of the department." the commissioner paused, then went on, quickly, "it looks as if it were nothing less than an epidemic of beriberi--not on a ship coming into port as so often happens, but actually in the heart of the city." "beriberi--in new york?" queried craig, incredulously. "it looks like it," reiterated leslie, "in the family of a doctor wardlaw, up-town here, in the forum--" kennedy had already shoved over the letter he had just received. leslie did not finish the sentence, but read the note in amazement. "what are the symptoms?" inquired craig. "what makes you think it is beriberi, of all things?" "because they show the symptoms of beriberi," persisted leslie, doggedly. "you know what they are like. if you care to go into the matter i think i can convince you." the commissioner was still holding the letter and gazing, puzzled, from it to us. it seemed as if he regarded it merely as confirming his own suspicions that something was wrong, even though it shed no real light on the matter. "how did you first hear of it?" prompted kennedy. leslie answered frankly. "it came to the attention of the department as the result of a reform i have inaugurated. when i went in office i found that many of the death certificates were faulty, and in the course of our investigations we ran across one that seemed to be most vaguely worded. i don't know yet whether it was ignorance--or something worse. but it started an inquiry. i can't say that i'm thoroughly satisfied with the amended certificate of the physician who attended mrs. marbury, the mother of doctor wardlaw's wife, who died about a week ago--doctor aitken." "then wardlaw didn't attend her himself?" asked kennedy. "oh no. he couldn't, under the circumstances, as i'll show you presently, aside from the medical ethics of the case. aitken was the family physician of the marburys." kennedy glanced at the note. "one is dead. others are dying," he read. "who are the others? who else is stricken?" "why," continued leslie, eager to unburden his story, "wardlaw himself has the marks of a nervous affection as plainly as the eye can see it. you know what it is in this disease, as though the nerves were wasting away. but he doesn't seem half as badly affected as his wife. they tell me maude marbury was quite a beauty once, and photographs i have seen prove it. she's a wreck now. and, of course, the old lady must have been the most seriously affected of them all." "who else is there in the household?" inquired kennedy, growing more and more interested. "well," answered leslie, slowly, "they've had a nurse for some time, natalie langdale. apparently she has escaped." "any servants?" "some by the day; only one regularly--a japanese, kato. he goes home at night, too. there's no evidence of the disease having affected him." i caught leslie's eye as he gave the last information. though i did not know much about beriberi, i had read of it, and knew that it was especially prevalent in the orient. i did not know what importance to attach to kato and his going home at night. "have you done any investigating yourself?" asked kennedy. leslie hesitated a moment, as though deprecating his own efforts in that line, though when he spoke i could see no reason why he should, except that it had so often happened that kennedy had seen the obvious which was hidden from most of those who consulted him. "yes," he replied, "i thought perhaps there might be some motive back of it all which i might discover. possibly it was old mrs. marbury's fortune--not a large one, but substantial. so it occurred to me that the will might show it. i have been to the surrogate." "and?" prompted kennedy, approvingly. "mrs. marbury's will has already been offered for probate. it directs, among other things, that twenty-five thousand dollars be given by her daughter, to whom she leaves the bulk of her fortune, to doctor aitken, who had been mr. marbury's physician and her own." leslie looked at us significantly, but kennedy made no comment. "would you like to go up there and see them?" urged the commissioner, anxious to get craig's final word on whether he would co-operate in the affair. "i certainly should," returned kennedy, heartily, folding up the letter which had first attracted his interest. "it looks as if there were more to this thing than a mere disease, however unusual." doctor leslie could not conceal his satisfaction, and without delaying a moment more than was necessary hurried us out into one of the department cars, which he had left waiting outside, and directed the driver to take us to the forum apartments, one of the newest and most fashionable on the drive. miss langdale met us at the door and admitted us into the apartment. she was a striking type of trained nurse, one of those who seem bubbling over with health and vivacity. she seemed solicitous of her patients and reluctant to have them disturbed, yet apparently not daring to refuse to admit doctor leslie. there was nothing in her solicitude, however, that one could take exception to. miss langdale conducted us softly down a hallway through the middle of the apartment, and i noted quickly how it was laid out. on one side we passed a handsomely furnished parlor and dining-room, opposite which were the kitchen and butler's pantry, and, farther along, a bedroom and the bath. on down the hall, on the right, was doctor wardlaw's study, or rather den, for it was more of a library than an office. the nurse led the way, and we entered. through the windows one caught a beautiful vista of the drive, the river, and the jersey shore. i gazed about curiously. around the room there were bookcases and cabinets, a desk, some easy-chairs, and in the corner a table on which were some of wardlaw's paraphernalia, for, although he was not a practising physician, he still specialized in his favorite branches of eye and ear surgery. miss langdale left us a moment, with a hasty excuse that she must prepare mrs. wardlaw for the unexpected visit. the preparation, however, did not take long, for a moment later maude wardlaw entered, supported by her nurse. her lips moved mechanically as she saw us, but we could not hear what she said. as she walked, i could see that she had a peculiar gait, as though she were always lifting her feet over small obstacles. her eyes, too, as she looked at us, had a strange squint, and now and then the muscles of her face twitched. she glanced from leslie to kennedy inquiringly, as leslie introduced us, implying that we were from his office, then dropped into the easy-chair. her breathing seemed to be labored and her heart action feeble, as the nurse propped her up comfortably. as mrs. wardlaw's hand rested on the arm of the chair i saw that there was a peculiar flexion of her wrist which reminded me of the so-called "wrist-drop" of which i had heard. it was almost as if the muscles of her hands and arms, feet and legs, were weak and wasting. once she had been beautiful, and even now, although she seemed to be a wreck of her former self, she had a sort of ethereal beauty that was very touching. "doctor is out--just now," she hesitated, in a tone that hinted at the loss of her voice. she turned appealingly to miss langdale. "oh," she murmured, "i feel so badly this morning--as if pins and needles were sticking in me--vague pains in all my limbs--" her voice sank to a whisper and only her lips moved feebly. one had only to see her to feel sympathy. it seemed almost cruel to intrude under the circumstances, yet it was absolutely necessary if craig were to accomplish anything. maude wardlaw, however, did not seem to comprehend the significance of our presence, and i wondered how kennedy would proceed. "i should like to see your japanese servant, kato," he began, directly, somewhat to my surprise, addressing himself rather to miss langdale than to mrs. wardlaw. the nurse nodded and left the room without a word, as though appreciating the anomalous position in which she was placed as temporary mistress of the household. a few moments later kato entered. he was a typical specimen of the suave oriental, and i eyed him keenly, for to me east was east and west was west, and i was frankly suspicious, especially as i saw no reason to be otherwise in kennedy's manner. i waited eagerly to see what craig would do. "sit here," directed kennedy, indicating a straight-backed chair, on which the japanese obediently sat. "now cross your knees." as kato complied, kennedy quickly brought his hand, held flat and palm upward, sharply against the jap's knee just below the kneecap. there was a quick reflex jerk of the leg below the knee in response. "quite natural," kennedy whispered, turning to leslie, who nodded. he dismissed kato without further questioning, having had an opportunity to observe whether he showed any of the symptoms that had appeared in the rest of the family. craig and the health commissioner exchanged a few words under their breath, then craig crossed the room to mrs. wardlaw. the entrance of kato had roused her momentarily and she had been watching what was going on. "it is a simple test," explained kennedy, indicating to miss langdale that he wished to repeat it on her patient. mrs. wardlaw's knee showed no reflex! as he turned to us, we could see that kennedy's face was lined deeply with thought, and he paced up and down the room once or twice, considering what he had observed. i could see that even this simple interview had greatly fatigued mrs. wardlaw. miss langdale said nothing, but it was plainly evident that she objected strongly to the strain on her patient's strength. "that will be sufficient," nodded craig, noticing the nurse. "thank you very much. i think you had better let mrs. wardlaw rest in her own room." on the nurse's arm mrs. wardlaw withdrew and i looked inquiringly from kennedy to doctor leslie. what was it that had made this beautiful woman such a wreck? it seemed almost as though the hand of fate had stretched out against one who had all to make her happy--wealth, youth, a beautiful home--for the sullen purpose of taking away what had been bestowed so bounteously. "it is polyneuritis, all right, leslie," craig agreed, the moment we were alone. "i think so," coincided leslie, with a nod. "it's the cause i can't get at. is it polyneuritis of beriberi--or something else?" kennedy did not reply immediately. "then there are other causes?" i inquired of leslie. "alcohol," he returned, briefly. "i don't think that figures in this instance. at least i've seen no evidence." "perhaps some drug?" i hazarded at a venture. leslie shrugged. "how about the food?" inquired craig. "have you made any attempt to examine it?" "i have," replied the commissioner. "when i came up here first i thought of that. i took samples of all the food that i could find in the ice-box, the kitchen, and the butler's pantry. i have the whole thing, labeled, and i have already started to test them out. i'll show you what i have done when we go down to the department laboratory." kennedy had been examining the books in the bookcase and now pulled out a medical dictionary. it opened readily to the heading, "polyneuritis--multiple neuritis." i bent over and read with him. in the disease, it seemed, the nerve fibers themselves in the small nerves broke down and the affection was motor, sensory, vasomotor, or endemic. all the symptoms described seemed to fit what i had observed in mrs. wardlaw. "invariably," the article went on, "it is the result of some toxic substance circulating in the blood. there is a polyneuritis psychosis, known as korsakoff's syndrome, characterized by disturbances of the memory of recent events and false reminiscences, the patient being restless and disorientated." i ran my finger down the page until i came to the causes. there were alcohol, lead, arsenic, bisulphide of carbon, diseases such as diabetes, diphtheria, typhoid, and finally, much to my excitement, was enumerated beriberi, with the added information, "or, as the japanese call it, kakke." i placed my finger on the passage and was about to say something about my suspicions of kato when we heard the sound of footsteps in the hall, and craig snapped the book shut, returning it hastily to the bookcase. it was miss langdale who had made her patient comfortable in bed and now returned to us. "who is this kato?" inquired craig, voicing what was in my own mind. "what do you know about him?" "just a young japanese from the mission downtown," replied the nurse, directly. "i don't suppose you know, but mrs. wardlaw used to be greatly interested in religious and social work among the japanese and chinese; would be yet, but," she added, significantly, "she is not strong enough. they employed him before i came here, about a year ago, i think." kennedy nodded, and was about to ask another question, when there was a slight noise out in the hall. thinking it might be kato himself, i sprang to the door. instead, i encountered a middle-aged man, who drew back in surprise at seeing me, a stranger. "oh, good morning, doctor aitken!" greeted miss langdale, in quite the casual manner of a nurse accustomed to the daily visit at about this hour. as for doctor aitken, he glanced from leslie, whom he knew, to kennedy, whom he did not know, with a very surprised look on his face. in fact, i got the impression that after he had been admitted he had paused a moment in the hall to listen to the strange voices in the wardlaw study. leslie nodded to him and introduced us, without quite knowing what to say or do, any more than doctor aitken. "a most incomprehensible case," ventured aitken to us. "i can't, for the life of me, make it out." the doctor showed his perplexity plainly, whether it was feigned or not. "i'm afraid she's not quite so well as usual," put in miss langdale, speaking to him, but in a manner that indicated that first of all she wished any blame for her patient's condition to attach to us and not to herself. doctor aitken pursed up his lips, bowed excusingly to us, and turned down the hall, followed by the nurse. as they passed on to mrs. wardlaw's room, i am sure they whispered about us. i was puzzled by doctor aitken. he seemed to be sincere, yet, under the circumstances, i felt that i must be suspicious of everybody and everything. alone again for a moment, kennedy turned his attention to the furniture of the room, and finally paused before a writing-desk in the corner. he tried it. it was not locked and he opened it. quickly he ran through a pile of papers carefully laid under a paper-weight at the back. a suppressed exclamation from him called my attention to something that he had discovered. there lay two documents, evidently recently drawn up. as we looked over the first, we saw that it was doctor wardlaw's will, in which he had left everything to his wife, although he was not an especially wealthy man. the other was the will of mrs. wardlaw. we devoured it hastily. in substance it was identical with the first, except that at the end she had added two clauses. in the first she had done just as her mother had directed. twenty-five thousand dollars had been left to doctor aitken. i glanced at kennedy, but he was reading on, taking the second clause. i read also. fifty thousand dollars was given to endow the new york japanese mission. immediately the thought of kato and what miss langdale had just told us flashed through my mind. a second time we heard the nurse's footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hall. craig closed the desk softly. "doctor aitken is ready to go," she announced. "is there anything more you wish to ask?" kennedy spoke a moment with the doctor as he passed out, but, aside from the information that mrs. wardlaw was, in his opinion, growing worse, the conversation added nothing to our meager store of information. "i suppose you attended mrs. marbury?" ventured kennedy of miss langdale, after the doctor had gone. "not all the time," she admitted. "before i came there was another nurse, a miss hackstaff." "what was the matter? wasn't she competent?" miss langdale avoided the question, as though it were a breach of professional etiquette to cast reflections on another nurse, although whether that was the real reason for her reticence did not appear. craig seemed to make a mental note of the fact. "have you seen anything--er--suspicious about this kato?" put in leslie, while kennedy frowned at the interruption. miss langdale answered quickly, "nothing." "doctor aitken has never expressed any suspicion?" pursued leslie. "oh no," she returned. "i think i would have known it if he had any. no, i've never heard him even hint at anything." it was evident that she wished us to know that she was in the confidence of the doctor. "i think we'd better be going," interrupted kennedy, hastily, not apparently pleased to have leslie break in in the investigation just at present. miss langdale accompanied us to the door, but before we reached it it was opened from the outside by a man who had once been and yet was handsome, although one could see that he had a certain appearance of having neglected himself. leslie nodded and introduced us. it was doctor wardlaw. as i studied his face i could see that, as leslie had already told us, it plainly bore the stigma of nervousness. "has doctor aitken been here?" he inquired, quickly, of the nurse. then, scarcely waiting for her even to nod, he added: "what did he say? is mrs. wardlaw any better?" miss langdale seemed to be endeavoring to make as optimistic a report as the truth permitted, but i fancied wardlaw read between the lines. as they talked it was evident that there was a sort of restraint between them. i wondered whether wardlaw might not have some lurking suspicion against aitken, or some one else. if he had, even in his nervousness he did not betray it. "i can't tell you how worried i am," he murmured, almost to himself. "what can this thing be?" he turned to us, and, although he had just been introduced, i am sure that our presence seemed to surprise him, for he went on talking to himself, "oh yes--let me see--oh yes, friends of doctor--er--leslie." i had been studying him and trying to recall what i had just read of beriberi and polyneuritis. there flashed over my mind the recollection of what had been called korsakoff's syndrome, in which one of the mental disturbances was the memory of recent events. did not this, i asked myself, indicate plainly enough that leslie might be right in his suspicions of beriberi? it was all the more apparent a moment later when, turning to miss langdale, wardlaw seemed almost instantly to forget our presence again. at any rate, his anxiety was easy to see. after a few minutes' chat during which craig observed wardlaw's symptoms, too, we excused ourselves, and the health commissioner undertook to conduct us to his office to show us what he had done so far. as for me, i could not get miss langdale out of my mind, and especially the mysterious letter to kennedy. what of it and what of its secret sender? none of us said much until, half an hour later, in the department laboratory, leslie began to recapitulate what he had already done in the case. "you asked whether i had examined the food," he remarked, pausing in a corner before several cages in which were a number of pigeons, separated and carefully tagged. with a wave of his hand at one group of cages he continued: "these fellows i have been feeding exclusively on samples of the various foods which i took from the wardlaw family when i first went up there. here, too, are charts showing what i have observed up to date. over there are the 'controls'--pigeons from the same group which have been fed regularly on the usual diet so that i can check my tests." kennedy fell to examining the pigeons carefully as well as the charts and records of feeding and results. none of the birds fed on what had been taken from the apartment looked well, though some were worse than others. "i want you to observe this fellow," pointed out leslie at last, singling out one cage. the pigeon in it was a pathetic figure. his eyes seemed dull and glazed. he paid little or no attention to us; even his food and water did not seem to interest him. instead of strutting about, he seemed to be positively wabbly on his feet. kennedy examined this one longer and more carefully than any of the rest. "there are certainly all the symptoms of beriberi, or rather, polyneuritis, in pigeons, with that bird," admitted craig, finally, looking up at leslie. the commissioner seemed to be gratified. "you know," he remarked, "beriberi itself is a common disease in the orient. there has been a good deal of study of it and the cause is now known to be the lack of something in the food, which in the orient is mostly rice. polishing the rice, which removes part of the outer coat, also takes away something that is necessary for life, which scientists now call 'vitamines.'" "i may take some of these samples to study myself?" interrupted kennedy, as though the story of vitamines was an old one to him. "by all means," agreed leslie. craig selected what he wanted, keeping each separate and marked, and excused himself, saying that he had some investigations of his own that he wished to make and would let leslie know the result as soon as he discovered anything. kennedy did not go back directly to the laboratory, however. instead, he went up-town and, to my surprise, stopped at one of the large breweries. what it was that he was after i could not imagine, but, after a conference with the manager, he obtained several quarts of brewer's yeast, which he had sent directly down to the laboratory. impatient though i was at this seeming neglect of the principal figures in the case, i knew, nevertheless, that kennedy had already schemed out his campaign and that whatever it was he had in mind was of first importance. back at last in his own laboratory, craig set to work on the brewer's yeast, deriving something from it by the plentiful use of a liquid labeled "lloyd's reagent," a solution of hydrous aluminum silicate. after working for some time, i saw that he had obtained a solid which he pressed into the form of little whitish tablets. he had by no means finished, but, noticing my impatience, he placed the three or four tablets in a little box and handed them to me. "you might take these over to leslie in the department laboratory, walter," he directed. "tell him to feed them to that wabbly-looking pigeon over there--and let me know the moment he observes any effect." glad of the chance to occupy myself, i hastened on the errand, and even presided over the first feeding of the bird. when i returned i found that kennedy had finished his work with the brewer's yeast and was now devoting himself to the study of the various samples of food which he had obtained from leslie. he was just finishing a test of the baking-powder when i entered, and his face showed plainly that he was puzzled by something that he had discovered. "what is it?" i asked. "have you found out anything?" "this seems to be almost plain sodium carbonate," he replied, mechanically. "and that indicates?" i prompted. "perhaps nothing, in itself," he went on, less abstractedly. "but the use of sodium carbonate and other things which i have discovered in other samples disengages carbon dioxide at the temperature of baking and cooking. if you'll look in that public-health report on my desk you'll see how the latest investigations have shown that bicarbonate of soda and a whole list of other things which liberate carbon dioxide destroy the vitamines leslie was talking about. in other words, taken altogether i should almost say there was evidence that a concerted effort was being made to affect the food--a result analogous to that of using polished rice as a staple diet--and producing beriberi, or, perhaps more accurately, polyneuritis. i can be sure of nothing yet, but--it's worth following up." "then you think kato--" "not too fast," cautioned craig. "remember, others had access to the kitchen, too." in spite of his hesitancy, i could think only of the two paragraphs we had read in mrs. wardlaw's will, and especially of the last. might not kato have been forced or enticed into a scheme that promised a safe return and practically no chance of discovery? what gruesome mystery had been unveiled by the anonymous letter which had first excited our curiosity? it was late in the afternoon that commissioner leslie called us up, much excited, to inform us that the drooping pigeon was already pecking at food and beginning to show some interest in life. kennedy seemed greatly gratified as he hung up the receiver. "almost dinner-time," he commented, with a glance at his watch. "i think we'll make another hurried visit to the wardlaw apartment." we had no trouble getting in, although as outsiders we were more tolerated than welcome. our excuse was that kennedy had some more questions which we wished to ask miss langdale. while we waited for her we sat, not in the study, but in the parlor. the folding-doors into the dining-room were closed, but across the hall we could tell by the sound when kato was in the kitchen and when he crossed the hall. once i heard him in the dining-room. before i knew it kennedy had hastily tiptoed across the hall and into the kitchen. he was gone only a couple of minutes, but it was long enough to place in the food that was being prepared, and in some unprepared, either the tablets he had made or a powder he had derived from them crushed up. when he returned i saw from his manner that the real purpose of the visit had been accomplished, although when miss langdale appeared he went through the form of questioning her, mostly on mrs. marbury's sickness and death. he did not learn anything that appeared to be important, but at least he covered up the reason for his visit. outside the apartment, kennedy paused a moment. "there's nothing to do now but await developments," he meditated. "meanwhile, there is no use for us to double up our time together. i have decided to watch kato to-night. suppose you shadow doctor aitken. perhaps we may get a line on something that way." the plan seemed admirable to me. in fact, i had been longing for some action of the sort all the afternoon, while kennedy had been engaged in the studies which he evidently deemed more important. accordingly, after dinner, we separated, kennedy going back to the forum apartments to wait until kato left for the night, while i walked farther up the drive to the address given in the directory as that of doctor aitken. it happened to be the time when the doctor had his office hours for patients, so that i was sure at least that he was at home when i took my station just down the street, carefully scrutinizing every one who entered and left his house. nothing happened, however, until the end of the hour during which he received office calls. as i glanced down the street i was glad that i had taken an inconspicuous post, for i could see miss langdale approaching. she was not in her nurse's uniform, but seemed to be off duty for an hour or two, and i must confess she was a striking figure, even in that neighborhood which was noted for its pretty and daintily gowned girls. almost before i knew it she had entered the english-basement entrance of doctor aitken's. i thought rapidly. what could be the purpose of her visit? above all, how was i, on the outside, to find out? i walked down past the house. but that did no good. in a quandary, i stopped. hesitation would get me nothing. suddenly an idea flashed through my mind. i turned in and rang the bell. "it's past the doctor's office hours," informed a servant who opened the door. "he sees no one after hours." "but," i lied, "i have an appointment. don't disturb him. i can wait." the waiting-room was empty, i had seen, and i was determined to get in at any cost. reluctantly the servant admitted me. for several moments i sat quietly alone, fearful that the doctor might open the double doors of his office and discover me. but nothing happened and i grew bolder. carefully i tiptoed to the door. it was of solid oak and practically impervious to sound. the doors fitted closely, too. still, by applying my ear, i could make out the sound of voices on the other side. i strained my ears both to catch a word now and then and to be sure that i might hear the approach of anybody outside. was aitken suspiciously interested in the pretty nurse--or was she suspiciously interested in him? suddenly their voices became a trifle more distinct. "then you think doctor wardlaw has it, too?" i heard her ask. i did not catch the exact reply, but it was in the affirmative. they were approaching the door. in a moment it would be opened. i waited to hear no more, but seized my hat and dashed for the entrance from the street just in time to escape observation. miss langdale came out shortly, the doctor accompanying her to the door, and i followed her back to the forum. what i had heard only added to the puzzle. why her anxiety to know whether wardlaw himself was affected? why aitken's solicitude in asserting that he was? were they working together, or were they really opposed? which might be using the other? my queries still unanswered, i returned to aitken's and waited about some time, but nothing happened, and finally i went on to our own apartment. it was very late when craig came in, but i was still awake and waiting for him. before i could ask him a question he was drawing from me what i had observed, listening attentively. evidently he considered it of great importance, though no remark of his betrayed what interpretation he put on the episode. "have you found anything?" i managed to ask, finally. "yes, indeed," he nodded, thoughtfully. "i shadowed kato from the forum. it must have been before miss langdale came out that he left. he lives down-town in a tenement-house. there's something queer about that jap." "i think there is," i agreed. "i don't like his looks." "but it wasn't he who interested me so much to-night," craig went on, ignoring my remark, "as a woman." "a woman?" i queried, in surprise. "a jap, too?" "no, a white woman, rather good-looking, too, with dark hair and eyes. she seemed to be waiting for him. afterward i made inquiries. she has been seen about there before." "who was she?" i asked, fancying perhaps miss langdale had made another visit while she was out, although from the time it did not seem possible. "i followed her to her house. her name is hackstaff--" "the first trained nurse!" i exclaimed. "miss hackstaff is an enigma," confessed kennedy. "at first i thought that perhaps she might be one of those women whom the oriental type fascinated, that she and kato might be plotting. then i have considered that perhaps her visits to kato may be merely to get information--that she may have an ax to grind. both kato and she will bear watching, and i have made arrangements to have it done. i've called on that young detective, chase, whom i've often used for the routine work of shadowing. there's nothing more that we can do now until to-morrow, so we might as well turn in." early the next day kennedy was again at work, both in his own laboratory and in that of the health department, making further studies of the food and the effect it had on the pigeons, as well as observing what changes were produced by the white tablets he had extracted from the yeast. it was early in the forenoon when the buzzer on the laboratory door sounded and i opened the door to admit chase in a high state of excitement. "what has happened?" asked craig, eagerly. "many things," reported the young detective, breathlessly. "to begin with, i followed miss hackstaff from her apartment this morning. she seemed to be worked up over something--perhaps had had a sleepless night. as nearly as i could make out she was going about aimlessly. finally, however, i found that she was getting into the neighborhood of doctor aitken and of the forum. well, when we got to the forum she stopped and waited in front of it--oh, i should say almost half an hour. i couldn't make out what it was she wanted, but at last i found out." he paused a moment, then raced on, without urging. "miss langdale came out--and you should have seen the hackstaff woman go for her." he drew in his breath sharply at the reminiscence. "i thought there was going to be a murder done--on riverside drive. miss langdale screamed and ran back into the apartment. there was a good deal of confusion. the hall-boys came to the rescue. in the excitement, i managed to slip into the elevator with her. no one seemed to think it strange then that an outsider should be interested. i went up with her--saw wardlaw, as she poured out the story. he's a queer one. is he right?" "why?" asked craig, indulgently. "he seems so nervous; things upset him so easily. yet, after we had taken care of miss langdale and matters had quieted down, i thought i might get some idea of the cause of the fracas and asked him if he knew of any reason. why, he looked at me kind of blankly, and i swear he acted as though he had almost forgotten it already. i tell you, he's not right." remembering our own experience, i glanced significantly at craig. "korsakoff's syndrome?" i queried, laconically. "another example of a mind confused even on recent events?" kennedy, however, was more interested in chase. "what did miss hackstaff do?" he asked. "i don't know. i missed her. when i got out again she was gone." "pick her up again," directed craig. "perhaps you'll get her at her place. and see, this time, if you can get what i asked you." "i'll try," returned chase, much pleased at the words of commendation which craig added as he left us again. on what errand chase had gone i could not guess, except that it had something to do with this strange woman who had so unexpectedly entered the case. nor was craig any more communicative. there were evidently many problems which only events could clear up even in his mind. though he did not say anything, i knew that he was as impatient as i was, and as leslie, too, who called up once or twice to learn whether he had discovered anything. there was nothing to do but wait. it was early in the afternoon that the telephone rang and i answered it. it was chase calling kennedy. i heard only half the conversation and there was not much of that, but i knew that something was about to happen. craig hastily summoned a cab, then in rapid succession called up doctor aitken and leslie, for whom we stopped as our driver shot us over to the forum apartments. there was no ceremony or unnecessary explanation about our presence, as kennedy entered and directed miss langdale to bring her patients into the little office-study of doctor wardlaw. miss langdale obeyed reluctantly. when she returned i felt that it was appreciable that a change had taken place. mrs. wardlaw, at least, was improved. she was still ill, but she seemed to take a more lively interest in what was going on about her. as for doctor wardlaw, however, i could not see that there had been any improvement in him. his nervousness had not abated. kato, whom kennedy summoned at the same time, preserved his usual imperturbable exterior. miss langdale, in spite of the incident of the morning, was quite as solicitous as ever of her charges. we had not long to wait for doctor aitken. he arrived, inquiring anxiously what had happened, although kennedy gave none of us any satisfaction immediately as to the cause of his quick action. aitken fidgeted uneasily, glancing from kennedy to leslie, then to miss langdale, and back to kennedy, without reading any explanation in the faces. i knew that craig was secretly taking his time both for its effect on those present and to give chase a chance. "our poisons and our drugs," he began, leisurely, at length, "are in many instances the close relatives of harmless compounds that represent the intermediate steps in the daily process of metabolism. there is much that i might say about protein poisons. however, that is not exactly what i want to talk about--at least first." he stopped to make sure that he had the attention of us all. as a matter of fact, his manner was such that he attracted even the vagrant interest of the wardlaws. "i do not know how much of his suspicions commissioner leslie has communicated to you," he resumed, "but i believe that you have all heard of the disease beriberi so common in the far east and known to the japanese as kakke. it is a form of polyneuritis and, as you doubtless know, is now known to be caused, at least in the orient, by the removal of the pericarp in the polishing of rice. our milling of flour is, in a minor degree, analogous. to be brief, the disease arises from the lack in diet of certain substances or bodies which modern scientists call vitamines. small quantities of these vital principles are absolutely essential to normal growth and health and even to life itself. they are nitrogenous compounds and their absence gives rise to a class of serious disorders in which the muscles surrender their store of nitrogen first. the nerves seems to be the preferred creditors, so to speak. they are affected only after the muscles begin to waste. it is an abstruse subject and it is not necessary for me to go deeper into it now." i controlled my own interest in order to watch those about me. kato, for one, was listening attentively, i saw. "in my studies of the diet of this household," continued kennedy, "i have found that substances have been used in preparing food which kill vitamines. in short, the food has been denatured. valuable elements, necessary elements, have been taken away." "i, sir, not always in kitchen, sir," interrupted kato, still deferential. "i not always know--" with a peremptory wave of his hand kennedy silenced the jap. "it has long been a question," he hurried on, "whether these vitamines are tangible bodies or just special arrangements of molecules. recently government investigators have discovered that they are bodies that can be isolated by a special process from the filtrate of brewer's yeast by lloyd's reagent. five grams of this"--he held up some of the tablets he had made--"for a sixty-kilogram person each day are sufficient. unknown to you, i have introduced some of this substance into the food already deficient in vitamines. i fancy that even now i can detect a change," he nodded toward mrs. wardlaw. there was a murmur of surprise in the room, but before craig could continue further the door opened and mrs. wardlaw uttered a nervous exclamation. there stood chase with a woman. i recognized her immediately from kennedy's description as miss hackstaff. chase walked deliberately over to kennedy and handed him something, while the nurse glanced calmly, almost with pity, at mrs. wardlaw, ignoring wardlaw, then fixing her gaze venomously on miss langdale. recalling the incident of the morning, i was ready to prevent, if necessary, a repetition now. neither moved. but it was a thrilling, if silent, drama as the two women glared at each other. kennedy was hastily comparing the anonymous note he had received with something chase had brought. "some one," he shot out, suddenly, looking up and facing us, "has, as i have intimated, been removing or destroying the vital principle in the food--these vitamines. clearly the purpose was to make this case look like an epidemic of beriberi, polyneuritis. that part has been clear to me for some time. it has been the source of this devilish plot which has been obscure. just a moment, kato, i will do the talking. my detective, chase, has been doing some shadowing for me, as well as some turning over of past history. he has found a woman, a nurse, more than a nurse, a secret lover, cast off in favor of another. miss hackstaff--you wrote that letter--it is your hand--for revenge--on miss langdale and--" "you shan't have him!" almost hissed helen hackstaff. "if i cannot--no one shall!" natalie langdale faced her, defiant. "you are a jealous, suspicious person," she cried. "doctor aitken knows--" "one moment," interrupted craig. "mrs. marbury is gone. mrs. wardlaw is weakened. yet all who are affected with nerve troubles are not necessarily suffering from polyneuritis. some one here has been dilettanting with death. it is of no use," he thundered, turning suddenly on a cowering figure. "you stood to win most, with the money and your unholy love. but miss hackstaff, cast off, has proved your nemesis. your nervousness is the nervousness not of polyneuritis, but of guilt, doctor wardlaw!" ix the rubber dagger "hypnotism can't begin to accomplish what karatoff claims. he's a fake, kennedy, a fake." professor leslie gaines of the department of experimental psychology at the university paced excitedly up and down craig's laboratory. "there have been complaints to the county medical society," he went on, without stopping, "and they have taken the case up and arranged a demonstration for this afternoon. i've been delegated to attend it and report." i fancied from his tone and manner that there was just a bit more than professional excitement involved. we did not know gaines intimately, though of course kennedy knew of him and he of kennedy. some years before, i recollected, he had married miss edith ashmore, whose family was quite prominent socially, and the marriage had attracted a great deal of attention at the time, for she had been a student in one of his courses when he was only an assistant professor. "who is karatoff, anyhow?" asked kennedy. "what is known about him?" "dr. galen karatoff--a russian, i believe," returned gaines. "he claims to be able to treat disease by hypnotism-suggestion, he calls it, though it is really something more than that. as nearly as i can make out it must almost amount to thought transference, telepathy, or some such thing. oh, he has a large following; in fact, some very well-known people in the smart set are going to him. why," he added, facing us, "edith--my wife--has become interested in his hypnotic clinics, as he calls them. i tell her it is more than half sham, but she won't believe it." gaines paused and it was evident that he hesitated over asking something. "when is the demonstration?" inquired kennedy, with unconcealed interest. the professor looked at his watch. "i'm going over there now; in fact, i'm just a bit late--only, i happened to think of you and it occurred to me that perhaps if you could add something to my report it might carry weight. would you like to come with me? really, i should think that it might interest you." so far kennedy had said little besides asking a question or two. i knew the symptoms. gaines need not have hesitated or urged him. it was just the thing that appealed to him. "how did mrs. gaines become interested in the thing?" queried craig, a moment later, outside, as we climbed into the car with the professor. "through an acquaintance who introduced her to karatoff and the rest. carita belleville, the dancer, you know?" kennedy glanced at me and i nodded that i had heard of her. it was only a few nights before that i had seen carita at one of the midnight revues, doing a dance which was described as the "hypnotic whirl," a wild abandon of grace and motion. carita belleville had burst like a meteor on the sky of the "great white way," blazing a gorgeous trail among the fixed stars of that gay firmament. she had even been "taken up" by society, or at least a certain coterie of it, had become much sought after to do exhibition dancing at social affairs, and now was well known in the amusement notes of the newspapers and at the fashionable restaurants. she had hosts of admirers and i had no doubt that mrs. gaines might well have fallen under the spell of her popularity. "what is miss belleville's interest in karatoff?" pursued craig, keenly. gaines shrugged his shoulders. "notoriety, perhaps," he replied. "it is a peculiar group that karatoff has gathered about him, they tell me." there was something unsatisfactory about the answer and i imagined that gaines meant purposely to leave it so as not to prejudice the case. somehow, i felt that there must be something risque in the doings of karatoff and his "patients." at any rate, it was only natural with anything that carita belleville was likely to be concerned with. there was little time for further questions, for our destination was not far down the drive from the university, and the car pulled up before one of the new handsome and ornate "studio apartments" up-town. we followed gaines into the building, and the hall-boy directed us to a suite on the first floor. a moment later we were admitted by karatoff himself to what had become known as his "hypnotic clinic," really a most artistically furnished studio. karatoff himself was a tall, dark-haired fellow, bearded, somewhat sallow. every feature of his remarkable face, however, was subordinate to a pair of wonderful, deep-set, piercing eyes. even as he spoke, greeting gaines on the rather ticklish mission he had come, and accepting us with a quick glance and nod, we could see instantly that he was, indeed, a fascinating fellow, every inch a mystic. his clinic, or, as i have said, studio, carried out well the impression of mysticism that one derived from the strange personality who presided over it. there were only two or three rooms in the apartment, one being the large room down the end of a very short hall to which he conducted us. it was darkened, necessarily, since it was on the first floor of the tall building, and the air seemed to be heavy with odors that suggested the orient. altogether there was a cultivated dreaminess about it that was no less exotic because studied. doctor karatoff paused at the door to introduce us, and we could see that we were undergoing a close scrutiny from the party who were assembled there. on a quaint stand tea was brewing and the whole assemblage had an atmosphere of bohemian camaraderie which, with the professions of karatoff, promised well that kennedy was not wasting time. i watched particularly the exchange of greetings between professor gaines and edith gaines, who was already there. neither of them seemed to be perfectly at ease, though they betrayed as little as they could. however, one could not help noticing that each was watching the other, naturally. edith gaines was a pretty little woman, petite, light of hair, dainty, the very type of woman who craved for and thrived on attention. here at least there seemed to be no lack of it. there was only one other woman in the room who attracted the men equally, carita belleville herself. carita was indeed a stunning woman, tall, slender, dark, with a wonderful pair of magnetic eyes. as i watched, i could see that both women were quite friendly with doctor karatoff--perhaps even rivals for his attentions. i saw gaines watching carita attentively, never in the mean time failing for long to lose sight of mrs. gaines. was he trying to estimate the relative popularity of the two in this strange group? if so, i failed to see any approval of either. introductions were now coming so fast that neither kennedy nor i had much opportunity except for the most cursory observation of the people. among the men, however, i noticed two especially who proved worth observation. one was armand marchant, well known as a broker, not so much for his professional doings as for his other activities. though successful, he was better known as one of those who desert wall street promptly at the hour of closing, to be found late in the afternoon at the tea dances up-town. another was cyril errol, a man of leisure, well known also in the club world. he had inherited an estate, small, perhaps, but ample to allow him to maintain appearances. errol impressed you as being one to whom the good things of the world appealed mightily, a hedonist, and, withal, very much attracted to and by the ladies. it was fortunate that the serving of tea enabled us to look about and get our bearings. in spite of the suppressed excitement and obvious restraint of the occasion, we were able to learn much over the tea-cups. errol seemed to vibrate between the group about mrs. gaines and that about miss belleville, welcome wherever he went, for he was what men commonly call a "good mixer." marchant, on the other hand, was almost always to be found not far from edith gaines. perhaps it was the more brilliant conversation that attracted him, for it ran on many subjects, but it was difficult to explain it so to my satisfaction. all of which i saw gaines duly noting, not for the report he had to make to the medical society, but for his own information. in fact, it was difficult to tell the precise degree of disapproval with which he regarded karatoff, errol, and marchant, in turn, as he noted the intimacy of edith gaines with them. i wished that we might observe them all when they did not know it, for i could not determine whether she was taking pleasure in piquing the professor or whether she was holding her admirers in leash in his presence. at any rate, i felt i need lay no claim to clairvoyance to predict the nature of the report that gaines would prepare. the conversation was at its height when karatoff detached himself from one of the groups and took a position in a corner of the room, alone. not a word was said by him, yet as if by magic the buzz of conversation ceased. karatoff looked about as though proud of the power of even his silence. whatever might be said of the man, at least his very presence seemed to command respect from his followers. i had expected that he would make some reference to gaines and ourselves and the purpose of the meeting, but he avoided the subject and, instead, chose to leap right into the middle of things. "so that there can be no question about what i am able to do," he began, "i wish each of you to write on a piece of paper what you would like to have me cause any one to do or say under hypnotism. you will please fold the paper tightly, covering the writing. i will read the paper to myself, still folded up, will hypnotize the subject, and will make the subject do whatever is desired. that will be preliminary to what i have to say later about my powers in hypnotic therapeutics." pieces of paper and little lead-pencils were distributed by an attendant and in the rustling silence that followed each cudgeled his brain for something that would put to the test the powers of karatoff. thinking, i looked about the room. near the speaker stood a table on which lay a curious collection of games and books, musical instruments, and other things that might suggest actions to be performed in the test. my eye wandered to a phonograph standing next the table. somehow, i could not get mrs. gaines and carita belleville out of my head. slowly i wrote, "have mrs. gaines pick out a record, play it on the phonograph, then let her do as she pleases." some moments elapsed while the others wrote. apparently they were trying to devise methods of testing doctor karatoff's mettle. then the papers were collected and deposited on the table beside him. apparently at random karatoff picked out one of the folded papers, then, seemingly without looking at it and certainly without unfolding it, as far as i could determine, he held it up to his forehead. it was an old trick, i knew. perhaps he had palmed a sponge wet with alcohol or some other liquid, had brushed it over the paper, making the writing visible through it, and drying out rapidly so as to leave the paper opaque again long before any of us saw it a second time. or was he really exercising some occult power? at any rate, he read it, or pretended to read it, at least. "i am asked to hypnotize mrs. gaines," he announced, dropping the paper unconcernedly on the table beside the other pile, as though this were mere child's play for his powers. it was something of a shock to realize that it was my paper he had chanced to pick up first, and i leaned forward eagerly, watching. mrs. gaines rose and every eye was riveted on her as karatoff placed her in an easy-chair before him. there was an expectant silence, as karatoff moved the chair so that she could concentrate her attention only on a bright silver globe suspended from the ceiling. the half-light, the heavy atmosphere, the quiet, assured manner of the chief actor in the scene, all combined to make hypnotization as nearly possible as circumstances could. karatoff moved before her, passing his hands with a peculiar motion before her eyes. it seemed an incredibly short time in which edith gaines yielded to the strange force which fascinated the group. "quite susceptible," murmured kennedy, beside me, engrossed in the operation. "it is my test," i whispered back, and he nodded. slowly edith gaines rose from the chair, faced us with unseeing eyes, except as karatoff directed. karatoff himself was a study. it seemed as if he had focused every ounce of his faculties on the accomplishment of the task in hand. slowly still the woman moved, as if in a dream walk, over toward the phonograph, reached into the cabinet beneath it and drew forth a book of records. karatoff faced us, as if to assure us that at that point he had resigned his control and was now letting her act for her subconscious self. her fingers passed over page after page until finally she stopped, drew forth the record, placed it on the machine, wound it, then placed the record on the revolving disk. my first surprise was quickly changed to gratification. she had picked out the music to the "hypnotic whirl." i bent forward, more intent. what would she do next? as she turned i could see, even in the dim light, a heightened color in her cheeks, as though the excitement of the catchy music had infected her. a moment later she was executing, and very creditably, too, an imitation of carita herself in the revue. what did it mean? was it that consciously or unconsciously she was taking the slender dancer as her model? the skill and knowledge that she put into the dance showed plainly. next to kennedy, i saw gaines leaning far forward, looking now at his wife, now at the little group. i followed his eyes. to my surprise, i saw marchant, his gaze riveted on edith gaines as if she had been the star performer in a play. evidently my chance request to karatoff had been builded better than i knew. i ran my gaze over the others. errol was no less engrossed than marchant. quickly i glanced at carita, wondering whether she might be gratified by the performance of a pupil. whether it was natural grace or real hypnotism in the "hypnotic whirl," i was surprised to see on carita's face something that looked strangely akin to jealousy. it was as though some other woman had usurped her prerogative. she leaned over to speak to errol with the easy familiarity of an old admirer. i could not hear what was said and perhaps it was inconsequential. in fact, it must have been the very inconsequentiality of his reply that piqued her. he glanced at marchant a moment, as if she had said something about him, then back at edith gaines. on his part, professor gaines was growing more and more furious. i had just about decided that the little drama in the audience was of far more importance and interest than even the dance, when the music ceased. karatoff approached, took mrs. gaines by the hand, led her back to the chair, and, at a word, she regained her normal consciousness. as she rose, still in a daze it seemed, it was quite evident that she had no waking realization of what had happened, for she walked back and sat down beside her husband, quite as though nothing had happened. as for me, i could not help wondering what had actually happened. what did it all mean? had mrs. gaines expressed her own self--or was it karatoff--or marchant--or errol? what was the part played by carita belleville? gaines did not betray anything to her, but their mutual attitude was eloquent. there was something of which he disapproved and she knew it, some lack of harmony. what was the cause? as for karatoff's exhibition, it was all truly remarkable, whether in his therapeutics the man was a faker or not. karatoff seemed to realize that he had made a hit. without giving any one a chance to question him, he reached down quickly and picked up another of the papers, repeating the process through which he had gone before. "mr. errol," he summoned, placing the second folded paper on the table with the first. errol rose and went forward and karatoff placed him in the chair as he had mrs. gaines. there seemed to be no hesitation, at least on the part of karatoff's followers, to being hypnotized. whatever it was written on the paper, the writer had evidently not trusted to chance, as i had, but had told specifically what to do. at the mute bidding of karatoff errol rose. we watched breathlessly. deliberately he walked across the room to the table, and, to the astonishment of all save one, picked up a rubber dagger, one of those with which children play, which was lying in the miscellaneous pile on the table. i had not noticed it, but some one's keen eye had, and evidently it had suggested a melodramatic request. quickly errol turned. if he had been a motion-picture actor, he could not have portrayed better the similitude of hate that was written on his face. a few strides and he had advanced toward our little audience, now keyed up to the highest pitch of excitement by the extraordinary exhibition. "of course," remarked karatoff, as at a word errol paused, still poising the dagger, "you know that under hypnotism in the psychological laboratory a patient has often struck at his 'enemy' with a rubber dagger, going through all the motions of real passion. now!" no word was said by karatoff to indicate to errol what it was that he was to do. but a gasp went up from some one as he took another step and it was evident that it was marchant whom he had singled out. for just a moment errol poised the rubber dagger over his "victim," as if gloating. it was dramatic, realistic. as errol paused, marchant smiled at the rest of us, a sickly smile, i thought, as though he would have said that the play was being carried too far. never for a moment did errol take from him the menacing look. it was only a moment in the play, yet it was so unexpected that it seemed ages. then, swiftly, down came the dagger on marchant's left side just over the breast, the rubber point bending pliantly as it descended. a sharp cry escaped marchant. i looked quickly. he had fallen forward, face down, on the floor. edith gaines screamed as we rushed to marchant and turned him over. for the moment, as kennedy, karatoff, and gaines bent over him and endeavored to loosen his collar and apply a restorative, consternation reigned in the little circle. i bent over, too, and looked first at marchant's flushed face, then at kennedy. marchant was dead! there was not a mark on him, apparently. only a moment before he had been one of us. we could look at one another only in amazement, tinged with fear. killed by a rubber dagger? was it possible? "call an ambulance--quick!" directed kennedy to me, though i knew that he knew it was of no use except as a matter of form. we stood about the prostrate form, stunned. in a few moments the police would be there. instinctively we looked at karatoff. plainly he was nervous and overwrought now. his voice shook as he brought errol out of the trance, and errol, dazed, uncomprehending, struggled to take in the horribly unreal tragedy which greeted his return to consciousness. "it--it was an accident," muttered karatoff, eagerly trying to justify himself, though trembling for once in his life. "arteriosclerosis, perhaps, hardening of the arteries, some weakness of the heart. i never--" he cut the words short as edith gaines reeled and fell into her husband's arms. she seemed completely prostrated by the shock. or was it weakness following the high mental tension of her own hypnotization? together we endeavored to revive her, waiting for the first flutter of her eyelids, which seemed an interminable time. errol in the mean time was pacing the floor like one in a dream. events had followed one another so fast in the confusion that i had only an unrelated series of impressions. it was not until a moment later that i realized the full import of the affair, when i saw kennedy standing near the table in the position karatoff had assumed, a strange look of perplexity on his face. slowly i realized what was the cause. the papers on which were written the requests for the exhibitions of karatoff's skill were gone! whatever was done must be done quickly, and kennedy looked about with a glance that missed nothing. before i could say a word about the papers he had crossed the room to where marchant had been standing in the little group about edith gaines as we entered. on a side-table stood the teacup from which he had been sipping. with his back to the rest, kennedy drew from his breast pocket a little emergency case he carried containing a few thin miniature glass tubes. quickly he poured the few drops of the dregs of the tea into one of the tubes, then into others tea from the other cups. again he looked at the face of marchant as though trying to read in the horrified smile that had petrified on it some mysterious secret hidden underneath. slowly the question was shaping in my mind, was it, as karatoff would have us believe, an accident? the clang of a bell outside threw us all into worse confusion, and a moment later, almost together, a white-coated surgeon and a blue-coated policeman burst into the room. it seemed almost no time, in the swirl of events, before the policeman was joined by a detective assigned by the central office to that district. "well, doctor," demanded the detective as he entered, "what's the verdict?" "arteriosclerosis, i think," replied the young surgeon. "they tell me there was some kind of hypnotic seance going on. one of them named errol struck at him with a rubber dagger, and--" "get out!" scoffed the central office man. "killed by a rubber dagger! say, what do you think we are? what did you find when you entered, sergeant?" the policeman handed the detective the rubber dagger which he had picked up, forgotten, on the floor where errol had dropped it when he came out from the hypnotization. the detective took it gingerly and suspiciously, with a growl. "i'll have the point of this analyzed. it may be--well--we won't say what may be. but i can tell you what is. you, doctor karatoff, or whatever your name is, and you, mr. errol, are under arrest. it's a good deal easier to take you now than it will be later. then if you can get a judge to release you, we'll at least know where you are." "this is outrageous, preposterous!" stormed karatoff. "can't help it," returned the officer, coolly. "why," exclaimed carita belleville, excitedly projecting herself before the two prisoners, "it's ridiculous! even the ambulance surgeon says it was arteriosclerosis, an accident. i--" "very well, madam," calmed the sergeant. "so much the better. they'll get out of our hands that much quicker. just at present it is my duty." errol was standing silent, his eyes averted from the hideous form on the floor, not by word or action betraying a feeling. the police moved to the door. weak and trembling still from the triple shock she had received, edith gaines leaned heavily on the arm of her husband, but it was, as nearly as i could make out, only for physical support. "i told you, edith, it was a dangerous business," i heard him mutter. "only i never contemplated that they'd carry it this far. now you see what such foolishness can lead to." weak though she was, she drew away and flashed a glance at him, resenting his man's "i-told-you-so" manner. the last i saw of them in the confusion was as they drove off in the car, still unreconciled. kennedy seemed well contented, for the present at least, to allow the police a free hand with errol and karatoff. as for me, mrs. gaines and carita belleville presented a perplexing problem, but i said nothing, for he was hurrying back now to his laboratory. at once he drew forth the little tube containing the few drops of tea and emptied a drop or two into a beaker of freshly distilled water as carefully as if the tea had been some elixir of life. as he was examining the contents of the beaker his face clouded with thought. "do you find anything?" i asked, eagerly. kennedy shook his head. "there's something wrong," he hazarded. "perhaps it's only fancy, but i am sure that there is something with a slight odor in the tea, something tea-like, but with a more bitter taste, something that would be nauseous if not concealed in the tea. there's more than tannin and sugar here." "then you think that some one present placed something in the tea?" i inquired, shuddering at the thought that we had run some unknown danger. "i can't just say, without further investigation of this and the other samples i took." "still, you have eliminated that ridiculous dagger theory," i ventured. "the police can never appreciate the part it played," craig answered, non-committally, laying out various chemicals preparatory to his exhaustive analysis. "i began to suspect something the moment i noticed that those notes which we all wrote were gone. when we find out about this tea we may find who took them. perhaps the mystery is not such a mystery after all, then." there seemed to be nothing that i could do, in the mean time, except to refrain from hindering kennedy in his investigations, and i decided to leave him at the laboratory while i devoted my time to watching what the police might by chance turn up, even if they should prove to be working on the wrong angle of the case. i soon found that they were showing energy, if nothing else. although it was so soon after the death of marchant, they had determined that there could not have been anything but rubber on the end of the toy dagger which had excited the doubts of the detective. as for the autopsy that was performed on marchant, it did, indeed, show that he was suffering from hardening of the arteries, due to his manner of living, as karatoff had asserted. indeed, the police succeeded in showing that it was just for that trouble that marchant was going to karatoff, which, to my mind, seemed quite sufficient to establish the therapeutic hypnotist as all that gaines had accused him of being. even to my lay mind the treatment of arteriosclerosis by mental healing seemed, to say the least, incongruous. yet the evidence against karatoff and errol was so flimsy that they had little trouble in getting released on bail, though, of course, it was fixed very high. my own inquiries among the other reporters on the star who might know something offered a more promising lead. i soon found that errol had none too savory a reputation. his manner of life had added nothing to his slender means, and there was a general impression among his fellow club-members that unfortunate investments had made serious inroads into the principal of his fortune. still, i hesitated to form even an opinion on gossip. quite unsatisfied with the result of my investigation, i could not restrain my impatience to get back to the laboratory to find out whether kennedy had made any progress in his tests of the tea. "if you had been five minutes earlier," he greeted me, "you would have been surprised to find a visitor." "a visitor?" i repeated. "who?" "carita belleville," he replied, enjoying my incredulity. "what could she want?" i asked, at length. "that's what i've been wondering," he agreed "her excuse was plausible. she said that she had just heard why i had come with gaines. i suppose it was half an hour that she spent endeavoring to convince me that karatoff and errol could not possibly have had any other connection than accidental with the death of marchant." "could it have been a word for them and half an hour for herself?" i queried, mystified. kennedy shrugged. "i can't say. at any rate, i must see both karatoff and errol, now that they are out. perhaps they did send her, thinking i might fall for her. she hinted pretty broadly at using my influence with gaines on his report. then, again, she may simply have been wondering how she herself stood." "have you found anything?" i asked, noticing that his laboratory table was piled high with its usual paraphernalia. "yes," he replied, laconically, taking a bottle of concentrated sulphuric acid and pouring a few drops in a beaker of slightly tinged water. the water turned slowly to a beautiful green. no sooner was the reaction complete than he took some bromine and added it. slowly again the water changed, this time from the green to a peculiar violet red. adding more water restored the green color. "that's the grandeau test," he nodded, with satisfaction. "i've tried the physiological test, too, with frogs from the biological department, and it shows the effect on the heart that i--" "what shows the effect?" i interrupted, somewhat impatiently. "oh, to be sure," he smiled. "i forgot i hadn't told you what i suspected. why, digitalis--foxglove, you know. i suppose it never occurred to the police that the rubber dagger might have covered up a peculiar poisoning? well, if they'll take the contents of the stomach, in alcohol, with a little water acidulated, strain off the filtrate and try it on a dog, they will see that its effect is the effect of digitalis. digitalis is an accumulative poison and a powerful stimulant of arterial walls, by experimental evidence an ideal drug for the purpose of increasing blood pressure. don't you see it?" he added, excitedly. "the rubber dagger was only a means to an end. some one who knew the weakness of marchant first placed digitalis in his tea. that was possible because of the taste of the tea. then, in the excitement of the act pantomimed by errol, marchant's disease carried him off, exactly as was to be expected under the circumstances. it was clever, diabolically clever. whoever did it destroyed the note in which the act was suggested and counted that no one would ever stop to search for a poison in the tangle of events." slowly but clearly i began to realize how certainly kennedy was reconstructing the strange case. but who was it? what was the motive back of this sinister murder that had been so carefully planned that no one would ever suspect a crime? i had hardly framed the queries when our telephone rang. it was the central office man. the detective had anticipated my own line of inquiry, only had gone much further with it. he had found a clear record of the business relations existing between errol and marchant. one episode consisted of a stock deal between them in which errol had invested in a stock which marchant was promoting and was known to be what brokers call "cats and dogs." that, i reasoned, must have been the basis of the gossip that errol had suffered financial losses that seriously impaired his little fortune. it was an important item and kennedy accepted it gladly, but said nothing of his own discovery. the time had not arrived yet to come out into the open. for a few moments after the talk with the detective kennedy seemed to be revolving the case, as though in doubt whether the new information cleared it up or added to the mystery. then he rose suddenly. "we must find karatoff," he announced. whatever might have been the connection of the hypnotist with this strange case, he was far too clever to betray himself by any such misstep as seeming to avoid inquiry. we found him easily at his studio apartment, nor did we have any difficulty in gaining admittance. he knew that he was watched and that frankness was his best weapon of defense. "of course," opened kennedy, "you know that investigation has shown that you were right in your diagnosis of the trouble with marchant. was it arteriosclerosis for which you were treating him?" "it would be unprofessional to discuss it," hastily parried karatoff, "but, since mr. marchant is now dead, i think i may say that it was. in fact, few persons, outside of those whom i have associated about me, realize to what a wonderful extent hypnotism may be carried in the treatment of disease. why, i have even had wonderful success with such disorders as diabetes mellitus. we are only on the threshold of understanding what a wonderful thing is the human mind in its effect on the material body." "but another patient might have known what marchant was being treated for?" interrupted kennedy, ignoring the defense of karatoff, which was proceeding along the stereotyped lines of such vagaries which seem never to be without followers. karatoff looked at him a moment in surprise. evidently he was doing some hasty mental calculation to determine what was craig's ulterior motive. and, in spite of his almost uncanny claims and performances, i could see that he was able to read kennedy's mind no whit better than myself. "i suppose so," he admitted. "no doctor was ever able to control his patients' tongues. sometimes they boast of their diseases." "especially if they are women?" hinted kennedy, watching the effect of the remark keenly. "i have just had the pleasure of a visit from carita belleville in my laboratory." "indeed?" returned karatoff, with difficulty restraining his curiosity. "miss belleville has been very kind in introducing me to some of her friends and acquaintances, and i flatter myself that i have been able to do them much good." "then she was not a patient?" pursued kennedy, studiously avoiding enlightening karatoff on the visit. "rather a friend," he replied, quickly. "it was she who introduced mr. errol." "they are quite intimate, i believe," put in kennedy at a chance. "really, i knew very little about it," karatoff avoided. "did she introduce mr. marchant?" "she introduced mrs. gaines, who introduced mr. marchant," the hypnotist replied, with apparent frankness. "you were treating mrs. gaines?" asked craig, again shifting the attack unexpectedly. "yes," admitted karatoff, stopping. "i imagine her trouble was more mental than physical," remarked kennedy, in a casual tone, as though feeling his way. karatoff looked up keenly, but was unable to read kennedy's face. "i think," he said, slowly, "that one trouble was that mrs. gaines liked the social life better than the simple life." "your clinic, mr. marchant, and the rest better than her husband and the social life at the university," amplified kennedy. "i think you are right. she had drifted away from her husband, and when a woman does that she has hosts of admirers--of a certain sort. i should say that mr. errol was the kind who would care more for the social life than the simple life, as you put it, too." i did not gather in what direction kennedy was tending, but it was evident that karatoff felt more at ease. was it because the quest seemed to be leading away from himself? "i had noticed something of the sort," he ventured. "i saw that they were alike in that respect, but, of course, mr. marchant was her friend." suddenly the implication flashed over me, but before i could say anything kennedy cut in, "then mr. errol might have been enacting under hypnotism what were really his own feelings and desires?" "i cannot say that," replied karatoff, seeking to dodge the issue. "but under the influence of suggestion i suppose it is true that an evil-minded person might suggest to another the commission of a crime, and the other, deprived of free will, might do it. the rubber dagger has often been used for sham murders. the possibility of actual murder cannot be denied. in this case, however, there can be no question that it was an unfortunate accident." "no question?" demanded kennedy, directly. if karatoff was concealing anything, he made good concealment. either to protect himself or another he showed no evidence of weakening his first theory of the case. "no question as far as i know," he reiterated. i wondered whether kennedy planned to enlighten him on the results of his laboratory tests, but was afraid to look at either for fear of betraying some hint. i was glad i did not. kennedy's next question carried him far afield from the subject. "did you know that the medical society were interested in you and your clinic before the demonstration before professor gaines was arranged?" "i suspected some one was interested," answered karatoff, quickly, "but i had no idea who it might be. as i think it over now, perhaps it was professor gaines who instigated the whole inquiry. he would most likely be interested. my work is so far in advance of any that the conservative psychologists do that he would naturally feel hostile, would he not?" "especially with the added personal motive of knowing that his wife was one of your patients, along with carita belleville, marchant, errol, and the rest," added kennedy. karatoff smiled. "i would not have said that myself. but since you have said it, i cannot help admitting its truth. don't you suppose i could predict the nature of any report he would make?" karatoff faced kennedy squarely. there was an air almost of triumph in his eyes. "i think i had better say no more, except under the advice of my lawyer," he remarked, finally. "when the police want me, they can find me here." quite evident to me now, as we went out of the studio, was the fact that karatoff considered himself a martyr, that he was not only the victim of an accident, but of persecution as well. "the fishing was good," remarked kennedy, tersely, as we reached the street. "now before i see errol i should like to see gaines again." i tried to reason it out as we walked along in silence. marchant had known edith gaines intimately. carita belleville had known errol as well. i recalled errol hovering about mrs. gaines at the tea and the incident during the seance when carita belleville had betrayed her annoyance over some remark by errol. the dancing by edith gaines had given a flash of the jealous nature of the woman. had it been interest in errol that had led her to visit the laboratory? kennedy was weaving a web about some one, i knew. but about whom? as we passed a corner, he paused, entered a drugstore and called up several numbers at a pay-station telephone booth. then we turned into the campus and proceeded rapidly toward the laboratory of the psychological department. gaines was there, sitting at his desk, writing, as we entered. "i'm glad to see you," he greeted, laying down his work. "i am just finishing the draft of my report on that karatoff affair. i have been trying to reach you by telephone to know whether you would add anything to it. is there anything new?" "yes," returned kennedy, "there is something new. i've just come from karatoff's and on the way i decided suddenly that it was time we did something. so i have called up, and the police will bring errol here, as well as miss belleville. karatoff will come--he won't dare stay away; and i also took the liberty of calling mrs. gaines." "to come here?" repeated gaines, in mild surprise. "all of them?" "yes. i hope you will pardon me for intruding, but i want to borrow some of your psychological laboratory apparatus, and i thought the easiest way would be to use it here rather than take it all over to my place and set it up again." "i'm sure everything is at your service," offered gaines. "it's a little unexpected, but if the others can stand the chaotic condition of the room, i guess we can." kennedy had been running his eye over the various instruments which gaines and his students used in their studies, and was now examining something in a corner on a little table. it was a peculiar affair, quite simple, but conveying to me no idea of its use. there seemed to be a cuff, a glass chamber full of water into which it fitted, tubes and wires that attached various dials and recording instruments to the chamber, and what looked like a chronograph. "that is my new plethysmograph," remarked gaines, noting with some satisfaction how kennedy had singled it out. "i've heard the students talk of it," returned kennedy. "it's an improved apparatus, walter, that records one's blood flow." i nodded politely and concealed my ignorance in a discreet silence, hoping that gaines would voluntarily enlighten us. "one of my students is preparing an exhaustive table," went on gaines, as i had hoped, "showing the effects on blood distribution of different stimuli--for instance, cold, heat, chloroform, arenalin, desire, disgust, fear; physical conditions, drugs, emotions--all sorts of things can be studied by this plethysmograph which can be set to record blood flow through the brain, the extremities, any part of the body. when the thing is charted i think we shall have opened up a new field." "certainly a very promising one for me," put in kennedy. "how has this machine been improved? i've seen the old ones, but this is the first time i've seen this. how does it work?" "well," explained gaines, with just a touch of pride, "you see, for studying blood flow in the extremities, i slip this cuff over my arm, we'll say. suppose it is the effect of pain i want to study. just jab that needle in my other arm. don't mind. it's in the interest of science. see, when i winced then, the plethysmograph recorded it. it smarts a bit and i'm trying to imagine it smarts worse. you'll see how pain affects blood flow." as he watched the indicator, kennedy asked one question after another about the working of the machine, and the manner in which the modern psychologist was studying every emotion. "by the way, walter," he interrupted, glancing at his watch, "call up and see if they've started with errol and the rest yet. don't stop, gaines. i must understand this thing before they get here. it's just the thing i want." "i should be glad to let you have it, then," replied gaines. "i think i'll need something new with these people," went on kennedy. "why, do you know what i've discovered?" "no, but i hope it's something i can add to my report?" "perhaps. we'll see. in the first place, i found that digitalis had been put in marchant's tea." "they'll be here directly," i reported from the telephone, hanging it up and joining them again. "it couldn't have been an accident, as karatoff said," went on kennedy, rapidly. "the drug increased the blood pressure of marchant, who was already suffering from hardening of the arteries. in short, it is my belief that the episode of the rubber dagger was deliberately planned, an elaborate scheme to get marchant out of the way. no one else seems to have noticed it, but those slips of paper on which we all wrote have disappeared. at the worst, it would look like an accident, karatoff would be blamed, and--" there was a noise outside as the car pulled up. "here, let me take this off before any of them see it," whispered gaines, removing the cuff, just as the door opened and errol and karatoff, carita belleville and edith gaines entered. before even a word of greeting passed, kennedy stepped forward. "it was not an accident," he repeated. "it was a deliberately planned, apparently safe means of revenge on marchant, the lover of mrs. gaines. without your new plethysmograph, gaines, you might have thrown it on an innocent person!" x the submarine mine "here's the bullet. what i want you to do, professor kennedy, is to catch the crank who fired it." capt. lansing marlowe, head of the new american shipbuilding trust, had summoned us in haste to the belleclaire and had met us in his suite with his daughter marjorie. only a glance was needed to see that it was she, far more than her father, who was worried. "you must catch him," she appealed. "father's life is in danger. oh, you simply must." i knew captain marlowe to be a proverbial fire-eater, but in this case, at least, he was no alarmist. for, on the table, as he spoke, he laid a real bullet. marjorie marlowe shuddered at the mere sight of it and glanced apprehensively at him as if to reassure herself. she was a tall, slender girl, scarcely out of her teens, whose face was one of those quite as striking for its character as its beauty. the death of her mother a few years before had placed on her much of the responsibility of the captain's household and with it a charm added to youth. more under the spell of her plea than even marlowe's vigorous urging, kennedy, without a word, picked up the bullet and examined it. it was one of the modern spitzer type, quite short, conical in shape, tapering gradually, with the center of gravity back near the base. "i suppose you know," went on the captain, eagerly, "that our company is getting ready to-morrow to launch the usona, the largest liner that has ever been built on this side of the water--the name is made up of the initials of the united states of north america. "just now," he added, enthusiastically, "is what i call the golden opportunity for american shipping. while england and germany are crippled, it's our chance to put the american flag on the sea as it was in the old days, and we're going to do it. why, the shipyards of my company are worked beyond their capacity now." somehow the captain's enthusiasm was contagious. i could see that his daughter felt it, that she was full of fire over the idea. but at the same time something vastly more personal weighed on her mind. "but, father," she interrupted, anxiously, "tell them about the bullet." the captain smiled indulgently as though he would say that he was a tough old bird to wing. it was only a mask to hide the fighting spirit underneath. "we've had nothing but trouble ever since we laid the keel of that ship," he continued, pugnaciously, "strikes, a fire in the yard, delays, about everything that could happen. lately we've noticed a motor-boat hanging about the river-front of the yards. so i've had a boat of my own patrolling the river." "what sort of craft is this other?" inquired kennedy, interested at once. "a very fast one--like those express cruisers that we hear so much about now." "whose is it? who was in it? have you any idea?" marlowe shook his head doubtfully. "no idea. i don't know who owns the boat or who runs it. my men tell me they think they've seen a woman in it sometimes, though. i've been trying to figure it out. why should it be hanging about? it can't be spying. there isn't any secrecy about the usona. why is it? it's a mystery." "and the shot?" prompted craig, tapping the bullet. "oh yes, let me tell you. last night, marjorie and i arrived from bar harbor on my yacht, for the launching. it's anchored off the yard now. well, early this morning, while it was still gray and misty, i was up. i'll confess i'm worried over to-morrow. i hadn't been able to forget that cruiser. i was out on the deck, peering into the mist, when i'm sure i saw her. i was just giving a signal to the boat we have patrolling, when a shot whistled past me and the bullet buried itself in the woodwork of the main saloon back of me. i dug it out of the wood with my knife--so you see i got it almost unflattened. that's all i have got, too. the cruiser made a getaway, clean." "i'm sure it was aimed at him," marjorie exclaimed. "i don't think it was chance. don't you see? they've tried everything else. now if they could get my father, the head of the company, that would be a blow that would cripple the trust." marlowe patted his daughter's hand reassuringly and smiled again, as though not to magnify the incident. "marjorie was so alarmed," he confessed, "that nothing would satisfy her but that i should come ashore and stay here at the belleclaire, where we always put up when we are in town." the telephone rang and marjorie answered it. "i hope you'll pardon me," she excused, hanging up the receiver. "they want me very much down-stairs." then appealing, she added: "i'll have to leave you with father. but, please, you must catch that crank who is threatening him." "i shall do my level best," promised kennedy. "you may depend on that." "you see," explained the captain as she left us, "i've invited quite a large party to attend the launching, for one reason or another. marjorie must play hostess. they're mostly here at the hotel. perhaps you saw some of them as you came in." craig was still scanning the bullet. "it looks almost as if some one had dum-dummed it," he remarked, finally. "it's curiously done, too. just look at those grooves." both the captain and i looked. it had a hard jacket of cupro-nickel, like the army bullet, covering a core of softer metal. some one had notched or scored the jacket as if with a sharp knife, though not completely through it. had it been done for the purpose of inflicting a more frightful wound if it struck the captain? "there've been other shots, too," went on marlowe. "one of my watchmen was wounded the night before. it didn't took like a serious wound, in the leg. yet the poor fellow seems to be in a bad way, they tell me." "how is that?" asked craig, glancing up quickly from studying the bullet. "the wound seems to be all puffed up, and very painful. it won't heal, and he seems to be weak and feverish. why, i'm afraid the man will die." "i'd like to see that case," remarked kennedy, thoughtfully. "very well. i'll have you driven to the hospital where we have had to take him." "i'd like to see the yards, too, and the usona," he added. "all right. after you go to the hospital i'll meet you at the yards at noon. now if you'll come down-stairs with me, i'll get my car and have you taken to the hospital first." we followed marlowe into the elevator and rode down. in the large parlor we saw that marjorie marlowe had joined a group of the guests, and the captain turned aside to introduce us. among them i noticed a striking-looking woman, somewhat older than marjorie. she turned as we approached and greeted the captain cordially. "i'm so glad there was nothing serious this morning," she remarked, extending her hand to him. "oh, nothing at all, nothing at all," he returned, holding the hand, i thought, just a bit longer than was necessary. then he turned to us, "miss alma hillman, let me present professor kennedy and mr. jameson." i was not so preoccupied in taking in the group that i did not notice that the captain was more than ordinarily attentive to her. nor can i say that i blamed him, for, although he might almost have been her father in age, there was a fascination about her that youth does not often possess. talking with her had been a young man, slender, good-looking, with almost a military bearing. "mr. ogilvie fitzhugh," introduced marjorie, seeing that her father was neglecting his duties. fitzhugh bowed and shook hands, murmured something stereotyped, and turned again to speak to marjorie. i watched the young people closely. if captain marlowe was interested in alma, it was more than evident that fitzhugh was absolutely captivated by marjorie, and i fancied that marjorie was not averse to him, for he had a personality and a manner which were very pleasing. as the conversation ran gaily on to the launching and the gathering party of notables who were expected that night and the next day, i noticed that a dark-eyed, dark-haired, olive-complexioned young man approached and joined us. "doctor gavira," said marlowe, turning to us, his tone indicating that he was well acquainted about the hotel. "he is our house physician." gavira also was welcomed in the party, chatting with animation. it was apparent that the physician also was very popular with the ladies, and it needed only half an eye to discern that fitzhugh was jealous when he talked to marjorie, while marlowe but ill concealed his restlessness when gavira spoke to alma. as for alma, she seemed to treat all men impartially, except that just now it pleased her to bestow the favor of her attention on the captain. just then a young lady, all in white, passed. plainly she did not belong to the group, though she was much interested in it. as his eye roved over the parlor, gavira caught her glance and bowed. she returned it, but her look did not linger. for a moment she glanced sharply at fitzhugh, still talking to marjorie, then at marlowe and alma hillman. she was a very pretty girl with eyes that it was impossible to control. perhaps there was somewhat of the flirt in her. it was not that that interested me. for there was something almost akin to jealousy in the look she gave the other woman. marlowe was too engrossed to see her and she passed on slowly. what did it mean, if anything? the conversation, as usual at such times, consisted mostly of witticisms, and just at present we had a rather serious bit of business in hand. kennedy did not betray any of the impatience that i felt, yet i knew he was glad when marlowe excused himself and we left the party and passed down the corridor while the captain called his car. "i don't know how you are going to get at this thing," he remarked, pausing after he had sent a boy for his driver. "but i'll have to rely on you. i've told you all i know. i'll see you at noon, at the yards. my man will take you there." as he turned and left us i saw that he was going in the direction of the barber-shop. next to it and in connection with it, though in a separate room, was a manicure. as we passed we looked in. there, at the manicure's table, sat the girl who had gone by us in the parlor and had looked so sharply at marlowe and alma. the boy had told us that the car was waiting at a side entrance, but kennedy seemed now in no haste to go, the more so when marlowe, instead of going into the barber-shop, apparently changed his mind and entered the manicure's. craig stopped and watched. prom where we were we could see marlowe, though his back was turned, and neither he nor the manicure could see us. for a moment the captain paused and spoke, then sat down. quite evidently he had a keen eye for a pretty face and trim figure. nor was there any mistaking the pains which the manicure took to please her rich and elderly customer. after watching them a moment kennedy lounged over to the desk in the lobby. "who is the little manicure girl?" he asked. the clerk smiled. "seems as if she was a good drawing-card for the house, doesn't it?" he returned. "all the men notice her. why, her name is rae melzer." he turned to speak to another guest before kennedy could follow with another inquiry. as we stood before the desk, a postman, with the parcel post, arrived. "here's a package addressed to dr. fernando gavira," he said, brusquely. "it was broken in the mail. see?" kennedy, waiting for the clerk to be free again, glanced casually at the package at first, then with a sudden, though concealed, interest. i followed his eye. in the crushed box could be seen some thin broken pieces of glass and a wadding of cotton-wool. as the clerk signed for another package craig saw a chance, reached over and abstracted two or three of the broken pieces of glass, then turned with his back to the postman and clerk and examined them. one i saw at once had a rim around it. it was quite apparently the top of a test-tube. the other, to which some cotton-wool still adhered, was part of the rounded bowl. quickly craig dropped the pieces into one of the hotel envelopes that stood in a rack on the desk, then, changing his mind about asking more now about the little manicure, strode out of the side entrance where marlowe's car was waiting for us. hurriedly we drove across town to the city hospital, where we had no difficulty in being admitted and finding, in a ward, on a white cot, the wounded guard. though his wound was one that should not have bothered him much, it had, as marlowe said, puffed up angrily and in a most peculiar manner. he was in great pain with it and was plainly in a bad way. though he questioned the man, craig did not get anything out of him except that the shot had come from a cruiser which had been hanging about and was much faster than the patrol boat. the nurse and a young intern seemed inclined to be reticent, as though we might imply that the mail's condition reflected on the care he had received, which they were at pains to convince us had been perfect. puzzled himself, craig did not say much, but as he pondered the case, shook his head gravely to himself and finally walked out of the hospital abstractedly. "we have almost an hour before we are to meet marlowe at the yard," he considered, as we came to the car. "i think i'll go up to the laboratory first." in the quiet of his own workshop, kennedy carefully examined again the peculiar grooves on the bullet. he was about to scrape it, but paused. instead, he filled a tube with a soapy solution, placed the bullet in it, and let it stand. next he did the same with the pieces of glass from the envelope. then he opened a drawer and from a number of capillary pipettes selected a plain capillary tube of glass. he held it in the flame of a burner until it was red hot. then carefully he drew out one end of the tube until it was hair fine. again he heated the other end, but this time he let the end alone, except that he allowed it to bend by gravity, then cool. it now had a siphon curve. another tube he treated in the same way. by this time he was ready to proceed with what he had in mind. he took a glass slide and on it placed a drop from each of the tubes containing the bullet and the glass. that done, he placed the bent, larger end of the capillary tubes in turn on each of the drops on the slide. the liquid ascended the tubes by capillary attraction and siphoned over the curve, running as he turned the tubes up to the finely pointed ends. next in a watch glass he placed some caustic soda and in another some pyrogallic acid, from each of which he took just a drop, as he had done before, inclining the tubes to let the fluid gravitate to the throttle end. finally in the flame he sealed both the tip and butt of the tubes. "there's a bubble of air in there," he remarked. "the acid and the soda will absorb the oxygen from it. then i can tell whether i'm right. by the way, we'll have to hurry if we're to be on time to meet marlowe in the yard," he announced, glancing at his watch as he placed the tubes in his little electric incubator. we were a little late as the chauffeur pulled in at the executive offices at the gate of the shipyard, and marlowe was waiting impatiently for us. evidently he wanted action, but kennedy said nothing yet of what he suspected and appeared now to be interested only in the yard. it was indeed something to interest any one. everywhere were tokens of feverish activity, in office, shop, and slip. as we picked our way across, little narrow and big wide gauge engines and trains whistled and steamed about. we passed rolling-mills, forging-machines, and giant shearing-machines, furnaces for heating the frames or ribs, stone floors on which they could be pegged out and bent to shape, places for rolling and trimming the plates, everything needed from the keel plates to the deck. in the towering superstructure of the building slip we at last came to the huge steel monster itself, the usona. as we approached, above us rose her bow, higher than a house, with poppets both there and at the stern, as well as bracing to support her. all had been done up to the launching, the stem and stern posts set in place, her sides framed and plated up, decks laid, bulkheads and casings completed, even much of her internal fitting done. overhead and all about the huge monster was a fairy network of steel, the vast permanent construction of columns and overhead girders. suspended beneath was a series of tracks carrying traveling and revolving cranes capable of handling the heaviest pieces. we climbed to the top and looked down at the vast stretch of hundreds of feet of deck. it was so vast that it seemed rather the work of a superman than of the puny little humans working on her. as i looked down the slip where the usona stood inclined about half an inch to the foot, i appreciated as never before what a task it was merely to get her into the water. below again, marlowe explained to us how the launching ways were composed of the ground ways, fastened to the ground as the name implied, and the sliding ways that were to move over them. the sliding ways, he said, were composed of a lower course and an upper course, on which rested the "cradle," fitting closely the side of the ship. to launch her, she must be lifted slightly by the sliding ways and cradle from the keel blocks and bilge blocks, and this was done by oak wedges, hundreds of which we could see jammed between the upper and lower courses of sliding ways. next he pointed out the rib-bands which were to keep the sliding ways on the ground ways, and at the bow the points on either side where the sliding and ground ways were bolted together by two huge timbers known as sole pieces. "you see," he concluded, "it is a gigantic task to lift thousands of tons of steel and literally carry it a quarter of a mile to forty feet of water in less than a minute. everything has to be calculated to a nicety. it's a matter of mathematics--the moment of weight, the moment of buoyancy, and all that. this launching apparatus is strong, but compared to the weight it has to carry it is really delicate. why, even a stray bolt in the ways would be a serious matter. that's why we have to have this eternal vigilance." as he spoke with a significant look at kennedy, i felt that it was no wonder that marlowe was alarmed for the safety of the ship. millions were at stake for just that minute of launching. it was all very interesting and we talked with men whom it was a pleasure to see handling great problems so capably. but none could shed any light on the problem which it was kennedy's to solve. and yet i felt sure, as i watched craig, that unsatisfactory as it appeared to marlowe and to myself, he was slowly forming some kind of theory, or at least plan of action, in his head. "you'll find me either here or at the hotel--i imagine," returned marlowe to kennedy's inquiry as we parted from him. "i've instructed all the men to keep their eyes open. i hope some of us have something to report soon." whether or not the remark was intended as a hint to kennedy, it was unnecessary. he was working as fast and as surely as he could, going over in hours what others had failed to fathom in weeks. late in the afternoon we got back to the laboratory and craig began immediately by taking from the little electric incubator the two crooked tubes he had left there. breaking off the ends with tweezers, he began examining on slides the two drops that exuded, using his most powerful microscope. i was forced to curb my impatience as he proceeded carefully, but i knew that craig was making sure of his ground at each step. "i suppose you're bursting with curiosity," he remarked at last, looking up from his examination of one of the slides. "well, here is a drop that shows what was in the grooves of that bullet. just take a look." i applied my eye to the microscope. all i could see was some dots and rods, sometimes something that looked like chains of dots and rods, the rods straight with square ends, sometimes isolated, but more usually joined end to end in long strings. "what is it?" i asked, not much enlightened by what he had permitted me to see. "anaerobic bacilli and spores," he replied, excitedly. "the things that produce the well-known 'gas gangrene' of the trenches, the gas phlegmon bacilli--all sorts, the bacillus aerogenes capsulatus, bacillus proteus, pyogenic cocci, and others, actively gas-forming microbes that can't live in air. the method i took to develop and discover them was that of col. sir almroth wright of the british army medical corps." "and that is what was on the bullet?" i queried. "the spores or seeds," he replied. "in the tubes, by excluding the air, i have developed the bacilli. why, walter," he went on, seriously, "those are among the microbes most dreaded in the infection of wounds. the spores live in the earth, it has been discovered, especially in cultivated soil, and they are extraordinarily long-lived, lying dormant for years, waiting for a chance to develop. these rods you saw are only from five to fifteen thousandths of a millimeter long and not more than one-thousandth of a millimeter broad. "you can't see them move here, because the air has paralyzed them. but these vibrios move among the corpuscles of the blood just as a snake moves through the grass, to quote pasteur. if i colored them you would see that each is covered with fine vibrating hairs three or four times as long as itself. at certain times an oval mass forms in them. that is the spore which lives so long and is so hard to kill. it was the spores that were on the bullet. they resist any temperature except comparatively high and prolonged, and even resist antiseptics for a long time. on the surface of a wound they aren't so bad; but deep in they distil minute gas bubbles, puff up the surrounding tissues, and are almost impossible to combat." as he explained what he had found, i could only stare at him while the diabolical nature of the attack impressed itself on my mind. some one had tried to murder marlowe in this most hideous way. no need to be an accurate marksman when a mere scratch from such a bullet meant ultimate death anyhow. why had it been done and where had the cultures come from? i asked myself. i realized fully the difficulty of trying to trace them. any one could purchase germs, i knew. there was no law governing the sale. craig was at work again over his microscope. again he looked up at me. "here on this other film i find the same sort of wisp-like anaerobes," he announced. "there was the same thing on those pieces of glass that i got." in my horror at the discovery, i had forgotten the broken package that had come to the hotel desk while we stood there. "then it was gavira who was receiving spores and cultures of the anaerobes!" i exclaimed, excitedly. "but that doesn't prove that it was he who used them," cautioned craig, adding, "not yet, at least." important as the discoveries were which he had made, i was not much farther along in fixing the guilt of anybody in particular in the case. kennedy, however, did not seem to be perturbed, though i wondered what theory he could have worked out. "i think the best thing for us to do will be to run over to the belleclaire," he decided as he doffed his laboratory coat and carefully cleansed his hands in an antiseptic almost boiling hot. "i should like to see marlowe again, and, besides, there we can watch some of these people around him." whom he meant other than gavira i had no idea, but i felt sure that with the launching now only a matter of hours something was bound to happen soon. marlowe was out when we arrived; in fact, had not yet returned from the yard. nor had many of the guests remained at the hotel during the day. most of them had been out sightseeing, though now they were returning, and as they began to gather in the hotel parlor marjorie was again called on to put them at their ease. fitzhugh had returned and had wasted no time dressing and getting down-stairs again to be near marjorie. gavira also appeared, having been out on a case. "i wish you would call up the shipyard, walter," asked kennedy, as we stood in the lobby, where we could see best what was going on. "tell him i would like to see him very urgently." i found the number and entered a booth, but, as often happens, the telephone central was overwhelmed by the rush of early-evening calls, and after waiting some time the only satisfaction i got was that the line was busy. meanwhile i decided to stick about the booth so that i could get the yard as soon as possible. from where i stood i could see that kennedy was closely watching the little manicure, rae melzer. a moment later i saw alma hillman come out of the manicure shop, and before any one else could get in to monopolize the fascinating little manicure i saw craig saunter over and enter. i was so interested in what he was doing that for the moment i forgot about my call and found myself unconsciously moving over in that direction, too. as i looked in i saw that he was seated at the little white table, in much the same position as marlowe had been, deeply in conversation with the girl, though of course i could not make out what they were talking about. once she turned to reach something on a shelf back of her. quick as a flash kennedy abstracted a couple of the nearest implements, one being a nail file and the other, i think, a brush. a moment later she resumed her work, kennedy still talking and joking with her, though furtively observing. "where is my nail file--and brush?" i could imagine her saying, as she hunted for them in pretty confusion, aided by kennedy who, when he wanted to, could act the fitzhugh and gavira as well as they. the implements were not to be found and from a drawer she took another set. just then gavira passed on his way to his office in the front of the building, saw me, and smiled. "kennedy's cut you out," he laughed, catching a glimpse through the door. "never mind. i used to think i had some influence there myself--till the captain came along. i tell you these oldsters can give us points." i laughed, too, and joined him down the hall, not because i cared what he thought, but because his presence had reminded me of my original mission to call up marlowe. however, i decided to postpone calling another moment and take advantage of the chance to talk to the house physician. "yes," i agreed, as long as he had opened the subject. "i fancy the captain likes young people. he seems to enjoy being with them--miss hillman, for instance." gavira shot a sidelong glance at me. "the belleclaire's a dangerous place for a wealthy widower," he returned. "i had some hopes in that direction myself--in spite of fitzhugh--but the captain seems to leave us all at the post. still, i suppose i may still be a brother to her--and physician. so, i should worry." the impression i got of gavira was that he enjoyed his freedom too much ever to fall in love, though an intimacy now and then with a clever girl like alma hillman was a welcome diversion. "i'm sorry i sha'n't be able to be with you until late to-night," he said, as he paused at his office door. "i'm in the medical corps of the guard and i promised to lecture to-night on gunshot wounds. some of my material got smashed up, but i have my lantern slides, anyhow. i'll try to see you all later, though." was that a clever attempt at confession and avoidance on his part? i wondered. but, then, i reflected he could not possibly know that we knew he had anaerobic microbes and spores in his possession. i had cleared up nothing and i hastened to call up the shipyard, sure that the line could not be busy still. whatever it was that was the matter, central seemed unable to get me my number. instead, i found myself cut right into a conversation that did not concern me, evidently the fault of the hotel switchboard operator. i was about to protest when the words i heard stopped me in surprise. a man and a woman were talking, though i could not recognize the voices and no names were used. "i tell you i won't be a party to that launching scheme," i heard the man's voice. "i wash my hands of it. i told you that all along." "then you're going to desert us?" came back the woman's voice, rather tartly. "it's for that girl. well, you'll regret it. i'll turn the whole organization on you--i will--you--you--" the voices trailed off, and, try as i could to get the operator to find out who it was, i could not. who was it? what did it mean? kennedy had finished with the manicure some time before and was waiting for me impatiently. "i haven't been able to get marlowe," i hastened, "but i've had an earful." he listened keenly as i told him what i had heard, adding also the account of my encounter with gavira. "it's just as i thought--i'll wager," he muttered, excitedly, under his breath, taking a hurried turn down the corridor, his face deeply wrinkled. "well! anything new? i expected to hear from you, but haven't," boomed the deep voice of marlowe, who had just come in from an entrance in another direction from that which we were pacing. "no clue yet to my crank?" without a word, kennedy drew marlowe aside into a little deserted alcove. marlowe followed, puzzled at the air of mystery. alone, craig leaned over toward him. "it's no crank," he whispered, in a low tone. "marlowe, i am convinced that there is a concerted effort to destroy your plans for american commerce building. there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that it is more serious than you think--perhaps a powerful group of european steamship men opposed to you. it is economic war! you know they have threatened it at meetings reported in the press all along. well, it's here!" half doubting, half convinced, marlowe drew back. one after another he shot a rapid fire of questions. who, then, was their agent who had fired the shot? who was it who had deserted, as i had heard over the wire? above all, what was it they had planned for the launching? the deeper he got the more the beads of perspiration came out on his sunburnt forehead. the launching was only eighteen hours off, too, and ten of them were darkness. what could be done? kennedy's mind was working rapidly in the crisis as marlowe appealed to him, almost helplessly. "may i have your car to-night?" asked craig, pausing. "have it? i'll give it to you if it'll do any good." "i'll need it only a few hours. i think i have a scheme that will work perfectly--if you are sure you can guard the inside of the yard to-morrow." "i'm sure of that. we spent hours to-day selecting picked men for the launching, going over everything." late as it was to start out of town, craig drove across the bridge and out on long island, never stopping until we came to a small lake, around the shores of which he skirted, at last pausing before a huge barn-like structure. as the door swung open to his honking the horn, the light which streamed forth shone on a sign above, "sprague aviation school." inside i could make out enough to be sure that it was an aeroplane hangar. "hello, sprague!" called kennedy, as a man appeared in the light. the man came closer. "why, hello, kennedy! what brings you out here at such an hour?" craig had jumped from the car, and together the two went into the hangar, while i followed. they talked in low tones, but as nearly as i could make out kennedy was hiring a hydro-aeroplane for to-morrow with as much nonchalance as if it had been a taxicab. as kennedy and his acquaintance, sprague, came to terms, my eye fell on a peculiar gun set up in a corner. it had a tremendous cylinder about the barrel, as though it contained some device to cool it. it was not a machine-gun of the type i had seen, however, yet cartridges seemed to be fed to it from a disk on which they were arranged radially rather than from a band. kennedy had risen to go and looked about at me. "oh, a lewis gun!" he exclaimed, seeing what i was looking at. "that's an idea. sprague, can you mount that on the plane?" sprague nodded. "that's what i have it here for," he returned. "i've been testing it. why, do you want it?" "indeed i do! i'll be out here early in the morning, sprague." "i'll be ready for you, sir," promised the aviator. speeding back to the city, kennedy laid out an extensive program for me to follow on the morrow. together we arranged an elaborate series of signals, and that night, late as it was, craig returned to the laboratory, where he continued his studies with the microscope, though what more he expected to discover i did not know. in spite of his late hours, it was craig who wakened me in the morning, already prepared to motor out to the aviation school to meet sprague. hastily he rehearsed our signals, which consisted mostly of dots and dashes in the morse code which craig was to convey with a flag and i to receive with the aid of a powerful glass. i must admit that i felt somewhat lost when, later in the morning, i took my place alone on the platform that had been built for the favored few of the launching party at the bow of the huge usona, without craig. already, however, he had communicated at least a part of his plan to marlowe, and the captain and marjorie were among the first to arrive. marjorie never looked prettier in her life than she did now, on the day when she was to christen the great liner, nor, i imagine, had the captain ever been more proud of her. they had scarcely greeted me when we heard a shout from the men down at the end of the slip that commanded a freer view of the river. we craned our necks and in a moment saw what it was. they had sighted the air-boat coming down the river. i turned the glass on the mechanical bird as it soared closer. already kennedy had made us on the platform and had begun to signal as a test. at least a part of the suspense was over for me when i discovered that i could read what he sent. so fixed had my attention been that i had not noticed that slowly the members of the elect launching party had arrived, while other thousands of the less favored crowded into the spaces set apart for them. on the stand now with us were fitzhugh and miss hillman, while, between glances at kennedy, i noticed little rae melzer over at the right, and doctor gavira, quite in his element, circulating about from one group to another. every one seemed to feel that thrill that comes with a launching, the appreciation that there is a maximum of risk in a minimum of time. down the slip the men were driving home the last of the huge oak wedges which lifted the great usona from the blocks and transferred her weight to the launching ways as a new support. all along the stationary, or ground, ways and those which were to glide into the water with the cradle and the ship, trusted men were making the final examination to be as sure as human care can be that all was well. as the clock neared noon, which was high water, approximately, all the preparatory work was done. only the sole pieces before us held the ship in place. it was as though all bridges had been burned. high overhead now floated the hydro-aeroplane, on which i kept my eye fixed almost hypnotically. there was still no signal from kennedy, however. what was it he was after? did he expect to see the fast express cruiser, lurking like a corsair about the islands of the river? if so, he gave no sign. men were quitting now the work of giving the last touches to the preparations. some were placing immense jack-screws which were to give an initial impulse if it were needed to start the ship down the ways. others were smearing the last heavy dabs of tallow, lard oil, and soft soap on the ways, and graphite where the ways stretched two hundred feet or so out into the water, for the ship was to travel some hundreds of feet on the land and in the water, and perhaps an equal distance out beyond the end of the ways. late comers still crowded in. men now reported that everything was ready. steadily the time of high water approached. "saw the sole pieces!" finally rang out the order. that was a thing that must be done by two gangs, one on each side, and evenly, too. if one gang got ahead of the other, they must stop and let the second catch up. "zip--zip--zip," came the shrill singing tone of the saws. was everything all right? kennedy and sprague were still circling overhead, at various altitudes. i redoubled my attention at the glass. suddenly i saw craig's flag waving frantically. a muffled exclamation came from my lips involuntarily. marlowe, who had been watching me, leaned closer. "what is it--for god's sake?" he whispered, hoarsely. "stop them!" i shouted as i caught kennedy's signal. at a hurried order from marlowe the gangs quit. a hush fell over the crowd. kennedy was circling down now until at last the air-boat rested on the water and skimmed along toward the ways. out on the ways, as far as they were not yet submerged, some men ran, as if to meet him, but kennedy began signaling frantically again. though i had not been expecting it, i made it out. "he wants them to keep back," i called, and the word was passed down the length of the ship. instead of coming to rest before the slip, the plane turned and went away, making a complete circle, then coming to rest. to the surprise of every one, the rapid staccato bark of the lewis gun broke the silence. kennedy was evidently firing, but at what? there was nothing in sight. suddenly there came a tremendous detonation, which made even the launching-slip tremble, and a huge column of water, like a geyser, rose in the air about eight hundred feet out in the river, directly in front of us. the truth flashed over us in an instant. there, ten feet or so in the dark water out in the river, craig had seen a huge circular object, visible only against a sandy bottom from the hydro-aeroplane above, as the sun-rays were reflected through the water. it was a contact submarine mine. marlowe looked at me, his face almost pale. the moment the great hulk of the usona in its wild flight to the sea would have hit that mine, tilting it, she would have sunk in a blast of flame. the air-boat now headed for the shore, and a few moments later, as craig climbed into our stand, marlowe seized him in congratulation too deep for words. "is it all right?" sang out one of the men in the gangs, less impressionable than the rest. "if there is still water enough," nodded craig. again the order to saw away the sole pieces was given, and the gangs resumed. "zip--zip," again went the two saws. there were perhaps two inches more left, when the hull quivered. there was a crashing and rending as the timbers broke away. marjorie marlowe, alert, swung the bottle of champagne in its silken net on a silken cord and it crashed on the bow as she cried, gleefully, "i christen thee usona!" down the ship slid, with a slow, gliding motion at first, rapidly gathering headway. as her stern sank and finally the bow dipped into the water, cheers broke forth. then a cloud of smoke hid her. there was an ominous silence. was she wrecked, at last, after all? a puff of wind cleared the smoke. "just the friction of the ways--set the grease on fire," shouted marlowe. "it always does that." wedges, sliding ways, and other parts of the cradle floated to the surface. the tide took her and tugs crept up and pulled her to the place selected for temporary mooring. a splash of a huge anchor, and there she rode--safe! in the revulsion of feeling, every eye on the platform turned involuntarily to kennedy. marlowe, still holding his hand, was speechless. marjorie leaned forward, almost hysterical. "just a moment," called craig, as some turned to go down. "there is just one thing more." there was a hush as the crowd pressed close. "there's a conspiracy here," rang out craig's voice, boldly, "a foreign trade war. from the start i suspected something and i tried to reason it out. having failed to stop the work, failed to kill marlowe--what was left? why, the launching. how? i knew of that motor-boat. what else could they do with it? i thought of recent tests that have been made with express cruisers as mine-planters. could that be the scheme? the air-boat scheme occurred to me late last night. it at least was worth trying. you see what has happened. now for the reckoning. who was their agent? i have something here that will interest you." kennedy was speaking rapidly. it was one of those occasions in which kennedy's soul delighted. quickly he drew a deft contrast between the infinitely large hulk of the usona as compared to the infinitely small bacteria which he had been studying the day before. suddenly he drew forth from his pocket the bullet that had been fired at marlowe, then, to the surprise of even myself, he quietly laid a delicate little nail file and brush in the palm of his hand beside the bullet. a suppressed cry from rae melzer caused me to recollect the file and brush she had missed. "just a second," raced on kennedy. "on this file and brush i found spores of those deadly anaerobes--dead, killed by heat and an antiseptic, perhaps a one-per-cent. solution of carbolic acid at blood heat, ninety-eight degrees--dead, but nevertheless there. i suppose the microscopic examination of finger-nail deposits is too minute a thing to appeal to most people. but it has been practically applied in a number of criminal cases in europe. ordinary washing and even cleaning doesn't alter microscope findings. in this case this trifling clue is all that leads to the real brain of this plot, literally to the hand that directed it." he paused a moment. "yesterday i found that anaerobe cultures were being received by some one in the belleclaire, and--" "they were stolen from me. some one must have got into my office, where i was studying them." doctor gavira had pressed forward earnestly, but craig did not pause again. "who were these agents sent over to wage this secret war at any cost?" he repeated. "one of them, i know now, fell in love with the daughter of the man against whom he was to plot." marjorie cast a furtive glance at fitzhugh. "love has saved him. but the other? to whom do these deadly germs point? who dum-dummed and poisoned the bullet? whose own fingers, in spite of antiseptics and manicures, point inexorably to a guilty self?" rae melzer could restrain herself no longer. she was looking at the file and brush, as if with a hideous fascination. "they are mine--you took them," she cried, impulsively. "it was she--always having her nails manicured--she who had been there just before--she--alma hillman!" xi the gun-runner "with the treaty ratified, if the deal goes through we'll all be rich." something about the remark which rose over the babel of voices arrested kennedy's attention. for one thing, it was a woman's voice, and it was not the sort of remark to be expected from a woman, at least not in such a place. craig had been working pretty hard and began to show the strain. we had taken an evening off and now had dropped in after the theater at the burridge, one of the most frequented midnight resorts on broadway. at the table next to us--and the tables at the burridge were so close that one almost rubbed elbows with those at the next--sat a party of four, two ladies in evening gowns and two men in immaculate black and white. "i hope you are right, leontine," returned one of the men, with an english accent. "the natural place for the islands is under the american flag, anyway." "yes," put in the other; "the people have voted for it before. they want it." it was at the time that the american and danish governments were negotiating about the transfer of the danish west indies, and quite evidently they were discussing the islands. the last speaker seemed to be a dane, but the woman with him, evidently his wife, was not. it was a curious group, worth more than a passing glance. for a moment craig watched them closely. "that woman in blue," he whispered, "is a typical promoter." i recognized the type which is becoming increasingly frequent in wall street as the competition in financial affairs grows keener and women enter business and professional life. there were plenty of other types in the brilliantly lighted dining-room, and we did not dwell long on the study of our neighbors. a few moments later kennedy left me and was visiting another table. it was a habit of his, for he had hundreds of friends and acquaintances, and the burridge was the place to which every one came. this time i saw that he had stopped before some one whom i recognized. it was captain marlowe of the american shipping trust, to whom kennedy had been of great assistance at the time of the launching of his great ship, the usona. marlowe's daughter marjorie was not with him, having not yet returned from her honeymoon trip, and he was accompanied by a man whose face was unfamiliar to me. as i recognized who it was to whom kennedy was speaking, i also rose and made my way over to the table. as i approached, the captain turned from kennedy and greeted me cordially. "mr. whitson," he introduced the man with him. "mr. whitson is sailing to-morrow for st. thomas on the arroyo. we're preparing to extend our steamship lines to the islands as soon as the formalities of the purchase are completed." marlowe turned again to kennedy and went on with the remark he had evidently been making. "of course," i heard him say, "you know we have mexico practically blockaded as far as arms and munitions go. yet, kennedy, through a secret channel i know that thousands of stands of arms and millions of rounds of ammunition are filtering in there. it's shameful. i can't imagine anything more traitorous. whoever is at the bottom of it ought to swing. it isn't over the border that they are going. we know that. the troops are there. how is it, then?" marlowe looked at us as if he expected kennedy to catch some one by pure reason. kennedy said nothing, but it was not because he was not interested. "think it over," pursued marlowe, who was a patriot above everything else. "perhaps it will occur to you how you can be of the greatest service to the country. the thing is damnable--damnable." neither kennedy nor i having anything definite to contribute to the subject, the conversation drifted to the islands and whitson's mission. whitson proved to be very enthusiastic about it. he knew the islands well and had already made a trip there for marlowe. a few moments later we shook hands and returned to our own table. it was getting late and the only type that was left to study was the common broadway midnight-life genus. we paid our check and were about to leave. for an instant we stopped at the coat-room to watch the late arrivals and the departing throng. "hello!" greeted a familiar voice beside us. "i've been looking all over town for you. they told me you had gone to the theater and i thought i might possibly find you here." we turned. it was our old friend burke, of the secret service, accompanied by a stranger. "i'd like you to meet mr. sydney, the new special consular agent whom the government is sending to the danish west indies to investigate and report on trade conditions," he introduced. "we're off for st. thomas on the arroyo, which sails to-morrow noon." "great scott!" ejaculated kennedy. "is everybody daffy over those little islands? what takes you down there, burke?" burke looked about hastily, then drew us aside into a recess in the lobby. "i don't suppose you know," he explained, lowering his voice, "but since these negotiations began, the consular service has been keenly interested in the present state and the possibilities of the islands. the government sent one special agent there, named dwight. well, he died a few days ago. it was very suspicious, so much so that the authorities in the island investigated. yet the doctors in the island have found no evidence of anything wrong, no poison. still, it is very mysterious--and, you know," he hinted, "there are those who don't want us down there." the secret service man paused as though he had put the case as briefly and pointedly as he could, then went on: "i've been assigned to accompany the new consul down there and investigate. i've no particular orders and the chief will honor any reasonable expense account--but--" he hesitated and stopped, looking keenly at kennedy's face. i saw what he was driving at. "well--to come to the point--what i wanted to see you about, kennedy, is to find out whether you would go with me. i think," he added, persuasively, "it would be quite worth your while. besides, you look tired. you're working too hard. the change will do you good. and your conscience needn't trouble you. you'll be working, all right." burke had been quick to note the haggard expression on kennedy's face and turn it into an argument to carry his point. kennedy smiled as he read the other's enthusiasm. i would have added my own urging, only i knew that nothing but a sense of duty would weigh with craig. "i'd like to think the proposal over," he conceded, much to my surprise. "i'll let you know in the morning." "mind," wheedled burke, "i won't take no for an answer. we need you." the secret service man was evidently delighted by the reception kennedy had given his scheme. just then i caught sight of the party of four getting their hats and wraps preparatory to leaving, and kennedy eyed them sharply. marlowe and whitson passed. as they did so i could not help seeing whitson pause and shoot a quick glance at the four. it was a glance of suspicion and it was not lost on craig. did they know more of this mexican gun-running business than marlowe had hinted at? i watched kennedy's face. evidently his mind was at work on the same idea as mine. burke accompanied us almost all the way home, with sydney adding his urging. i could tell that the whole combination of circumstances at the burridge had had an effect on kennedy. i went to bed, tired, but through the night i knew craig was engaged on some work about which he seemed to be somewhat secretive. when i saw him again in the laboratory, in the morning, he had before him a large packing-case of stout wood bound with steel bands. "what's that?" i asked, mystified. he opened the lid, a sort of door, on which was a strong lock, and i looked inside. "my traveling laboratory," he remarked, with pride. i peered in more closely. it was a well-stocked armamentarium, as the doctors would have called it. i shall not make any attempt to describe its contents. they were too varied and too numerous, a little bit of everything, it seemed. in fact, craig seemed to have epitomized the sciences and arts. it was not that he had anything so wonderful, or even comparable to the collection of his laboratory. but as i ran my eye over the box i would have wagered that from the contents he might have made shift to duplicate in some makeshift form almost anything that he might need. it was truly amazing, representing in miniature his study of crime for years. "then you are going with burke to st. thomas?" i queried, realizing the significance of it. kennedy nodded. "i've been thinking of what i would do if an important case ever called me away. burke's proposal hurried me, that's all. and you are going, also," he added. "you have until noon to break the news to the star." i did not say anything more, fearful lest he might change his mind. i knew he needed the rest, and that no matter what the case was in the islands he could not work as hard as he was doing in new york. accordingly my own arrangements with the star were easily made. i had a sort of roving commission, anyhow, since my close association with kennedy. moreover, the possibility of turning up something good in the islands, which were much in the news at the time, rather appealed to the managing editor. if kennedy could arrange his affairs, i felt that the least i could do was to arrange my own. thus it came about that craig and i found ourselves in the forenoon in a taxicab, on the front of which was loaded the precious box as well as our other hastily packed luggage, and we were on our way over to brooklyn to the dock from which the arroyo sailed. already the clearance papers had been obtained, and there was the usual last-moment confusion among the passengers as the hour for sailing approached. it seemed as if we had scarcely boarded the ship when kennedy was as gay as a school-boy on an unexpected holiday. i realized at once what was the cause. the change of scene, the mere fact of cutting loose, were having their effect. as we steamed slowly down the bay, i ran my eye over the other passengers at the rail, straining their eyes to catch the last glimpse of the towers of new york. there were burke and sydney, but they were not together, and, to all appearances, did not know each other. sydney, of course, could not conceal his identity, nor did he wish to, no matter how beset with unseen perils might be his mission. but burke was down on the passenger-list as, and had assumed the role of, a traveling salesman for a mythical novelty-house in chicago. that evidently was part of the plan they had agreed on between themselves. kennedy took the cue. as i studied the various groups, i paused suddenly, surprised. there was the party which had sat at the table next to us at the burridge the night before. kennedy had already seen them and had been watching them furtively. just then craig jogged my elbow. he had caught sight of whitson edging his way in our direction. i saw what it was that craig meant. he wanted purposely to avoid him. i wondered why, but soon i saw what he was up to. he wanted introductions to come about naturally, as they do on shipboard if one only waits. on deck and in the lounging and smoking rooms it did not take long for him to contrive ways of meeting and getting acquainted with those he wished to know, without exciting suspicion. thus, by the time we sat down to dinner in the saloon we were all getting fairly chummy. we had met burke quite as naturally as if we were total strangers. it was easy to make it appear that whitson and sydney were shipboard acquaintances. nor was it difficult to secure an introduction to the other party of four. the girl whom we had heard addressed as leontine seemed to be the leader of the group. leontine cowell was a striking personality. her clear blue eyes directed a gaze at one which tested one's mettle to meet. i was never quite sure whether she remembered seeing us at the burridge, whether she penetrated the parts we were playing. she was none the less feminine because she had aspirations in a commercial way. as kennedy had first observed, she was well worth study. her companion, barrett burleigh, was a polished, deferential englishman, one of those who seem to be citizens of the world rather than subjects of any particular country. i wondered what were the real relations of the two. jorgen erickson was, as i had surmised, a dane. he proved to be one of the largest planters in the island, already wealthy and destined to be wealthier if real estate advanced. the other woman, nanette, was his wife. she was also a peculiarly interesting type, a frenchwoman from guadeloupe. younger and more vivacious than her husband, her snappy black eyes betokened an attractive personality. leontine cowell, it seemed, had been in the islands not long before, had secured options on some score of plantations at a low figure, and made no secret of her business. when the american flag at last flew over the islands she stood to win out of the increase of land values a considerable fortune. erickson also, in addition to his own holdings, had been an agent for some other planters and thus had met leontine, who had been the means of interesting some american capital. as for burleigh, it seemed that he had made the acquaintance of leontine in wall street. he had been in the caribbean and the impending changes in the danish west indies had attracted his notice. whether he had some money to invest in the speculation or hoped to profit by commissions derived from sales did not appear. but at any rate some common bond had thrown the quartet together. i need not dwell on the little incidents of life on ship. it must have been the second day out that i observed leontine and sydney together on the promenade-deck. they seemed to be quite interested in each other, though i felt sure that leontine was making a play for him. at any rate, burleigh was jealous. whatever might be the scheme, it was apparent that the young englishman was head over heels in love with her. what did it mean? was she playing with sydney, seeking to secure his influence to further her schemes? or did it mask some deeper, more sinister motive? from what i had seen of sydney, i could not think that he was the man to take such an affair seriously. i felt that he must be merely amusing himself. busy with my speculations, i was astonished soon after to realize that the triangle had become a hexagon, so to speak. whitson and nanette erickson seemed to be much in each other's company. but, unlike burleigh, erickson seemed to be either oblivious or complacent. whatever it might all portend, i found that it did not worry kennedy, although he observed closely. burke, however, was considerably excited and even went so far as to speak to sydney, over whom he felt a sort of guardianship. sydney turned the matter off lightly. as for me, i determined to watch both of these women closely. kennedy spent much time not only in watching the passengers, but in going about the ship, talking to the captain and crew and every one who knew anything about the islands. in fact, he collected enough information in a few days to have satisfied any ordinary tourist for weeks. even the cargo did not escape his attention, and i found that he was especially interested in the rather heavy shipments of agricultural implements that were consigned to various planters in the islands. so great was his interest that i began to suspect that it had some bearing on the gun-running plot that had been hinted at by marlowe. it was the evening after one of kennedy's busy days scouting about that he quietly summoned both burke and sydney to our cabin. "there's something queer going on," announced craig, when he was sure that we were all together without having been observed. "frankly, i must confess that i don't understand it--yet." "you needn't worry about me," interrupted sydney, hastily. "i can take care of myself." kennedy smiled quietly. we knew what sydney meant. he seemed to resent burke's solicitude over his acquaintance with leontine and was evidently warning us off. kennedy, however, avoided the subject. "i may as well tell you," he resumed, "that i was quite as much influenced by a rumor that arms were somehow getting into mexican ports as i was by your appeal, burke, in coming down here. so far i've found nothing that proves my case. but, as i said, there is something under the surface which i don't understand. we have all got to stick together, trust no one but ourselves, and, above all, keep our eyes open." it was all that was said, but i was relieved to note that sydney seemed greatly impressed. still, half an hour later, i saw him sitting in a steamer-chair beside leontine again, watching the beautiful play of the moonlight on the now almost tropical ocean after we had emerged from the gulf stream. i felt that it was rather dangerous, but at least he had had his warning. seeking kennedy, i found him at last in the smoking-room, to my surprise talking with erickson. i joined them, wondering how i was to convey to craig what i had just seen without exciting suspicion. they were discussing the commercial and agricultural future of the islands under the american flag, especially the sugar industry, which had fallen into a low estate. "i suppose," remarked kennedy, casually, "that you are already modernizing your plant and that others are doing the same, getting ready for a revival." erickson received the remark stolidly. "no," he replied, slowly. "some of us may be doing so, but as for me, i shall be quite content to sell if i can get my price." "the planters are not putting in modern machinery, then?" queried kennedy, innocently, while there flashed over me what he had discovered about shipments of agricultural implements. erickson shook his head. "some of them may be. but for one that is, i know twenty whose only thought is to sell out and take a profit." the conversation trailed off on other subjects and i knew that kennedy had acquired the information which he sought. as neatly as i could i drew him apart from erickson. "strange he should tell me that," ruminated kennedy as we gained a quiet corner of the deck. "i know that there is a lot of stuff consigned to planters in the island, some even to himself." "he must be lying, then," i hastened. "perhaps these promoters are really plotters. by the way, what i wanted to tell you was that i saw sydney and leontine together again." he was about to reply when the sound of some one approaching caused us to draw back farther into the shadow. it proved to be whitson and nanette. "then you do not like st. thomas?" we heard whitson remark, as if he were repeating something she had just said. "there is nothing there," she replied. "why, there aren't a hundred miles of good roads and not a dozen automobiles." evidently the swiftness of life in new york of which she had tasted was having its effect. "st. croix, where we have the plantation, is just as bad. part of the time we live there, part of the time at charlotte amalie in st. thomas. but there is little difference. i hope jorgen is able to sell. at least i should like to live a part of the year in the states." "would he like that, too?" "many of us would," she replied, quickly. "for many years things have been getting worse with us. just now it seems a bit better because of the high price of sugar. but who knows how long that will last? oh, i wish something would happen soon so that we might make enough money to live as i want to live. think; here the best years of life are slipping away. unless we do something soon, it will be too late! we must make our money soon." there was an air of impatience in her tone, of restless dissatisfaction. i felt also that there was an element of danger, too, in a woman just passing from youth making a confidant of another man. it was a mixed situation with the quartet whom we were watching. one thing was sufficiently evident. they were all desperately engaged in the pursuit of wealth. that was a common bond. nor had i seen anything to indicate that they were over-scrupulous in that pursuit. within half an hour i had seen leontine with sydney and nanette with whitson. both sydney as consular agent and whitson through his influence with the shipping trust possessed great influence. had the party thought it out and were they now playing the game with the main chance in view? i looked inquiringly at kennedy as the voices died away while the couple walked slowly down the deck. he said nothing, but he was evidently pondering deeply on some problem, perhaps that which the trend of affairs had raised in my own mind. our delay had not been long, but it had been sufficient to cause us to miss finding leontine and sydney. we did, however, run across burke, bent evidently on watching, also. "i don't like this business," he confessed, as we paused to compare experiences. "i've been thinking of that mexican business you hinted at, kennedy. you know the islands would be an ideal out-of-the-way spot from which to start gun-running expeditions to mexico. i don't like this leontine and burleigh. they want to make money too bad." kennedy smiled. "burleigh doesn't seem to approve of everything, though," he remarked. "perhaps not. that's one reason why i think it may be more dangerous for sydney than he realizes. i know she's a fascinating girl. all the more reason to watch out for her. but i can't talk to sydney," he sighed. it was an enigma and i had not solved it, though i felt much as burke did. kennedy seemed to have determined to allow events to take their course, perhaps in the hope that developments would be quicker that way than by interfering with something which we did not understand. in the smoking-room, after we left burke, kennedy and i came upon erickson and burleigh. they had just finished a game of poker with some of the other passengers, in which burleigh's usual run of luck and skill had been with him. "lucky at cards, unlucky in love," remarked burleigh as we approached. he said it with an air of banter, yet i could not help feeling that there was a note of seriousness at the bottom of it. had he known that leontine had been with sydney on the deck? his very success at poker had its effect on me. i found myself eying him as if he had been one of the transatlantic card sharps, perhaps an international crook. yet when i considered i was forced to admit that i had nothing on which to base such a judgment. erickson presented a different problem, to my mind, there was indeed something queer about him. either he had not been perfectly frank with us in regard to the improvement of his properties or he was concealing something much more sinister. again and again my mind reverted to the hints that had been dropped by marlowe, and i recalled the close scrutiny whitson had given the four that night. so far, i had felt that in any such attempt we might count on whitson playing a lone hand and perhaps finding out something to our advantage. it was the morning of the last day of the voyage that most of the passengers gathered on the deck for the first glimpse of the land to which we had been journeying. before us lay the beautiful and picturesque harbor and town of charlotte amalie, one of the finest harbors in the west indies, deep enough to float the largest vessels, with shipyards, dry-docks, and repair shops. from the deck it was a strikingly beautiful picture, formed by three spurs of mountains covered with the greenest of tropical foliage. from the edge of the dancing blue waves the town itself rose on the hills, presenting an entrancing panorama. all was bustle and excitement as the anchor plunged into the water, for not only was this the end of our journey, but the arrival of the boat from new york was an event for the town. there was much to watch, but i let nothing interfere with my observation of how the affair between sydney and leontine was progressing. to my surprise, i saw that this morning she was bestowing the favor of her smile rather on burleigh. it was sydney's turn now to feel the pangs of jealousy, and i must admit that he bore them with better grace than burleigh, whatever that might indicate. as i watched the two and recalled their intimacy at the burridge the first night we had seen them, i almost began to wonder whether i might not have been wrong about leontine. had it been that i had distrusted the woman merely because i was suspicious of the type, both male and female? had i been finding food for suspicion because i was myself suspicious? erickson was standing beside sydney, while we were not far away. evidently he had been saving up a speech for the occasion and now was prepared to deliver it. "mr. sydney," he began, with a wave of his arm that seemed to include us all, "it is a pleasure to welcome you here to our island. last night it occurred to me that we ought to do something to show that we appreciate it. you must come to dinner to-night at my villa here in the town. you are all invited, all of us who have become so enjoyably acquainted on this voyage which i shall never forget. believe me when i say that it will be even more a tribute to you personally than because of the official position you are to hold among us." it was a graceful invitation, more so than i had believed erickson capable of framing. sydney could do nothing less than thank him cordially and accept, as we all did. indeed, i could see that kennedy was delighted at the suggestion. it would give him an opportunity to observe them all under circumstances different enough to show something. while we were thanking erickson, i saw that whitson had taken the occasion also to thank mrs. erickson, with whom he had been talking, just a bit apart from the group. he made no secret of his attentions, though i thought she was a bit embarrassed by them at such a time. indeed, she started rather abruptly toward the group which was now intent on surveying the town, and as she did so, i noted that she had forgotten her hand-bag, which lay on a deck-chair near where they had been sitting. i picked it up to restore it. some uncontrollable curiosity prompted me and i hesitated. all were still looking at the town. i opened the bag. inside was a little bottle of grayish liquid. what should i do? any moment she or whitson might turn around. hastily i pulled off the cap of my fountain-pen and poured into it some of the liquid, replacing the cork in the bottle and dropping it back into the bag, while i disposed of the cap as best i could without spilling its contents. whether either she or any one else had observed me, i was not going to run any chances of being seen. i called a passing steward. "mrs. erickson forgot her bag," i said, pointing hastily to it. "you'll find her over there with mr. whitson." then i mingled in the crowd to watch her. she did not seem to show any anxiety when she received it. i lost no time in getting back to kennedy and telling him what i had found, and a few moments later he made an excuse to go to our state-room, as eager as i was to know what had been in the little bottle. first he poured out a drop of the liquid from the cap of my fountain-pen in some water. it did not dissolve. successively he tried alcohol, ether, then pepsin. none of them had any effect on it. finally, however, he managed to dissolve it in ammonia. "relatively high amount of sulphur," he muttered, after a few moments more of study. "keratin, i believe." "a poison?" i asked. kennedy shook his head. "no; harmless." "then what is it for?" he shrugged his shoulders. he may have had some half-formed idea, but if he did it was still indefinite and he refused to commit himself. instead, he placed the sample in his traveling laboratory, closed and locked it, and, with our luggage, the box was ready to be taken ashore. nearly every one had gone ashore by the time we returned to the deck. whitson was there yet, talking to the captain, for the shipping at the port interested him. i wondered whether he, too, might be suspicious of those cases consigned to erickson and others. if so, he said nothing of it. by this time several vessels that looked as if they might be lighters, though fairly large, had pulled up. it seemed that they had been engaged to carry shipments of goods to the other islands of st. john and st. croix. kennedy seemed eager now to get ashore, and we went, accompanied by whitson, and after some difficulty established ourselves in a small hotel. most of the tourists were sightseeing, and, while we had no time for that, still we could not help doing so, in going about the town. charlotte amalie, i may say, proved to be one of the most picturesque towns in the windward islands. the walls of the houses were mostly of a dazzling whiteness, though some were yellow, others gray, orange, blue. but the roofs were all of a generous bright red which showed up very effectively among the clumps of green trees. indeed, the town seemed to be one of gaily tinted villas and palaces. there were no factories, no slums. nature had provided against that and man had not violated the provision. the people whom we met on the streets were mostly negroes, though there was a fair sprinkling of whites. what pleased us most was that nearly everywhere we went english was spoken. i had half expected danish. but there was even very little spanish spoken. burke was waiting for us, and in spite of his playing the role of traveling salesman managed to direct us about so that we might as quickly as possible pick up the thread of the mysterious death of dwight. it did not take long to gather such meager information as there was about the autopsy that had followed the strange death of sydney's predecessor. we were able to find out little from either the authorities or the doctor who had investigated the case. under the stress of suspicion, both the stomach and the contents of the stomach of the unfortunate man had been examined. no trace of anything out of the way had been found, and there the matter had rested, except for suspicion. one of our first visits was to the american consulate. there sydney, by virtue of his special commission, had, with characteristic energy, established himself with the consul. naturally, he, too, had been making inquiries. but they had led nowhere. there seemed to be no clue to the mysterious death of dwight, not even a hint as to the cause. all that we were able to discover, after some hours of patient inquiry, was that dwight had suffered from great prostration, marked cyanosis, convulsions, and coma. whether it was the result of some strange disease or of a poison no one, not even the doctor, was prepared to say. all that was known was that the blow, if blow it had been, was swift, sudden, sure. we ran across whitson once or twice during the day, busily engaged renewing acquaintance with merchants and planters whom he had known before, but i do not recall having seen either burleigh or leontine, which, at the time, i thought rather strange, for the town was small and strangers were few. the more i thought of it the more firmly convinced i was that dwight had discovered some secret which it was extremely inconvenient for somebody to have known. what was it? was it connected with the rumors we had heard of gun-running to mexico? erickson had invited us to come late in the afternoon to the dinner and we did not delay in getting there. his house proved to be a veritable palace on the side of one of the hills rising abruptly back of the shore. flights of massive stone steps, quaint walls covered with creepers, balustrades overlooking charming gardens, arcades from which one looked out on splendid vistas and shady terraces combined to make it a veritable paradise such as can be found only in tropical and subtropical lands. most wonderful of all was the picture of the other hills unfolded, especially of the two ruined pirates' castles belonging to semi-mythical personages, bluebeard and blackbeard. the ericksons were proud of their home, as well they might be, in spite of the complaints we had heard nanette utter and the efforts of erickson to sell his holdings. mrs. erickson proved to be a charming hostess and the host extended a hospitality such as one rarely meets. it quite made me uncomfortable to accept it at the same time that i knew we must view it all with suspicion. nor did it make matters any better, but rather worse, to feel that there was some color of excuse for the suspicion. burleigh arrived proudly with leontine, followed closely by sydney. at once the game was on again, leontine pitting one against the other. whitson came, his attentions to mrs. erickson a trifle restrained, but still obvious. burke and ourselves completed the party. to the repeated urging of erickson we made ourselves quite as much at home as we politely could. kennedy and burke, acting under his instructions, seemed to be ubiquitous. yet, beyond a continuation of the drama that had been unfolded on the ship it did not seem to me at first that we were getting anywhere. kennedy and i were passing alone along a colonnade that opened off from the large dining-hall, when craig paused and looked in through an open door at the massive table set for the dinner. a servant had just completed setting out cocktails at the various places, pouring them from a huge tankard, for the purpose, which had been standing on a sideboard. guests had been walking past through the colonnade ever since we arrived, but at the moment there was no one about, and even the servant had disappeared. kennedy stepped lightly into the dining-hall and looked about sharply. instinctively i stepped to a window where i could hear any one approaching. out of the corner of my eye i saw him narrowly scrutinizing the table. finally he pulled from his pocket a clean linen handkerchief. into an empty glass he poured the contents of one of the cocktail-glasses, straining the liquid through the handkerchief. then he poured the filtrate, if i may call it such, back into the original glass. a second he treated in the same way, and a third. he had nearly completed the round of the table when i heard a light step. my warning came only just in time. it was burleigh. he saw us standing now in the colonnade, made some hasty remark, then walked on, as if in search for some one. had it been interest in leontine or in the dining-room that had drawn him thither? kennedy was now looking closely at the handkerchief, and i looked also. in the glasses had been innumerable little seeds as if from the fruit juice used in concocting the appetizer. the fine meshes of the linen had extracted them. what were they? i took one in my fingers and crushed it between my nails. there was an unmistakable odor of bitter almonds. what did it mean? we had no time now for speculation. our prolonged absence might be noticed and we hastened to join the other guests after finishing the round of glasses in which he had been interrupted. how, in my suppressed excitement, i managed to get through that dinner i do not know. it was a brilliant affair, yet i found that i had completely lost my appetite, as well one might after having observed kennedy's sleuthing. however, the dinner progressed, though each course that brought it nearer a conclusion afforded me an air of relief. i was quite ready when, over the coffee, kennedy contrived to make some excuse for us, promising to call again and perhaps to visit the erickson plantation. in the secrecy of our room in the little hotel, craig was soon deeply buried in making use of his traveling laboratory. as he worked i could no longer restrain my impatience. "what about that little bottle of keratin?" i asked, eagerly. "oh yes," he replied, not looking up from the tests he was making. "well, keratin, you know, is also called epidermose. it is a scleroprotein present largely in cuticular structures such as hair, nails, horn. i believe it is usually prepared from pieces of horn steeped in pepsin, hydrochloric acid, and water for a long time. then the residue is dissolved in ammonia and acetic acid." "but what's its use?" i demanded. "you said it was harmless." "why, the pepsin of the stomach won't digest it," he returned. "for that reason its chief use is for coating what are known as 'enteric capsules.' anything coated with keratin is carried on through the stomach into the intestines. it is used much in hot countries in order to introduce drugs into the intestines in the treatment of the tropical diseases that affect the intestines." he paused and devoted his entire attention to his work, but he had told me enough to assure me that at least the bottle of keratin i had found had proved to be a clue. i waited as long as i could, then interrupted again. "what are the seeds?" i queried. "have you found out yet?" he paused as though he had not quite finished his hasty investigation, yet had found out enough to convince him. "there seem to be two kinds. i wish i had had time to keep each lot separate. some of them are certainly quite harmless. but there are others, i find, that have been soaked in nitro-benzol, artificial oil of bitter almonds. even a few drops, such as might be soaked up in this way, might be fatal. the new and interesting phase, to me, is that they were all carefully coated with keratin. really, they are keratin-coated enteric capsules of nitro-benzol, a deadly poison." i looked at him, aghast at what some of us had been rescued from by his prompt action. "you see," he went on, excitedly, "that is why the autopsies probably showed nothing. these doctors down here sought for a poison in the stomach. but if the poison had been in the stomach the odor alone would have betrayed it. you smelt it when you crushed a seed. but the poisoning had been devised to avoid just that chance of discovery. there was no poison in the stomach. death was delayed long enough, also, to divert suspicion from the real poisoner. some one has been diabolically clever in covering up the crimes." i could only gasp my amazement. "then," i blurted out, "you think the ericksons--" our door burst open. it was burke, in wild excitement. "has anybody--died?" i managed to demand. he seemed not to hear, but dashed to the window and threw it open. "look!" he exclaimed. we did. in the late twilight, through the open sash we could see the landlocked basin of the harbor. but it was not that at which burke pointed. on the horizon an ugly dark cloud rose menacingly. in the strange, unearthly murkiness, i could see people of the town pouring out into the narrow streets, wildly, fearfully, with frantic cries and gesticulations. for a moment i gazed at the sight blankly. then i realized that sweeping on us was one of those sudden, deadly west-indian hurricanes. our harbor was sheltered from the north and east winds. but this wind was southern born, rare, oncoming in a fury against which we had no protection. hastily closing his armamentarium, kennedy also hurried out on the street. the gale had become terrific already in the few minutes that had elapsed. from our terrace we could see the water, gray and olive, with huge white breakers, like gnashing teeth, coming on to rend and tear everything in their path. it was as though we stood in an amphitheater provided by nature for a great spectacle, the bold headlands standing out like the curves of a stadium. i looked about. the ericksons had just driven up with burleigh and leontine, as well as whitson, all of whom were stopping at our hotel, and were about to take sydney on to the consulate when the approach of the storm warned them to stay. leontine had hurried into the hotel, evidently fearful of the loss of something she treasured, and the rest were standing apart from the trees and buildings, where the formation of the land offered some protection. as we joined them i peered at the pale faces in the ghastly, unnatural light. was it, in a sense, retribution? suddenly, without further warning, the storm broke. trees were turned up by roots, like weeds, the buildings rocked as if they had been houses of cards. it was a wild, catastrophic spectacle. "leontine," i heard a voice mutter by my side, as a form catapulted itself past through the murkiness into the crazily swaying hotel. it was burleigh. i turned to speak to kennedy. he was gone. where to find him i had no idea. the force of the wind was such that search was impossible. all we could do was to huddle back of such protection as the earth afforded against the million needles of rain that cut into our faces. the wind almost blew me flat to the earth as, no longer able to stand the suspense, i stumbled toward the hotel, thinking perhaps he had gone to save his armamentarium, although if i had stopped to think i should have realized that that strong box was about the safest piece of property on the island. i was literally picked up and hurled against an object in the darkness--a man. "in the room--more keratin--more seeds." it was kennedy. he had taken advantage of the confusion to make a search which otherwise might have been more difficult. together we struggled back to our shelter. just then came a crash, as the hotel crumpled under the fierce stress of the storm. out of the doorway struggled a figure just in time to clear the falling walls. it was burleigh, a huge gash from a beam streaming blood down his forehead which the rain washed away almost as it oozed. in his arms, clinging about his neck, was leontine, no longer the sophisticated, but in the face of this primeval danger just a woman. burleigh staggered with his burden a little apart from us, and in spite of everything i could fancy him blessing the storm that had given him his opportunity. far from abating, the storm seemed increasing in fury, as though all the devils of the underworld were vexed at anything remaining undestroyed. it seemed as if even the hills on which the old pirates had once had their castles must be rocking. "my god!" exclaimed a thick voice, as an arm shot out, pointing toward the harbor. there was the arroyo tugging at every extra mooring that could be impressed into service. the lighters had broken or been cut away and were scudding, destruction-bent, squarely at the shore almost below us. a moment and they had crashed on the beach, a mass of timbers and spars, while the pounding waves tore open and flung about heavy cases as though they were mere toys. then, almost as suddenly as it had come, the storm began to abate, the air cleared, and nothing remained but the fury of the waves. "look!" exclaimed kennedy, pointing down at the strange wreckage that strewed the beach. "does that look like agricultural machinery?" we strained our eyes. kennedy did not pause. "the moment i heard that arms were getting into mexico i suspected that somewhere here in the caribbean munitions were being transhipped. perhaps they have been sent to atlantic ports ostensibly for the allies. they have got down here disguised. even before the storm exposed them i had reasoned it out. from this port, the key to the vast sweep of mainland, i reasoned that they were being taken over to secret points on the coast where big ships could not safely go. it was here that blockade-runners were refitted in our civil war. it is here that this new gun-running plot has been laid." he turned quickly to sydney. "the only obstacle between the transfer of the arms and success was the activity of an american consulate. those lighters were not to carry goods to other islands. they were really destined for mexico. it was profitable. and the scheme for removing opposition was evidently safe." kennedy was holding up another bottle of keratin and some fruit seeds. "i found these in a room in the hotel," he added. i did not comprehend. "but," i cut in, "the hand-bag--the dinner--what of them?" "a plant--a despicable trespass on hospitality--all part of a scheme to throw the guilt on some one else, worthy of a renegade and traitor." craig wheeled suddenly, then added, with an incisive gesture, "i suppose you know that there is reputed to have been on one of these hills the headquarters of the old pirate, teach--'the mildest manner'd man that ever scuttled ship or cut a throat!'" kennedy paused, then added, quickly, "in respect to covering up your gun-running, whitson, you are superior even to teach!" xii the sunken treasure "get story everson and bride yacht belle aventure seeking treasure sunk gulf liner antilles." kennedy and i had proceeded after a few leisurely days in st. thomas to porto rico. we had no particular destination, and san juan rather appealed to us as an objective point because it was american. it was there that i found waiting for me the above message by wireless from the star in new york. san juan was, as we had anticipated, a thoroughly americanized town and i lost no time in getting around at once to the office of the leading newspaper, the colonial news. the editor, kenmore, proved to be a former new york reporter who had come out in answer to an advertisement by the proprietors of the paper. "what's the big story here now?" i asked by way of preface, expecting to find that colonial newspapermen were provincial. "what's the big story?" repeated kenmore, impatiently pushing aside a long leader on native politics and regarding me thoughtfully. "well, i'm not superstitious, but a honeymoon spent trying to break into davy jones's locker for sunken treasure--i guess that's a good story, isn't it?" i showed him my message and he smiled. "you see, i was right," he exclaimed. "they're searching now at the cay d'or, the golden key, one of the southernmost of the bahamas, i suppose you would call it. i wish i was like you. i'd like to get away from this political stuff long enough to get the story." he puffed absently on a fragrant native cigar. "i met them all when they were here, before they started," he resumed, reminiscently. "it was certainly a picturesque outfit--three college chums--one of them on his honeymoon, and the couple chaperoning the bride's sister. there was one of the college boys--a fellow named gage--who fairly made news." "how was that?" inquired kennedy, who had accompanied me, full of zest at the prospect of mixing in a story so romantic. "oh, i don't know that it was his fault--altogether," replied kenmore. "there's a young lady here in the city, the daughter of a pilot, dolores guiteras. she had been a friend of some one in the expedition, i believe. i suppose that's how gage met her. i don't think either of them really cared for each other. perhaps she was a bit jealous of the ladies of the party. i don't know anything much about it, only i remember one night in the cafe of the palace hotel, i thought gage and another fellow would fight a duel--almost--until everson dropped in and patched the affair up and the next day his yacht left for golden key." "i wish i'd been here to go with them," i considered. "how do you suppose i'll be able to get out there, now?" "you might be able to hire a tug," shrugged kenmore. "the only one i know is that of captain guiteras. he's the father of this dolores i told you about." the suggestion seemed good, and after a few moments more of conversation, absorbing what little kenmore knew, we threaded our way across the city to the home of the redoubtable guiteras and his pretty daughter. guiteras proved to be a man of about fifty, a sturdy, muscular fellow, his face bronzed by the tropical sun. i had scarcely broached the purpose of my visit when his restless brown eyes seemed literally to flash. "no, sir," he exclaimed, emphatically. "you cannot get me to go on any such expedition. mr. everson came here first and tried to hire my tug. i wouldn't do it. no, sir--he had to get one from havana. why, the whole thing is unlucky--hoodooed, you call it. i will not touch it." "but," i remonstrated, surprised at his unexpected vehemence, "i am not asking you to join the expedition. we are only going to--" "no, no," he interrupted. "i will not consider it. i--" he cut short his remarks as a young woman, radiant in her latin-american beauty, opened the door, hesitated at sight of us, then entered at a nod from him. we did not need to be told that this was the dolores whom kenmore's rumor had credited with almost wrecking everson's expedition at the start. she was a striking type, her face, full of animation and fire, betraying more of passion than of intellect. a keen glance of inquiry from her wonderful eyes at her father was followed by a momentary faraway look, and she remained silent, while guiteras paused, as if considering something. "they say," he continued, slowly, his features drawn sharply, "that there was loot of mexican churches on that ship--the jewels of our lady of the rosary at puebla.... that ship was cursed, i tell you!" he added, scowling darkly. "no one was lost on it, though," i ventured at random. "i suppose you never heard the story of the antilles?" he inquired, turning swiftly toward me. then, without stopping: "she had just sailed from san juan before she was wrecked--on her way to new york from vera cruz with several hundred mexican refugees. treasure? yes; perhaps millions, money that belonged to wealthy families in mexico--and some that had the curse on it. "you asked a moment ago if everybody wasn't rescued. well, everybody was rescued from the wreck except captain driggs. i don't know what happened. no one knows. the fire had got into the engine-room and the ship was sinking fast. passengers saw him, pale, like a ghost, some said. others say there was blood streaming from his head. when the last boat-load left they couldn't find him. they had to put off without him. it was a miracle that no one else was lost." "how did the fire start?" inquired kennedy, much interested. "no one knows that, either," answered guiteras, shaking his head slowly. "i think it must have been smoldering in the hold for hours before it was discovered. then the pumps either didn't work properly or it had gained too great headway for them. i've heard many people talk of it and of the treasure. no, sir, you wouldn't get me to touch it. maybe you'll call it superstition. but i won't have anything to do with it. i wouldn't go with mr. everson and i won't go with you. perhaps you don't understand, but i can't help it." dolores had stood beside her father while he was speaking, but had said nothing, though all the time she had been regarding us from beneath her long black eyelashes. arguments with the old pilot had no effect, but i could not help feeling that somehow she was on our side, that whether she shared his fears and prejudices, her heart was really somewhere near the key of gold. there seemed to be nothing for us to do but wait until some other way turned up to get out to the expedition, or perhaps dolores succeeded in changing the captain's mind. we bowed ourselves out, not a little puzzled by the enigma of the obdurate old man and his pretty daughter. try as i might among the busy shipping of the port, i could find no one else willing at any reasonable price to change his plans to accommodate us. it was early the next morning that a young lady, very much perturbed, called on us at our hotel, scarcely waiting even the introduction of her plainly engraved card bearing the name, miss norma sanford. "perhaps you know of my sister, asta sanford, mrs. orrin everson," she began, speaking very rapidly as if under stress. "we're down here on asta's honeymoon in orrin's yacht, the belle aventure." craig and i exchanged glances, but she did not give us a chance to interrupt. "it all seems so sudden, so terrible," she cried, in a burst of wild, incoherent feeling. "yesterday bertram traynor died, and we've put back to san juan with his body. i'm so worried for orrin and my sister. i heard you were here, professor kennedy, and i couldn't rest until i saw you." she was looking anxiously at craig. i wondered whether she had heard of our visit to the guiterases and what she knew about that other woman. "i don't quite understand," interposed kennedy, with an effort to calm her. "why do you fear for your sister and mr. everson? was there something--suspicious--about the death of mr. traynor?" "indeed i think there was," she replied, quickly. "none of us has any idea how it happened. let me tell you about our party. you see, there are three college chums, orrin and two friends, bertram traynor and donald gage. they were all on a cruise down here last winter, the year after they graduated. it was in san juan that orrin first met mr. dominick, who was the purser on the antilles--you know, that big steamer of the gulf line that was burned last year and went down with seven million dollars aboard?" kennedy nodded to the implied query, and she went on: "mr. dominick was among those saved, but captain driggs was lost with his ship. mr. dominick had been trying to interest some one here in seeking the treasure. they knew about where the antilles went down, and the first thing he wanted to do was to locate the wreck exactly. after that was done of course mr. dominick knew about the location of the ship's strong room and all that." "that, of course, was common knowledge to any one interested enough to find out, though," suggested kennedy. "of course," she agreed. "well, a few months later orrin met mr. dominick again, in new york. in the mean time he had been talking the thing over with various people and had become acquainted with a man who had once been a diver for the interocean marine insurance company--owen kinsale. anyhow, so the scheme grew. they incorporated a company, the deep sea engineering company, to search for the treasure. that is how orrin started. they are using his yacht and mr. dominick is really in command, though mr. kinsale has the actual technical knowledge." she paused, but again her feelings seemed to get the better of her. "oh," she cried, "i've been afraid all along, lately. it's dangerous work. and then, the stories that have been told of the ship and the treasure. it seems ill-fated. professor kennedy," she appealed, "i wish you would come and see us. we're not on the yacht just now. we came ashore as soon as we arrived back, and asta and orrin are at the palace hotel now. perhaps orrin can tell you more. if you can do nothing more than quiet my fears--" her eyes finished the sentence. norma sanford was one of those girls who impress you as quite capable of taking care of themselves. but in the presence of the tragedy and a danger which she felt but could not seem to define, she felt the need of outside assistance and did not hesitate to ask it. nor was kennedy slow in responding. he seemed to welcome a chance to help some one in distress. we found everson and his young wife at the hotel, quite different now from the care-free adventurers who had set out only a few days before to wrest a fortune from chance. i had often seen portraits of the two sanford sisters in the society pages of the papers in the states and knew that the courtship of orrin everson and asta sanford had been a true bit of modern romance. asta everson was a unique type of girl. she had begun by running fast motor cars and boats. that had not satisfied her, and she had taken up aviation. once, even, she had tried deep-sea diving herself. it seemed as if she had been born with the spirit of adventure. to win her, everson had done about everything from arctic exploration one summer when he was in college to big-game hunting in africa, and mountain-climbing in the andes. odd though the romance might seem to be, one could not help feeling that the young couple were splendidly matched in their tastes. each had that spirit of restlessness which, at least, sent them out playing at pioneering. everson had organized the expedition quite as much in the spirit of revolt against a prosaic life of society at home as for gain. it had appealed strongly to asta. she had insisted that nothing so much as a treasure hunt would be appropriate for their wedding-trip and they had agreed on the unconventional. accordingly, she and her sister had joined everson and his party, norma, though a year younger, being quite like her sister in her taste for excitement. "of course, you understand," explained everson, as he hurriedly tried to give us some idea of what had happened, "we knew that the antilles had sunk somewhere off the cay d'or. it was first a question of locating her. that was all that we had been doing when bertram died. it is terrible, terrible. i can't believe it. i can't understand it." in spite of his iron nerve, the tragedy seemed to have shaken everson profoundly. "you had done nothing that might have been dangerous?" asked kennedy, pointedly. "nothing," emphasized everson. "you see, we located the wreck in a way somewhat similar to the manner in which they sweep the seas for mines and submarines. it was really very simple, though it took us some time. all we did was to drag a wire at a fixed depth between the yacht and the tug, or rather, i suppose you'd almost call it a trawler, which i chartered from havana. what we were looking for was to have the wire catch on some obstruction. it did, too, not once, but many times, due to the unevenness of the ocean bed. once we located a wreck, but it was in shallow water, a small boat, not the one we were looking for." "but you succeeded finally?" "yes, only day before yesterday we located her. we marked the spot with a buoy and were getting ready for real work. it was just after that that bertram was taken ill and died so suddenly. we've left dominick, kinsale, gage, and the rest on the trawler there, while i came here with traynor's body. god! but it was awful to have to send the news back to new york. i don't know what to think or what to do." "how did he die?" asked kennedy, endeavoring to gain the confidence of young everson. "do you recall any of his symptoms?" "it came on him so suddenly," he replied, "that we hadn't much time to think. as nearly as we could make out, it began with a faintness and difficulty in breathing. we asked him how he felt--but it seemed as if he was deaf. i thought it might be the 'bends'--you know, caisson disease--and we started to put him in the medical lock which we had for the divers, but before we could get it ready he was unconscious. it was all so sudden that it stunned us. i can't make it out at all." neither asta nor norma seemed able to tell anything. in fact, the blow had been so swift and unexpected, so incomprehensible, that it had left them thoroughly alarmed. the body of traynor had already been brought ashore and placed in a local undertaking shop. with everson, kennedy and i hastened to visit it. traynor had been an athlete and powerfully built, which made his sudden death seem all the more strange. without a word, craig set to work immediately examining his body, while we stood aside, watching him in anxious silence. kennedy consumed the greater part of the morning in his careful investigation, and after some time everson began to get restless, wondering how his wife and sister-in-law were getting on in his absence. to keep him company i returned to the hotel with him, leaving kennedy to pursue his work alone. there was nothing much that either of us could say or do, but i thought i observed, on closer acquaintance with norma, that she had something weighing on her mind. was it a suspicion of which she had not told us? evidently she was not prepared to say anything yet, but i determined, rather than try to quiz her, to tell kennedy, in the hope that she might confide in him what she would not breathe to any one else. it was perhaps an hour or more later that we returned to craig. he was still at work, though from his manner it was evident that his investigations had begun to show something, however slight. "have you found anything?" asked everson, eagerly. "i think i have," returned craig, measuring his words carefully. "of course you know the dangers of diving and the view now accepted regarding the rapid effervescence of the gases which are absorbed in the body fluids during exposure to pressure. i think you know that experiment has proved that when the pressure is suddenly relieved the gas is liberated in bubbles within the body. that is what seems to do the harm. his symptoms, as you described them, seemed to indicate that. it is like charged water in a bottle. take out the cork and the gas inside which has been under pressure bubbles up. in the human body, air and particularly the nitrogen in the air, literally form death bubbles." everson said nothing as he regarded kennedy's face searchingly, and craig went on: "set free in the spinal cord, for instance, such bubbles may cause partial paralysis, or in the heart may lead to stoppage of the circulation. in this case i am quite sure that what i have found indicates air in the arteries, the heart, and the blood vessels of the brain. it must have been a case of air embolism, insufflation." though everson seemed all along to have suspected something of the sort, kennedy's judgment left him quite as much at a loss for an explanation. kennedy seemed to understand, as he went on: "i have tried to consider all the ways such a thing could have happened," he considered. "it is possible that air might have been introduced into the veins by a hypodermic needle or other instrument. but i find no puncture of the skin or other evidence that would support that theory. i have looked for a lesion of the lungs, but find none. then how could it have occurred? had he done any real deep diving?" everson shook his head slowly. "no," he replied. "as i said, it wouldn't have been so incomprehensible if he had. besides, if we had been diving, we should have been on the lookout. no, bertram had only tested the apparatus once, after we located the wreck. he didn't much more than go under the surface--nothing like the practice dives we all made up in long island sound before we came down here. he was only testing the pumps and other things to see whether they had stood the voyage. why, it was nothing at all! i don't see how it could have given any one the 'bends'--much less a fellow like traynor. why, i think he could have stood more than kinsale with a little practice. kennedy, i can't get it out of my mind that there's something about this that isn't right." craig regarded everson gravely. "frankly," he confessed, "i must say that i don't understand it myself--at this distance." "would you come out to the key with me?" hastened everson, as though grasping at a possible solution. "i should be delighted to help you in any manner that i can," returned craig, heartily. everson could not find words to express his gratitude as we hurried back to the hotel. in the excitement, i had completely forgotten the despatch from the star, but now i suddenly realized that here, ready to hand, was the only way of getting out to the key of gold and securing the story. asta everson and norma, especially, were overjoyed at the news that kennedy had consented to accompany them back to the wreck. evidently they had great faith in him, from what they had heard at home. accordingly, everson lost no time in preparing to return to the yacht. nothing more now could be done for poor traynor, and delay might mean much in clearing up the mystery, if mystery it should prove. we were well on our way toward the landing place before i realized that we were going over much the same route that kennedy and i had taken the day before to reach the home of guiteras. i was just about to say something about it to kennedy, and of the impression that norma had made on me, when suddenly a figure darted from around a corner and confronted us. we stopped in surprise. it was no other than dolores herself--not the quiet, subdued dolores we had seen the day before, but an almost wild, passionate creature. what it was that had transformed her i could not imagine. it was not ourselves that she seemed to seek, nor yet the eversons. she did not pause until she had come close to norma herself. for a moment the two women, so different in type, faced each other, dolores fiery with the ardent beauty of her race, norma pulsating with life and vigor, yet always mistress of herself. "i warn you!" cried dolores, unable to restrain herself. "you thought the other was yours--and he was not. do not seek revenge. he is mine--mine, i tell you. win your own back again. i was only making sport of him. but mine--beware!" for a moment norma gazed at her, then, without a word, turned aside and walked on. another instant and dolores was gone as suddenly as she had appeared. asta looked inquiringly, but norma made no attempt at explanation. what did it mean? had it anything to do with the dispute in the hotel which kenmore had witnessed? at the landing we parted for a time with everson, to return to our hotel and get what little we needed, including kennedy's traveling laboratory, while everson prepared quarters for our reception on the yacht. "what do you make of that dolores incident?" i hastened to ask the moment we were alone. "i don't know," he replied, "except that i feel it has an important bearing on the case. there is something that norma hasn't told us, i fear." while we waited for a wagon to transfer our goods to the dock, kennedy took a moment to call up kenmore on the news. as he turned to me from the telephone, i saw that what he had learned had not helped him much in his idea of the case. "it was the interocean company which had insured the antilles," was all he said. instantly i thought of kinsale and his former connection. was he secretly working with them still? was there a plot to frustrate everson's plans? at least the best thing to do was to get out to the wreck and answer our many questions at first hand. the belle aventure was a trim yacht of perhaps seventy feet, low, slim, and graceful, driven by a powerful gas-engine and capable of going almost anywhere. an hour later we were aboard and settled in a handsomely appointed room, where craig lost no time in establishing his temporary traveling crime clinic. it was quite late before we were able to start, for everson had a number of commissions to attend to on this his first visit to port since he had set out so blithely. finally, however, we had taken aboard all that he needed and we slipped out quietly past the castle on the point guarding the entrance to the harbor. all night we plowed ahead over the brilliant, starry, tropical sea, making splendid time, for the yacht was one of the fastest that had ever been turned out by the builders. now and then i could see that kennedy was furtively watching norma, in the hope that she might betray whatever secret it was she was guarding so jealously. though she betrayed nothing, i felt sure that it had to do with some member of the expedition and that it was a more than ordinarily complicated affair of the heart. the ladies had retired, leaving us with everson in the easy wicker chairs on the after-deck. "i can't seem to get out of my mind, everson, that meeting with the spanish girl on the street," suddenly remarked kennedy, in the hope of getting something by surprise. "you see, i had already heard of a little unpleasantness in a hotel cafe, before the expedition started. somehow i feel that there must be some connection." for a moment everson regarded kennedy under the soft rays of the electric light under the awning as it swayed in the gentle air, then looked out over the easy swell of the summer sea. "i don't understand it myself," he remarked, at length, lowering his voice. "when we came down here dominick knew that girl, dolores, and of course kinsale met her right away, too. i thought gage was head over ears in love with norma--and i guess he is. only that night in the cafe i just didn't like the way he proposed a toast to dolores. he must have met her that day. maybe he was a bit excited. what she said to-day might mean that it was her fault. i don't know. but since we've been out to the key i fancy norma has been pretty interested in dominick. and kinsale doesn't hesitate to show that he likes her. it all sets donald crazy. it's so mixed up. i can't make anything of it. and norma--well, even asta can't get anything out of her. i wish to heaven you could straighten the thing out." we talked for some time, without getting much more light than everson had been able at first to shed on the affair, and finally we retired, having concluded that only time and events would enable us to get at the truth. it was early in the morning that i was wakened by a change in the motion of the boat. there was very little vibration from the engine, but this motion was different. i looked out of the port-hole which had been very cleverly made to resemble a window and found that we had dropped anchor. the key of gold was a beautiful green island, set, like a sparkling gem, in a sea of deepest turquoise. slender pines with a tuft of green at the top rose gracefully from the wealth of foliage below and contrasted with the immaculate white of the sandy beach that glistened in the morning sun. romance seemed to breathe from the very atmosphere of the place. we found that the others on the yacht were astir, too, and, dressing hastily, we went out on deck. across the dancing waves, which seemed to throw a mocking challenge to the treasure-seekers to find what they covered, we could see the trawler. already a small power-boat had put out from her and was plowing along toward us. it was as the boat came alongside us that we met gage for the first time. he was a tall, clean-cut fellow, but even at a glance i recognized that his was an unusual type. i fancied that both proctors and professors had worried over him when he was in college. particularly i tried to discover how he acted when he met norma. it was easy to see that he was very eager to greet her, but i fancied that there was some restraint on her part. perhaps she felt that we were watching and was on her guard. dominick greeted everson warmly. he was a man of about thirty-five and impressed one as having seen a great deal of the world. his position as purser had brought him into intimate contact with many people, and he seemed to have absorbed much from them. i could imagine that, like many people who had knocked about a great deal, he might prove a very fascinating person to know. kinsale, on the other hand, was a rather silent fellow and therefore baffling. in his own profession of deep-sea diving he was an expert, but beyond that i do not think he had much except an ambition to get ahead, which might be praiseworthy or not, according as he pursued it. i fancied that next to everson himself, norma placed more confidence in dominick than in any of the others, which seemed to be quite natural, though it noticeably piqued gage. on the part of all three, gage, dominick, and kinsale, it was apparent that they were overjoyed at the return of norma, which also was quite natural, for even a treasure-hunt has hours of tedium and there could be nothing tedious when she was about. asta was undoubtedly the more fascinating, but she was wrapped up in everson. it was not long before kennedy and i also fell under the spell of norma's presence and personality. we hurried through breakfast and lost no time in accepting everson's invitation to join him, with the rest, in the little power-boat on a visit to the trawler. it was dominick who took upon himself the task of explaining to us the mysteries of treasure-hunting as we saw them. "you see," he remarked, pointing out to us what looked almost like a strangely developed suit of armor, "we have the most recent deep-sea diving-outfit which will enable us to go from two hundred to three hundred feet down--farther, and establish a record if we had to do it. it won't be necessary, though. the antilles lies in about two hundred and fifty feet of water, we have found. this armor has to be strong, for, with the air pressure inside, it must resist a pressure of nearly half a pound per square inch for each foot we go--to be exact, something like a hundred and five pounds per square inch at the depth of the wreck. perhaps if traynor had been diving we might have thought that that was the trouble." it was the first reference since we arrived to the tragedy. "he had only had the suit on once," went on dominick, confirming everson, "and that was merely to test the pumps and valves and joints. even kinsale, here, hasn't been down. still, we haven't been idle. i have something to report. with our instruments we have discovered that the ship has heeled over and that it will be a bit harder job to get into my office and get out the safe than we hoped--but feasible." kennedy showed more interest in the diving apparatus than he had shown in anything else so far. the trawler was outfitted most completely as a tender, having been anchored over the exact spot at which the descents were to be made, held by four strong cables, with everything in readiness for action. i saw him cast a quick glance at the others. for the moment dominick, gage, and kinsale seemed to have forgotten us in their interest explaining to norma what had been accomplished in her absence. he seized the occasion to make an even closer examination of the complicated apparatus. so carefully had accident been guarded against that even a device for the purification of the air had been installed in the machine which forced the fresh air down to the diver, compressed. it was this apparatus which i saw kennedy studying most, especially one part where the air was passed through a small chamber containing a chemical for the removal of carbon dioxide. as he looked up, i saw a peculiar expression on his face. quickly he removed the chemical, leaving the tube through which the air passed empty. "i think the air will be pure enough without any such treatment," he remarked, glancing about to be sure no one had observed. "how is that?" i inquired, eagerly. "well, you know air is a mechanical mixture of gases, mainly oxygen and nitrogen. here's something that gives it an excess of nitrogen and a smaller percentage of oxygen. nitrogen is the more dangerous gas for one under compressed air. it is the more inert nitrogen that refuses to get out of the blood after one has been under pressure, that forms the bubbles of gas which cause all the trouble, the 'bends,' compressed-air sickness, you know." "then that is how traynor died?" i whispered, coming hastily to the conclusion. "some one placed the wrong salt in there--took out oxygen, added nitrogen, instead of removing carbon dioxide?" norma had turned toward us. it was too early for kennedy to accuse anybody, whatever might be his suspicions. he could not yet come from under cover. "i think so," was all he replied. a moment later the group joined us. "no one has been down on the wreck yet?" inquired craig, at which everson turned quickly to the three companions he had left in charge, himself anxious to know. "no," replied kinsale before any one else could answer. "mr. dominick thought we'd better wait until you came back." "then i should like to be the first," cut in craig, to my utter surprise. remonstrance had no effect with him. neither norma nor asta could dissuade him. as for the rest of us, our objections seemed rather to confirm him in his purpose. accordingly, in spite of the danger, which now no one no more than he knew, all the preparations were made for the first dive. with the aid of kinsale, whom i watched closely, though no more so than craig, he donned the heavy suit of rubberized reinforced canvas, had the leads placed on his feet and finally was fitted with the metal head and the "bib"--the whole weighing hardly short of three hundred pounds. it was with serious misgiving that i saw him go over the side of the trawler and shoot down into the water with its dark mystery and tragedy. the moments that he was down seemed interminable. suspiciously i watched every move that the men made, fearful that they might do something. i longed for the technical knowledge that would have enabled me to handle the apparatus. i tried to quiet my fears by reasoning that craig must have had perfect confidence in the value of his discovery if he were willing to risk his life on it, yet i felt that at least a show of vigilance on my part might bluff any one off from an attempt to tamper again with the air-supply. i stuck about closely. yet, when there came a hasty signal on the indicator from below, although i felt that he had been down for ages, i knew that it had been only a very short time. could it be a signal of trouble? had some one again tampered with the apparatus? would they never bring him up? it seemed as if they were working fearfully slow. i remembered how quickly he had shot down. what had seemed then only a matter of seconds and minutes now seemed hours. it was only by sheer will power that i restrained myself as i realized that going under the air pressure might be done safely quite fast, that he must come out slowly, by stages, that over the telephone that connected with his helmet he was directing the decompression in accordance with the latest knowledge that medical science had derived of how to avoid the dread caisson disease. i don't know when i have felt more relief than i did at seeing his weird headgear appear at the surface. the danger from the "bends" might not be entirely over yet, but at least it was craig himself, safe, at last. as he came over the side of the trawler i ran to him. it was like trying to greet a giant in that outlandish suit which was so clumsy out of the water. craig's back was turned to the others, and when i realized the reason i stood aghast. he had brought up a skull and had handed the gruesome thing to me with a motion of secrecy. meanwhile he hastened to get out of the cumbersome suit, and, to my delight, showed no evidence yet of any bad effects. that he should have made the descent and returned so successfully i felt must be a surprise to some one. who was it? i could not help thinking of kinsale again. was he working for two masters? was he still employed by the insurance company? was this a scheme to capture all the rich salvage of the ship instead of that percentage to which everson had secured an agreement with the underwriters? kennedy lost no time in getting back to the belle aventure with the skull which i had concealed for him. it was a strange burden and i was not loath to resign it to him. none of the others, apparently, knew that he had brought up anything with him, and to all questions he replied as though he had merely been testing out the apparatus and, except in a most cursory way, had not made an examination of the ship, although what he had observed confirmed the investigations they had already made from the surface. in our cabin, kennedy set to work immediately after opening his traveling laboratory and taking from it a small kit of tools and some materials that looked almost like those for an actor's make-up. i saw that he wished to be left alone and retired as gracefully as i could, determined to employ the time in watching the others. i found norma seated in one of the wicker chairs on the after-deck, talking earnestly with dominick, and, hesitating whether i should interrupt them, i paused between the library and the sumptuously fitted main saloon. i was glad that i did, for just that moment of hesitation was enough for me to surprise a man peering out at them through the curtains of a window, with every evidence of intense dislike of the situation. looking closer, i saw that it was gage. had i expected anything of the sort i should have gone even more cautiously. as it was, though i surprised him, he heard me in time to conceal his real intentions by some trivial action. it seemed as if our arrival had been succeeded by a growth of suspicion among the members of the little party. each, as far as i could make out, was now on guard, and, remembering that kennedy had often said that that was a most fruitful time, since it was just under such circumstances that even the cleverest could not help incriminating himself, i hastened back to let craig know how matters were. he was at work now on a most grotesque labor, and, as he placed on it the finishing touches, he talked abstractedly. "what i am using, walter," he explained, "might be called a new art. lately science has perfected the difficult process of reconstructing the faces of human beings of whom only the skull or a few bones, perhaps, are obtainable. "to the unskilled observer a fleshless skull presents little human likeness and certainly conveys no notion of the exact appearance in life of the person to whom it belonged. but by an ingenious system of building up muscles and skin upon the bones of the skull this appearance can be reproduced with scientific accuracy. "the method, i might say, has been worked out independently by professor von froriep, in germany, and by dr. henri martin, in france. its essential principle consists in ascertaining from the examination of many corpses the normal thickness of flesh that overlies a certain bone in a certain type of face. from these calculations the scientists by elaborate processes build up a face on the skull." i watched him, with an uncontrollable fascination. "for instance," he went on, "a certain type of bone always has nearly the same thickness of muscle over it. a very fine needle with graduations of hundredths of an inch is used in these measurements. as i have done here, a great number of tiny plaster pyramids varying in height according to the measurements obtained by these researches are built up over the skull, representing the thickness of the muscles. the next step will be to connect them together by a layer of clay the surface of which is flush with the tips of the pyramids. then wax and grease paint and a little hair will complete it. you see, it is really scientific restoration of the face. i must finish it. meanwhile, i wish you would watch norma. i'll join you in a short time." norma was not on deck when i returned, nor did i see any one else for some time. i walked forward, and paused at the door to the little wireless-room on the yacht, intending to ask the operator if he had seen her. "where's mr. kennedy?" he inquired, before i had a chance to put my own question. "some one has been in this wireless-room this morning and must have been sending messages. things aren't as i left them. i think he ought to know." just then everson himself came up from below, his face almost as white as the paint on the sides of his yacht. without a word, he drew me aside, looking about fearfully as though he were afraid of being overheard. "i've just discovered half a dozen sticks of dynamite in the hold," he whispered, hoarsely, staring wide-eyed at me. "there was a timing device, set for to-night. i've severed it. where's kennedy?" "your wireless has been tampered with, too," i blurted out, telling what i had just learned. we looked at each other blankly. clearly some one had plotted to blow up the yacht and all of us on board. without another word, i took his arm and we walked toward our state-room, where kennedy was at work. as we entered the narrow passage to it i heard low voices. some one was there before us. kennedy had shut the door and was talking in the hall. as we turned the corner i saw that it was norma, whom i had forgotten in the surprise of the two discoveries that had been so suddenly made. as we approached she glanced significantly at kennedy as if appealing to him to tell something. before he could speak, everson himself interrupted, telling of his discovery of the dynamite and of what the wireless operator had found. there was a low exclamation from norma. "it's a plot to kidnap me!" she cried, in a smothered voice. "professor kennedy--i told you i thought so!" everson and i could only look our inquiries at the startling new turn of events. "miss sanford has just been to her state-room," hastily explained craig. "there she found that some one had carefully packed up a number of her things and hidden them, as if waiting a chance to get them off safely. i think her intuition is correct. there would be no motive for robbery--here." vainly i tried to reason it out. as i thought, i recalled that gage had seemed insanely jealous of both dominick and kinsale, whenever he saw either with norma. did gage know more about these mysterious happenings than appeared? why had he so persistently sought her? had norma instinctively fled from his attentions? "where are the others?" asked craig, quickly. i turned to everson. i had not yet had time to find out. "gone back to the trawler," he replied. "signal them to come aboard here directly," ordered craig. it seemed an interminable time as the message was broken out in flags to the trawler, which was not equipped with the wireless. even the hasty explanation which kennedy had to give to asta everson, as she came out of her cabin, wondering where orrin had gone, served only to increase the suspense. it was as though we were living over a powder-magazine that threatened to explode at any moment. what did the treachery of one member of the expedition mean? above all, who was it? we had been so intent watching from the deck the all too slow approach of the little power-boat from the trawler that we had paid no attention to what was on our other quarter. "a tug approaching, sir," reported the man on watch to everson. "seems to be heading for us, sir." we turned to look. who was she, friend or foe? we knew not what to expect. everson, pale but with a firm grip on his nerves, did not move from the deck as the power-boat came alongside, and dominick, gage, and kinsale swung themselves up the ladder to us. "it's the tug of that pilot, guiteras, sir," interposed the man who had spoken before. not a word was spoken, though i fancied that a quiet smile flitted over kennedy's face as we waited. the tug ranged up alongside us. to my utter astonishment, i saw dolores, her black eyes eagerly scanning our faces. was she looking for gage, i wondered? it was only a moment when the party that had put out from the tug also came tumbling aboard. "i got your message, kennedy, and brought guiteras. he wouldn't join the expedition, but he thought more of his daughter than of anything else." it was kenmore, who had at last achieved his wish to get on the treasure-hunt story. everson looked inquiringly at craig. "message?" repeated kennedy. "i sent no message." it was kenmore's turn to stare. had some one hoaxed him into a wild-goose chase, after all? "nothing? about dolores being deserted, and--" "he shall marry my daughter!" boomed a gruff voice as guiteras shouldered his way through the little group, his hand shooting back to a pocket where bulged a huge colt. like a flash kennedy, who had been watching, caught his wrist. "just a second, captain," he shouted, then turned to us, speaking rapidly and excitedly. "this thing has all been carefully, diabolically laid out. all who stood in the way of the whole of the treasure were to be eliminated. one person has sought to get it all--at any cost." in craig's own hand now gleamed a deadly automatic while with the other he held guiteras's wrist. "but," he added, tensely, "an insane passion has wrecked the desperate scheme. a woman has been playing a part--leading the man on to his own destruction in order to save the man she really loves." i looked over at norma. she was pale and agitated, then burning and nervous by turns. it was only by a most heroic effort that she seemed able to restrain herself, her eyes riveted on kennedy's face, weighing every word to see whether it balanced with a feeling in her own heart. "the antilles," shot out kennedy, suddenly, "was burned and sunk, not by accident, but with a purpose. that purpose has run through all the events i have seen--the use of mr. everson, his yacht, his money, his influence. come!" he strode down the passage to our state-room, and we followed in awed silence. "it is a vast, dastardly crime--to get the mexican millions," he went on, pausing, his hand on the knob of the door while we crowded the narrow passage. "i have brought up from the wreck a skull which i found near a safe, unlocked so that entrance would be easy. the skull shows plainly that the man had been hit on the head by some blunt instrument, crushing him. had he discovered something that it was inconvenient to know? you have heard the stories of the ill-fated ship--" craig flung open the door suddenly. we saw a weird face--the head apparently streaming blood from a ghastly wound. there was a shrill cry beside me. "it's his ghost--captain driggs! god save me--it's his ghost come to haunt me and claim the treasure!" i turned quickly. dominick had broken down. "you were--just leading him on--tell me--norma." i turned again quickly. it was gage, who had taken norma's hand, quivering with excitement. "you never cared for her?" she asked, with the anxiety that showed how in her heart she loved him. "never. it was part of the plot. i sent the message to get her here to show you. i didn't know you were playing a game--" suddenly the sharp crack of a pistol almost deafened us in the close passageway. as the smoke cleared, i saw dolores, her eyes blazing with hatred, jealousy, revenge. in her hand was the pistol she had wrenched from her father. on the floor across the door-sill sprawled a figure. dominick had paid the price of his faithlessness to her also. the end "no clue!" _a mystery story_ by james hay, jr. author of "the winning clue," "the melwood mystery" [illustration: publisher's logo] new york dodd, mead and company copyright, by dodd, mead and company, inc. to william ("buck") hay contents chapter page i. the grey envelope ii. the woman on the lawn iii. the unexpected witness iv. hastings is retained v. the interview with mrs. brace vi. action by the sheriff vii. the hostility of mr. sloane viii. the man who ran away ix. the breaking down of webster x. the whispered conference xi. motives revealed xii. hendricks reports xiii. mrs. brace begins xiv. mr. crown forms an alliance xv. in arthur sloane's room xvi. the bribe xvii. "the whole truth" xviii. the man who rode away xix. "pursuit!" xx. denial of the charge xxi. "ample evidence" "no clue!" i the grey envelope catherine brace walked slowly from the mantel-piece to the open window and back again. within the last hour she had done that many times, always to halt before the mantel and gaze at the oblong, grey envelope that leaned against the clock. evidently, she regarded it as a powerful agency. an observer would have perceived that she saw tremendous things come out of it--and that she considered them with mingled satisfaction and defiance. her attitude, however, betrayed no hint of hesitation. rather, the fixity of her gaze and the intensity of her mental concentration threw into high relief the hardness of her personality. she was singularly devoid of that quality which is generally called feminine softness. and she was a forceful woman. she had power. it was in her lean, high-shouldered, ungraceful figure. it was in her thin, mobile lips and her high-bridged nose with its thin, clean-cut nostrils. she impressed herself upon her environment. standing there at the mantel, her hands clasped behind her, she was so caught up by the possibilities of the future that she succeeded in imparting to the grey envelope an almost animate quality. she became aware once more of voices in the next room: a man's light baritone in protest, followed by the taunt of her daughter's laugh. although she left the mantel with lithe, swift step, it was with unusual deliberation that she opened the communicating door. her voice was free of excitement when, ignoring her daughter's caller, she said: "mildred, just a moment, please." mildred came in and closed the door. her mother, now near the window across the room, looked first at her and then at the grey envelope. "i thought," mrs. brace said, "you'd forgotten you were going to mail it." "why didn't you mail it yourself?" the tone of that was cool insolence. mother and daughter were strikingly alike--hair piled high in a wide wave above the forehead; black eyes too restless, but of that gleaming brilliance which heralds a refusal to grow old. so far, however, the daughter's features had not assumed an aspect of sharpness, like the mother's. one would have appraised the older woman vindictive--malevolent, possibly. but in the younger face the mouth greatly softened, almost concealed, this effect of calculating hardness. mildred brace's lips had a softness of line, a vividness of colouring that indicated emotional depths utterly foreign to her mother. they bore themselves now as if they commented on a decision already reached, a momentous step to which they had given immense consideration. "i didn't mail it," mrs. brace answered her daughter's query, "because i knew, if you mailed it, you'd do as you'd said you wanted to do." there was frank emphasis on the "said." "your feet don't always follow your intelligence, you know." "i've been thinking about the thing," mildred retorted, looking over her mother's shoulder into the summer night. "what's the use?" "what's the use!" mrs. brace echoed, incredulous. "just that." "we've been all over it! you know what it means to you--to both of us." they spoke in low tones, careful that the man in the living room should not hear. "my dear mother," mildred said, with a return of her cool insolence, "you display a confidence hardly warranted by your--and our--man-experience." she yawned slightly. there was a harsher note in her mother's reply. "he can't refuse. he can't!" mildred stared at the grey envelope a full three minutes. mrs. brace, wordless, showing no uneasiness as to the outcome, waited for her to speak. "it's no use, mother," she said at last. "we can't manage it--him--this thing. it's too late." the flat finality, the dreariness, of that announcement angered the older woman. calmness fell from her. she came away from the window slowly, her hands clasped tightly at her back, the upper part of her body bending forward a little, her thin nostrils expanding and contracting to the force of her hurried breathing like leaves shaken in the wind. the curl of her thin lips added a curious ferocity to the words that passed them. she spoke, only when her face was within a few inches of mildred's. "no use!" she said contemptuously, her lowered voice explosive with passion. "why? and why too late? have you no self-respect, no will, no firmness? are you all jelly and----" she got hold of herself with remarkable effectiveness, throwing off the signs of her wrath as suddenly as they had appeared. she retreated a step and laughed, without mirth. "oh, well," she said, "it's your party, not mine, after all. but, in future, my dear, don't waste your time and mine in school-girl heroics." she completed her retreat and stood again at the window. her self-restraint was, in a way, fiercer than her rage--and it affected her daughter. "you see," she concluded, "why i didn't mail it. i knew you wouldn't do the very thing you'd outlined." mildred looked at the envelope again. the pause that followed was broken by the man in the other room. "mildred," he called. mrs. brace laughed silently. mildred, seeing that ridicule, recoiled. "what are you laughing at?" she demanded. her mother pointed to the communicating door. "i was thinking of _that_," she said, "for life--and," she looked toward the grey envelope, "the other thing." "i don't see----" mildred began, and checked herself, gazing again at the envelope. her mother turned swiftly and stood looking into the night. the man called again and was not answered. the two women were motionless. there was no sound in the room, save the ticking of the clock on the mantel. two minutes passed--three. mildred went toward the mantel, put out her hand, withdrew it. she became conscious of the excessive heat and touched her forehead with her handkerchief. she glanced at her mother's motionless figure, started to speak, closed her parted lips. indecision shook her. she put out her hand again, picked up the envelope and stood tapping it against her left palm. mrs. brace, without moving, spoke at last: "it's a few minutes of twelve. if you catch the midnight collection, he'll get it, out there, by five o'clock tomorrow afternoon." there was another pause. mildred went slowly to the door leading into the living room, and once more she was on the point of speaking. mrs. brace was drumming her fingers on the window ledge. the action announced plainly that she had finished with the situation. mildred put her hand on the knob, pulled the door half-open, closed it again. "i've changed my mind," she said, dreariness still in her voice. "he can't refuse." her mother made no comment. mildred went into the living room. "gene," she said, with that indifference of tone which a woman employs toward a man she despises, "i'm going down to mail this." "well, i'll swear!" he quarrelled sullenly. "been in there all this time writing to him!" "yes! look at it!" she taunted viciously, and waved the envelope before his eyes. "sloanehurst!" taking up his hat, he went with her to the elevator. ii the woman on the lawn mr. jefferson hastings, unsuspecting that he was about to be confronted with the most brutal crime in all his experience, regretted having come to "sloanehurst." he disapproved of himself unreservedly. clad in an ample, antique night-shirt, he stood at a window of the guest-room assigned to him and gazed over the steel rims of his spectacles into the hot, rainy night. his real vision, however, made no attempt to pierce the outer darkness. his eyes were turned inward, upon himself, in derision of his behaviour during the past three hours. a kindly, reticent gentleman, who looked much older than his fifty-three years, he made it his habit to listen rather than talk. his wide fame as a criminologist and consulting detective had implanted no egotism in him. he abhorred the spotlight. but tonight judge wilton, by skilful use of query, suggestion and reminder, had tempted him into talking "shop." he had been lured into the rôle of monologuist for the benefit of his host, arthur sloane. he had talked brilliantly, at length, in detail, holding his three hearers in spellbound and fascinated interest while he discoursed on crimes which he had probed and criminals whom he had known. not that he _thought_ he had talked brilliantly! by no means! he was convinced that nine-tenths of the interest manifested in his remarks had been dictated by politeness. old hastings was just that sort of person; he discounted himself. he was in earnest, therefore, in his present self-denunciation. he sighed, remembering the volume of his discourse, the awful length of time in which he had monopolized the conversation. but his modesty was not his only admirable characteristic. he had, also, a dependable sense of humour. it came to his relief now--he thought of his host, a chuckle throttling the beginnings of a second sigh deep down in his throat. this was not the first time that arthur broughton sloane had provoked a chuckle, although, for him, life was a house of terror, a torture chamber constructed with fiendish ingenuity. mr. sloane suffered from "nerves." he was spending his declining years in the arduous but surprisingly successful task of being wretched, irritable and ill-at-ease. the variety of his agonies was equalled only by the alacrity with which he tested every cure or remedy of which he happened to hear. he agreed enthusiastically with his expensive physicians that he was neurasthenic, psychasthenic and neurotic. his eyes were weak; his voice was weak; his spirit was weak. he shivered all day with terror at the idea of not sleeping at night. every evening he quivered with horror at the thought of not waking up next morning. and yet, despite these absorbing, although not entirely delightful, preoccupations, mr. sloane was not without an object in life. in fact, he had two objects in life: the happiness of his daughter, lucille, and the study of crime and criminals. the latter interest had brought hastings to the sloane country home in virginia. judge wilton, an old friend of the wrecked and wealthy mr. sloane, had met the detective on the street in washington and urged: "go down to sloanehurst and spend saturday night. i'll be there when you arrive. sloane's got his mind set on seeing you; and you won't regret it. his library on criminology will be a revelation, even to you." and hastings, largely because he shrank from seeming ungracious, had accepted mr. sloane's subsequent invitation. climbing now into the old-fashioned four-poster bed, he thought again of his conversation-spree and longed for self-justification. he sat up, sheetless, reflecting: "as a week-ender, i'm a fine old chatter-box!--but young webster got me! what did he say?--'the cleverer the criminal, the easier to run him down. the thug, acting on the spur of the moment, with a blow in the dark and a getaway through the night, leaves no trace behind him. your "smart criminal" always overreaches himself.'--a pretty theory, but wild. anyway, it made me forget myself; i talked my old fool head off." he felt himself blush. "wish i'd let wilton do the disproving; he was anxious enough." a mental picture of sloane consoled him once more. "silk socks and gingham gumption!" he thought. "but he's honest in his talk about being interested in crime. the man loves crime!--good thing he's got plenty of money." he fell asleep, in a kind of ruminative growl: "made a fool of myself--babbling about what _i_ remembered--what _i_ thought! i'll go back to washington--in the morning." judge wilton's unsteady voice, supplemented by a rattling of the doorknob, roused him. he had thrust one foot out of bed when wilton came into the room. "quick! come on, man!" the judge instructed, and hurried into the hall. "what's wrong?" hastings demanded, reaching for his spectacles. wilton, on his way down the stairs, flung back: "a woman hurt--outside." from the hall below came mr. sloane's high-pitched, complaining tones: "unfathomable angels! what do you say?--who?" drawing on shoes and trousers, the detective overtook his host on the front verandah and followed him down the steps and around the northeast corner of the house. he noticed that sloane carried in one hand an electric torch and in the other a bottle of smelling salts. it was no longer raining. rounding the corner, they saw, scarcely fifteen yards from the bay-window of the ballroom, the upturned face of a woman who lay prostrate on the lawn. lights had been turned on in the house, making a glow which cut through the starless night. the woman did not move. judge wilton was in the act of kneeling beside her. "hold on!" hastings called out. "don't disturb her--if she's dead." "she is dead!" said wilton. "who is she?" the detective, trying to find signs of life, put his hand over her heart. "i don't know," wilton answered the question. "do you, sloane?" "of course, i don't!" hastings said afterwards that sloane's reply expressed astonished resentment that he should be suspected of knowing anybody vulgar enough to be murdered on his lawn. the detective drew back his hand. his fingers were dark with blood. at that moment berne webster, lucille sloane's fiancé, came from the rear of the house, announcing breathlessly: "no 'phone connection--this time of night, judge.--it's past midnight.--i sent chauffeur--lally--for the sheriff." hastings stood up, his first, cursory examination concluded. "no doubt about it," he said. "she's dead.--bring a blanket, somebody!" mr. sloane's nerves had the best of him by this time. he trembled like a man with a chill, rattling the bottle of smelling salts against the metal end of his electric torch. he had on slippers and a light dressing gown over his pajamas. wilton was fully dressed, young webster collarless but wearing a black, light-weight lounging jacket. hastings was struck with the different degrees of their dress, or undress. "who found her?" he asked, looking at webster. "judge wilton--and i," said webster, so short of breath that his chest heaved. "how long ago?" wilton answered that: "a few minutes, hardly five minutes. i ran in to call you and sloane." "and mr.--you, mr. webster?" "the judge told me to--to get the sheriff--by telephone." hastings knelt again over the woman's body. "here, mr. sloane," he ordered, "hold that torch closer, will you?" mr. sloane found compliance impossible. he could not steady his hand sufficiently. "hold that torch, judge," hastings prompted. "it's knocked me out--completely," sloane said, surrendering the torch to wilton. webster, the pallor still on his face, a look of horror in his eyes, stood on the side of the body opposite the detective. at brief intervals he raised first one foot, then the other, clear of the ground and set it down again. he was unconscious of making any movement at all. hastings, thoroughly absorbed in the work before him, went about it swiftly, with now and then brief, murmured comment on what he did and saw. although his ample night-shirt, stuffed into his equally baggy trousers, contributed nothing but comicality to his appearance, the others submitted without question to his domination. there was about him suddenly an atmosphere of power that impressed even the little group of awe-struck servants who stood a few feet away. "stabbed," he said, after he had run his hands over the woman's figure; "died instantly--must have. got her heart.--young--not over twenty-five, would you say?--not dead long.--anybody call a doctor?" "i told lally to stop by dr. garnet's house and send him--at once," webster said, his voice low, and broken. "he's the coroner, too." hastings continued his examination. the brief pause that ensued was broken by a woman's voice: "pauline! pauline!" the call came from one of the upstairs windows. hearing it, a woman in the servant group hurried into the house. webster groaned: "my god!" "frantic fiends! it gets worse and worse!" sloane objected shrilly. "my nerves! and lucille's annoyed--shocked!" he held the smelling bottle to his nose, breathing deeply. "here! take this!" hastings directed, and put up his hand abruptly. sloane had so gone to pieces that the movement frightened him. he stepped back in such obvious terror that a hoarse guffaw of involuntary ridicule escaped one of the servants. the detective, finding that his kneeling posture made it difficult to put his handkerchief back into his trousers pocket, had thrust it toward sloane. that gentleman having so suddenly removed himself out of reach, hastings stuck the handkerchief into judge wilton's coat-pocket. arthur sloane, the detective said later, never forgave him that unexpected wave of the handkerchief--and the servant's ridiculing laugh. hastings looked up to wilton. "did you find any weapon?" "i didn't look--didn't take time." "neither did i," young webster added. hastings, disregarding the wet grass, was on his hands and knees, searching. he accomplished a complete circuit of the body, his round-shouldered, stooping figure making grotesque, elephantine shadows under the light of the torch as he moved about slowly, not trusting his eyes, but feeling with his hands every inch of the smallest, half-lit spaces. nobody else took part in the search. having accepted his leadership from the outset, they seemed to take it for granted that he needed no help. mentally benumbed by the horror of the tragedy, they stood there in the quiet, summer night, barren of ideas. they were like children, waiting to be instructed. hastings stood erect, pulling and hauling at his trousers. "can't find a knife or anything," he said. "glad i can't. hope he took it with him." "why?" asked sloane, through chattering teeth. "may help us to find him--may be a clue in the end." he was silent a moment, squinting under the rims of his spectacles, looking down at the figure of the dead woman. he had already covered the face with the hat she had worn, a black straw sailor; but neither he nor the others found it easy to forget the peculiar and forbidding expression the features wore, even in death. it was partly fear, partly defiance--as if her last conscious thought had been a flitting look into the future, an exulting recognition of the certain consequences of the blow that had struck her down. put into words, it might have been: "you've murdered me, but you'll pay for it--terribly!" a servant handed hastings the blanket he had ordered. he looked toward the sky. "i don't think it will rain any more," he said. "and it's best to leave things as they are until the coroner arrives.--he'll be here soon?" "should get here in half an hour or so," judge wilton informed him. the detective arranged the blanket so that it covered the prone form completely, leaving the hat over the face as he had first placed it. with the exception of the hat, he had disturbed no part of the apparel. even the folds of the raincoat, which fell away from the body and showed the rain-soaked black skirt, he left as he had found them. the white shirtwaist, also partly exposed now, was dry. "anybody move her hat before i came out?" he asked; "you, judge; or you, mr. webster?" they had not touched it, they said; it was on the grass, beside her head, when they discovered the body, and they had left it there. again he was silent, brows drawn together as he stood over the murdered woman. finally, he raised his head swiftly and, taking each in turn, searched sharply the countenances of the three men before him. "does--didn't anybody here know this woman?" he asked. berne webster left his place at the opposite side of the body and came close to hastings. "i know who she is," he said, his voice lower even than before, as if he wished to keep that information from the servants. hastings' keen scrutiny had in it no intimation of surprise. waiting for webster to continue, he was addressed by the shivering mr. sloane: "mr. hast--mr. hastings, take charge of--of things. will you? you know about these things." the detective accepted the suggestion. "suppose we get at what we know about it--what we all know. let's go inside." he turned to the servants: "stay here until you're called. see that nothing is disturbed, nothing touched." he led the way into the house. sloane, near collapse, clung to one of judge wilton's broad shoulders. it was young webster who, as the little procession passed the hatrack in the front hall, caught up a raincoat and threw it over the half-clad hastings. iii the unexpected witness in the library hastings turned first to judge wilton for a description of the discovery of the body. the judge was in better condition than the others for connected narrative, arthur sloane had sunk into a morris chair, where he sighed audibly and plied himself by fits and starts with the aroma from the bottle of smelling salts. young webster, still breathing as if he had been through exhausting physical endeavour, stood near the table in the centre of the room, mechanically shifting his weight from foot to foot. wilton, seated half-across the room from hastings, drew, absently, on a dead cigar-stump. a certain rasping note in his voice was his only remaining symptom of shock. he had the stern calmness of expression that is often seen in the broad, irregularly-featured face in early middle age. "i can tell you in very few words," he said, addressing the detective directly. "we all left this room, you'll remember, at eleven o'clock. i found my bedroom uncomfortable, too warm. besides, it had stopped raining. when i noticed that, i decided to go out and smoke my good-night cigar. this is what's left of it." he put a finger to the unlighted stump still between his lips. "what time did you go out?" asked hastings. "probably, a quarter of an hour after i'd gone upstairs--fifteen or twenty minutes past eleven, i should guess." "how did you go out--by what door?" "the front door. i left it unlocked, but not open. at first i paced up and down, on the south side of the house, under the trees. it was reasonably light there then--that is to say, the clouds had thinned a little, and, after my eyes had got accustomed to it, i had no trouble in avoiding the trees and shrubbery. "then a cloud heavier than the others came up, i suppose. anyway, it was much darker. there wasn't a light in the house, except in my room and berne webster's. yours was out, i remember. i passed by the front of the house then, and went around to the north side. it was darker there, i thought, than it had been under the trees on the south side." "how long had you been out then, altogether?" "thirty or forty minutes." he looked at his watch. "it's a quarter past twelve now. let me see. i found the body a few minutes after i changed over to the north side. i guess i found it about five minutes before midnight--certainly not more than twenty minutes ago." hastings betrayed his impatience only by squinting under his spectacles and down the line of his nose, eying wilton closely. "all right, judge! let's have it." "i was going along slowly, very slowly, not doing much more than feeling my way with my feet on the close-shaven grass. it was the darkest night i ever saw. literally, i couldn't have seen my hand in front of me. "i had decided to turn about and go indoors when i was conscious of some movement, or slight sound, directly in front of me, and downward, at my feet. i got that impression." "what movement? you mean the sound of a fall?" "no; not that exactly." "a footstep?" "no. i hadn't any definite idea what sort of noise it was. i did think that, perhaps, it was a dog or a cat. just then my foot came in contact with something soft. i stooped down instinctively, immediately. "at that moment, that very second, a light flashed on in arthur's bedroom. that's between this room and the big ballroom--on this floor, of course. that light threw a long, illuminating shaft into the murky darkness, the end of it coming just far enough to touch me and--what i found--the woman's body. i saw it by that light before i had time to touch it with my hand." the judge stopped and drew heavily on his dead cigar. "all right. see anything else?" hastings urged. "yes; i saw berne webster. he had made the noise which attracted my attention." "how do you know that?" "he must have. he was stooping down, too, on the other side of the body, facing me, when the light went on----" sloane, twisting nervously in his chair, cut into wilton's narrative. "i can put this much straight," he said in shrill complaint: "i turned on the light you're talking about. i hadn't been able to sleep." "let's have this, one at a time, if you don't mind, mr. sloane," the detective suggested, watching webster. the young man, staring with fascinated intensity at judge wilton, seemed to experience some new horror as he listened. "he was on the other side of it," the judge continued, "and practically in the same position that i was. we faced each other across the body. i think that describes the discovery, as you call it. we immediately examined the woman, looking for the wound, and found it. when we saw she was dead, we came in to wake you--and try to get a doctor. i told berne to do that." during the last few sentences hastings had been walking slowly from his chair to the library door and back, his hands gouged deep into his trouser-pockets, folds of his night-shirt protruding from and falling over the waistband of the trousers, the raincoat hanging baggily from his shoulders. ludicrous as the costume was, however, the old man so dominated them still that none of them, not even wilton, questioned his authority. and yet, the thing he was doing should have appealed to them as noteworthy. a man of less power could not have accomplished it. coming from a sound sleep to the scene of a murder, he had literally picked up these men who had discovered it and who must be closely touched by it, had overcome their agitation, had herded them into the house and, with amazing promptness, had set about the task of getting from them the stories of what they knew and what they had done. appreciating his opportunity, he had determined to bring to light at once everything they knew. he devoted sudden attention now to webster, whom he knew by reputation--a lawyer thirty years of age, brilliant in the criminal courts, and at present striving for a foothold in the more remunerative ranks of civil practice. he had never been introduced to him, however, before meeting him at sloanehurst. "who touched that body first--mr. webster?" he demanded, his slow promenade uninterrupted as he kept his eyes on the lawyer's. "judge--i don't know, i believe," webster replied uncertainly. "who did, judge?" "i want your recollection," hastings insisted, kindly in spite of the unmistakable command of his tone. "that's why i asked you." "why?" "for one thing, it might go far toward showing who was really first on the scene." "i see; but i really don't remember. i'm not sure that either of us touched the body--just then. i think we both drew back, instinctively, when the light flashed on. afterwards, of course, we both touched her--looking for signs of life." the detective came to a standstill in front of webster. "who reached the body first? can you say?" "no. i don't think either was first. we got there together." "simultaneously?" "yes." "but i'm overlooking something. how did you happen to be there?" "that's simple enough," webster said, his brows drawn together, his eyes toward the floor, evidently making great effort to omit no detail of what had occurred. "i went to my room when we broke up here, at eleven. i read for a while. i got tired of that--it was close and hot. besides, i never go to bed before one in the morning--that is, practically never. and i wasn't sleepy. "i looked at my watch. it was a quarter to twelve. like the judge, i noticed that it had stopped raining. i thought i'd have a better night's sleep if i got out and cooled off thoroughly. my room, the one i have this time, is close to the back stairway. i went down that, and out the door on the north side." "were you smoking?" hastings put the query sharply, as if to test the narrator's nerves. webster's frown deepened. "no. but i had cigarettes and matches with me. i intended to smoke--and walk about." "but what happened?" "it was so much darker than i had thought that i groped along with my feet, much as judge wilton did. i was making my way toward the front verandah. i went on, sliding my feet on the wet grass." "any reason for doing that, do you remember? are there any obstructions there, anything but smooth, open lawn?" "no. it was merely an instinctive act--in pitch dark, you know." webster, his eyes still toward the floor, waited for another question. not getting it, he resumed: "my foot struck something soft. i thought it was a wet cloak, something of that sort, left out in the rain. i hadn't heard a thing. and i had no premonition of anything wrong. i bent over, with nothing more than sheer idle curiosity, to put my hand on whatever the thing was. and just then the light went on in mr. sloane's bedroom. the judge and i were looking at each other across somebody lying on the ground, face upward." "either of you cry out?" "no." "say anything?" "not much." "well, what?" "i remember the judge said, 'is she dead?' i said, 'how is she hurt?' we didn't say much while we were looking for the wound." "did you tell judge wilton you knew her?" "no. there wasn't time for any explanation--specially." "but you do know her?" "i told you that, sir, outside--just now." "all right. who is she?" hastings put that query carelessly, in a way which might have meant that he had heard the most important part of the young lawyer's story. that impression was heightened by his beginning again to pace the floor. "her name's mildred brace," replied webster, moistening his lips with his tongue. "she was my stenographer for eight months." the detective drew up sharply. "when?" "until two weeks ago." "she resign?" "yes. no--i discharged her." "what for?" "incompetence." "i don't understand that exactly. you mean you employed her eight months although she was incompetent?" "that's pretty bald," webster objected. "her incompetence came, rather, from temperament. she was, toward the last, too nervous, excitable. she was more trouble than she was worth." "ah, that's different," hastings said, with a significance that was clear. "people might have thought," he elaborated, "if you had fired her for other reasons, this tragedy tonight would have put you in an unenviable position--to say the least." he had given words to the vague feeling which had depressed them all, ever since the discovery of the murder; that here was something vastly greater than the accidental finding of a person killed by an outsider, that the crime touched sloanehurst personally. the foreboding had been patent--almost, it seemed, a tangible thing--but, until this moment, each had steered clear of it, in speech. webster's response was bitter. "they'll want to say it anyway, i guess." to that he added, in frank resentment: "and i might as well enter a denial here: i had nothing to do with the--this whole lamentable affair!" the silence in which he and hastings regarded each other was broken by arthur sloane's querulous words: "why--why, in the name of all the inscrutable saints, this thing should have happened at sloanehurst, is more than i can say! jumping angels! now, let me tell you what i----" he stopped, hearing light footfalls coming down the hall. there was the swish of silk, a little outcry half-repressed, and lucille sloane stood in the doorway. one hand was at her breast, the other against the door-frame, to steady her tall, slightly swaying figure. her hair, a pyramid on her head, as if the black, heavy masses of it had been done by hurrying fingers, gave to her unusual beauty now an added suggestion of dignity. profoundly moved as she was, there was nothing of the distracted or the inadequate about her. hastings, who had admired her earlier in the evening, saw that her poise was far from overthrown. it seemed to him that she even had considered how to wear with extraordinary effect the brilliant, vari-coloured kimono draped about her. the only criticism of her possible was that, perhaps, she seemed a trifle too imperious--but, for his part, he liked that. "a thoroughbred!" he catalogued her, mentally. "you will excuse me, father," she said from the doorway, "but i couldn't help hearing." she thrust forward her chin. "oh, i had to hear!--and there's something i have to tell." her glance went at last from sloane to hastings as she advanced slowly into the room. the detective pushed forward a chair for her. "that's fine, miss sloane," he assured her. "i'm sure you're going to help us." "it isn't much," she qualified, "but i think it's important." still she looked at neither berne webster nor judge wilton. and only a man trained as hastings was to keenness of observation would have seen the slight but incessant tremour of her fingers and the constant, convulsive play of the muscles under the light covering of her black silk slippers. sloane, alone, had remained seated. she was looking up to hastings, who stood several feet in front of webster and the judge. "i had gone to sleep," she said, her voice low, but musical and clear. "i waked up when i heard father moving about--his room is directly under mine; and, now that aunt lucy is away, i'm always more or less anxious about him. and i knew he had got quiet earlier, gone to sleep. it wasn't like him to be awake again so soon. "i sprang out of bed, really very quickly. i listened for a few seconds, but there was no further sound in father's room. the night was unusually quiet. there wasn't a sound--at first. then i heard something. it was like somebody running, running very fast, outside, on the grass." she paused. hastings was struck by her air of alertness, or of prepared waiting, of readiness for questions. "which way did the footsteps go?" he asked. "from the house--down the slope, toward the little gate that opens on the road." "then what?" "i wondered idly what it meant, but it made no serious impression on me. i listened again for sounds in father's room. there was none. struck again by the heavy silence--it was almost oppressive, coming after the rain--i went to the window. i stood there, i don't know how long. i think i was day-dreaming, lazily running things over in my mind. i don't think it was very long. "and then father turned on the light in his room." she made a quick gesture with her left hand, wonderfully expressive of shock. "i shall never forget that! the long, narrow panel of light reached out into the dark like an ugly, yellow arm--reached out just far enough to touch and lay hold of the picture there on the grass; a woman lying on the drenched ground, her face up, and bending over her judge wilton and berne--mr. webster. "i knew she'd been hurt dreadfully; her feet were drawn up, her knees high; and i could see the looks of horror on the men's faces." she paused, giving all her strength to the effort to retain her self-control before the assailing memory of what she had seen. "that was all, miss sloane?" the detective prompted, in a kindly tone. "yes, quite," she said. "but i'd heard berne's--what he was saying to you--and the judge's description of what they'd seen; and i thought you would like to know of the footsteps i'd heard--because they were the murderer's; they must have been. i knew it was important, most important." "you were entirely right," he agreed warmly. "thank you, very much." he went the length of the room and halted by one of the bookcases, a weird, lumpy old figure among the shadows in the corner. he was scraping his cheek with his thumb, and looking at the ceiling, over the rims of his spectacles. arthur sloane sighed his impatience. "those knees drawn up," hastings said at last; "i was just thinking. they weren't drawn up when i saw the body. were they?" "we'd straightened the limbs," webster answered. "thought i'd mentioned that." "no.--then, there might have been a struggle? you think the woman had put up a fight--for her life?--and was overpowered?" "well," deliberated webster, "perhaps; even probably." "strange," commented the detective, equally deliberate. "i hadn't thought so. i would have said she'd been struck down unawares--without the slightest warning." iv hastings is retained arrival of the officials, sheriff crown and the coroner, dr. garnet, brought the conference to an abrupt close. hastings, seeing the look in the girl's eyes, left the library in advance of the other men. lucille followed him immediately. "mr. hastings!" "yes, miss sloane?" he turned and faced her. "i must talk to you, alone. won't you come in here?" she preceded him into the parlour across the hall. when he put his hand on the electric switch, she objected, saying she preferred to be without the lights. he obeyed her. the glow from the hall was strong enough to show him the play of her features--which was what he wanted. they sat facing each other, directly under the chandelier in the middle of the spacious room. he thought she had chosen that place to avoid all danger of being overheard in any direction. he saw, too, that she was hesitant, half-regretting having brought him there. he read her doubts, saw how pain and anxiety mingled in her wide-open grey eyes. "yes, i know," he said with a smile that was reassuring; "i don't look like a particularly helpful old party, do i?" he liked her more and more. in presence of mind, he reflected, she surpassed the men of the household. in spite of the agitation that still kept her hands trembling and gave her that odd look of fighting desperately to hold herself together, she had formed a plan which she was on the point of disclosing to him. her courage impressed him tremendously. and, divining what her request would be, he made up his mind to help her. "it's not that," she said, her lips twisting to the pretence of a smile. "i know your reputation--how brilliant you are. i was thinking you might not understand what i wanted to say." "try me," he encouraged. "i'm not that old!" it occurred to him that she referred to berne webster and herself, fearing, perhaps, his lack of sympathy for a love affair. "it's this," she began a rush of words, putting away all reluctance: "i think i realize more keenly than father how disagreeable this awful thing is going to be--the publicity, the newspapers, the questions, the photographs. i know, too, that mr. webster's in an unpleasant situation. i heard what he said to you in the library, every word of it.--but i don't have to think about him so much as about my father. he's a very sick man, mr. hastings. the shock of this, the resultant shocks lasting through days and weeks, may be fatal for him. "besides," she explained, attaining greater composure, "he is so nervous, so impatient of discomfort and irritating things, that he may bring upon himself the enmity of the authorities, the investigators. he may easily provoke them so that they would do anything to annoy him. "i see you don't understand!" she lamented suddenly, turning her head away a little. he could see how her lips trembled, as if she held them together only by immense resolution. "i think i do," he contradicted kindly. "you want my help; isn't that it?" "yes." she looked at him again, with a quick turn of her head, her eyes less wide-open while she searched his face. "i want to employ you. can't i--what do they call it?--retain you?" "to do what, exactly?" "oh-h-h!" the exclamation had the hint of a sob in it; she was close to the end of her strength. "i'm a little uncertain about that. can't you help me there? i want the real criminal found soon, immediately, as soon as possible. i want you to work on that. and, in the meantime, i want you to protect us--father--do things so that we shan't be overrun by reporters and detectives, all the dreadful results of the discovery of a murder at our very front door." he was thoughtful, looking into her eyes. "the fee is of no matter, the amount of it," she added impulsively. "i wasn't thinking of that--although, of course, i don't despise fees. you see, the authorities, the sheriff, might not want my assistance, as you call it. generally, they don't. they look upon it as interference and meddling." "still, you can work independently--retained by mr. arthur sloane--can't you?" he studied her further. for her age--hardly more than twenty-two--she was strikingly mature of face, and self-reliant. she had, he concluded, unusual strength of purpose; she was capable of large emotionalism, but mere feeling would never cloud her mind. "yes," he answered her; "i can do that. i will." "ah," she breathed, some of the tenseness going out of her, "you are very good!" "and you will help me, of course." "of course." "you can do so now," he pressed this point. "why is it that all of you--i noticed it in the men in the library, and when we were outside, on the lawn--why is it that all of you think this crime is going to hit you, one of you, so hard? you seem to acknowledge in advance the guilt of one of you." "aren't you mistaken about that?" "no. it struck me forcibly. didn't you feel it? don't you, now?" "why, no!" he was certain that she was not frank with him. "you mean," she added quickly, eyes narrowed, "i suspect--actually suspect some one in this house?" in his turn, he was non-committal, retorting: "don't you?" she resented his insistence. "there is only one idea possible, i think," she declared, rising: "the footsteps that i heard fled from the house, not into it. the murderer is not here." he stood up, holding her gaze. "i'm your representative now, miss sloane," he said, his manner fatherly in its solicitude. "my duty is to save you, and yours, in every way i can--without breaking the law. you realize what my job is--do you?" "yes, mr. hastings." "and the advisability, the necessity, of utter frankness between us?" "yes." she said that with obvious impatience. "so," he persisted, "you understand my motive in asking you now: is there nothing more you can tell me--of what you heard and saw, when you were at your window?" "nothing--absolutely," she said, again obviously annoyed. he was close to a refusal to have anything to do with the case. he was sure that she did not deal openly with him. he tried again: "nothing more, miss sloane? think, please. nothing to make you, us, more suspicious of mr. webster?" "suspect berne!" this time she was frank, he saw at once. the idea of the young lawyer's guilt struck her as out of the question. her confidence in that was genuine, unalloyed. it was so emphatic that it surprised him. why, then, this anxiety which had driven her to him for help? what caused the fear which, at the beginning of their interview, had been so apparent? he thought with great rapidity, turning the thing over in his mind as he stood confronting her. if she did not suspect webster, whom did she suspect? her father? that was it!--her father! the discovery astounded hastings--and appealed to his sympathy, tremendously. "my poor child!" he said, on the warm impulse of his compassion. she chose to disregard the tone he had used. she took a step toward the door, and paused, to see that he followed her. he went nearer to her, to conclude what he had wanted to say: "i shall rely on this agreement between us: i can come to you on any point that occurs to me? you will give me anything, and all the things, that may come to your knowledge as the investigation proceeds? is it a bargain, miss sloane?" "a bargain, mr. hastings," she assented. "i appreciate, as well as you do, the need of fair dealing between us. anything else would be foolish." "fine! that's great, miss sloane!" he was still sorry for her. "now, let me be sure, once for all: you're concealing nothing from me, no little thing even, on the theory that it would be of no use to me and, therefore, not worth discussing? you told us all you knew--in the library?" she moved toward the door to the hall again. "yes, mr. hastings--and i'm at your service altogether." he would have sworn that she was not telling the truth. this time, however, he had no thought of declining connection with the case. his compassion for her had grown. besides, her fear of her father's implication in the affair--was there foundation for it, more foundation than the hasty thought of a daughter still labouring under the effects of a great shock? he thought of sloane, effeminate, shrill of voice, a trembling wreck, long ago a self-confessed ineffective in the battle of life--he, a murderer; he, capable of forceful action of any kind? it seemed impossible. but the old man kept that idea to himself, and instructed lucille. "then," he said, "you must leave things to me. tell your father so. tomorrow, for instance--rather this morning, for it's already a new day--reporters will come out here, and detectives, and the sheriff. all of them will want to question you, your father, all the members of the household. refer them to me, if you care to. "if you discuss theories and possibilities, you will only make trouble. to the sheriff, and anybody representing him, state the facts, the bare facts--that's all. may i count on you for that?" "certainly. that's why i've em--why i want your help: to avoid all the unpleasantness possible." when she left him to go to her father's room, hastings joined the group on the front verandah. sheriff crown and dr. garnet had already viewed the body. "i'll hold the inquest at ten tomorrow morning, rather this morning," the coroner said. "that's hurrying things a little, but i'll have a jury here by then. they have to see the body before it's taken to washington." "besides," observed the sheriff, "nearly all the necessary witnesses are here in this house party." aware of the hastings fame, he drew the old man to one side. "i'm going into washington," he announced, "to see this mrs. brace, the girl's mother. webster says she has a flat, up on fourteenth street there. good idea, ain't it?" "excellent," assured hastings, and put in a suggestion: "you've heard of the fleeting footsteps miss sloane reported?" "yes. i thought mrs. brace might tell me who that could have been--some fellow jealous of the girl, i'll bet." the sheriff, who was a tall, lanky man with a high, hooked nose and a pointed chin that looked like a large knuckle, had a habit of thrusting forward his upper lip to emphasize his words. he thrust it forward now, making his bristly, close-cropped red moustache stand out from his face like the quills of a porcupine. "i'd thought of that--all that," he continued. "looks like a simple case to me--very." "it may be," said hastings, sure now that crown would not suggest their working together. "also," the sheriff told him, "i'll take this." he held out the crude weapon with which, apparently, the murder had been committed. it was a dagger consisting of a sharpened nail file, about three inches long, driven into a roughly rounded piece of wood. this wooden handle was a little more than four inches in length and two inches thick. hastings, giving it careful examination, commented: "he shaped that handle with a pocket-knife. then, he drove the butt-end of the nail file into it. next, he sharpened the end of the file--put a razor edge on it.--where did you get this, mr. crown?" "a servant, one of the coloured women, picked it up as i came in. you were still in the library." "where was it?" "about fifteen or twenty feet from the body. she stumbled on it, in the grass. ugly thing, sure!" "yes," hastings said, preoccupied, and added: "let me have it again." he took off his spectacles and, screwing into his right eye a jeweller's glass, studied it for several minutes. if he made an important discovery, he did not communicate it to crown. "it made an ugly hole," was all he said. "you see the blood on it?" crown prompted. "oh, yes; lucky the rain stopped when it did." "when did it stop--out here?" crown inquired. "about eleven; a few minutes after i'd gone up to bed." "so she was killed between eleven and midnight?" "no doubt about that. her hat had fallen from her head and was bottom up beside her. the inside of the crown and all the lower brim was dry as a bone, while the outside, even where it did not touch the wet grass, was wet. that showed there wasn't any rain after she was struck down." the sheriff was impressed by the other's keenness of observation. "that's so," he said. "i hadn't noticed it." he sought the detective's opinion. "mr. hastings, you've just heard the stories of everybody here. do me a favour, will you? is it worth while for me to go into washington? tell me: do you think anybody here at sloanehurst is responsible for this murder?" "mr. crown," the old man answered, "there's no proof that anybody here killed that woman." "just what i thought," mr. crown applauded himself. "glad you agree with me. it'll turn out a simple case. wish it wouldn't. nominating primary's coming on in less than a month. i'd get a lot more votes if i ran down a mysterious fellow, solved a tough problem." he strode down the porch steps and out to his car--for the ten-mile run into washington. hastings was strongly tempted to accompany him, even without being invited; it would mean much to be present when the mother first heard of her daughter's death. but he had other and, he thought, more important work to do. moving so quietly that his footsteps made no sound, he gained the staircase in the hall and made his way to the second floor. if anybody had seen him and inquired what he intended to do, he would have explained that he was on his way to get his own coat in place of the one which young webster had, with striking thoughtfulness, thrown over him. as a matter of fact, his real purpose was to search webster's room. but experience had long since imbued him with contempt for the obvious. secure from interruption, since his fellow-guests were still in the library, he did not content himself with his hawk-like scrutiny of the one room; he explored the back stairway which had been webster's exit to the lawn, judge wilton's room, and his own. in the last stage of the search he encountered his greatest surprise. looking under his own bed by the light of a pocket torch, he found that one of the six slats had been removed from its place and laid cross-ways upon the other five. the reason for this was apparent; it had been shortened by between four and five inches. "cut off with a pocket-knife," the old man mused; "crude work, like the shaping of the handle of that dagger--downstairs; same wood, too. and in my room, from my bed---- "i wonder----" with a low whistle, expressive of incredulity, he put that new theory from him and went down to the library. v the interview with mrs. brace gratified, and yet puzzled, by the results of his search of the upstairs rooms, hastings was fully awake to the necessity of his interviewing mrs. brace as soon as possible. lally, the chauffeur, drove him back to washington early that sunday morning. it was characteristic of the old man that, as they went down the driveway, he looked back at sloanehurst and felt keenly the sufferings of the people under its roof. he was particularly drawn to lucille sloane, with whom he had had a second brief conference. while waiting for his coffee--nobody in the house had felt like breakfast--he had taken a chair at the southeast end of the front porch and, pulling a piece of soft wood and a knife from his gargantuan coat-pockets, had fallen to whittling and thinking.--whittling, he often said, enabled him to think clearly; it was to him what tobacco was to other men. thus absorbed, he suddenly heard lucille's voice, low and tense: "we'll have to leave it as it was be----" berne webster interrupted her, a grain of bitterness in his words: "rather an unusual request, don't you think?" "i wanted to tell you this after the talk in the library," she continued, "but there----" they had approached hastings from the south side of the house and, hidden from him by the verandah railing, were upon him before he could make his presence known. now, however, he did so, warning them by standing up with a clamorous scraping of his feet on the floor. instinctively, he had recoiled from overhearing their discussion of what was, he thought, a love-affair topic. lucille hurried to him, not that she had additional information to give him, but to renew her courage. having called upon him for aid, she had in the usual feminine way decided to make her reliance upon him complete. and, under the influence of his reassuring kindliness, her hesitance and misgivings disappeared. he had judged her feelings correctly during their conference in the parlour. at dinner, she had seen in him merely a pleasant, quiet-spoken old man, a typical "hick" farmer, who wore baggy, absurdly large clothing--"for the sake of his circulation," he said--and whose appearance in no way corresponded to his reputation as a learned psychologist and investigator of crime. now, however, she responded warmly to his charm, felt the sincerity of his sympathy. seeing that she looked up to him, he enjoyed encouraging her, was bound more firmly to her interests. "i think your fears are unfounded," he told her. but he did not reveal his knowledge that she suspected her father of some connection with the murder. in fact, he could not decide what her suspicion was exactly, whether it was that he had been guilty of the crime or that he had guilty knowledge of it. a little anxious, she had asked him to promise that he would be back by ten o'clock, for the inquest. he thought he could do that, although he had persuaded the coroner that his evidence would not be necessary--the judge and webster had found the body; their stories would establish the essential facts. "why do you want me here then?" he asked, not comprehending her uneasiness. "for one thing," she said, "i want you to talk to father--before the inquest. i wish you could now, but he isn't up." it was eight o'clock when miss davis, telephone operator in the cheap apartment house on fourteenth street known as the walman, took the old man's card and read the inscription, over the wire: "'mr. jefferson hastings.'" after a brief pause, she told him: "she wants to know if you are a detective." "tell her i am." "you may go up," the girl reported. "it's number forty-three, fourth floor--no elevator." after ascending the three flights of stairs, he sat down on the top step, to get his breath. mr. hastings was stout, not to say sebaceous--and he proposed to begin the interview unhandicapped. mrs. brace answered his ring. there was nobody else in the apartment. the moment he looked into her restless, remarkably brilliant black eyes, he catalogued her as cold and repellent. "one of the swift-eyed kind," he thought; "heart as hard as her head. no blood in her--but smart. smart!" he relied, without question, on his ability to "size up" people at first glance. it was a gift with him, like the intuition of women; and to it, he thought, he owed his best work as a detective. mrs. brace, without speaking, without acknowledging his quiet "mrs. brace, i believe?" led him into the living room after waiting for him to close the entrance door. this room was unusually large, out of proportion to the rest of the apartment which included, in addition to the narrow entry, a bedroom, kitchen and bath--all, so far as his observation went, sparsely and cheaply furnished. they sat down, and still she did not speak, but studied his face. he got the impression that she considered all men her enemies and sought some intimation of what his hostility would be like. "i'm sorry to trouble you at such a time," he began. "i shall be as brief as possible." her black eyebrows moved upward, in curious interrogation. they were almost mephistophelian, and unpleasantly noticeable, drawn thus nearer to the wide wave of her white hair. "you wanted to see me--about my daughter?" her voice was harsh, metallic, free of emotion. there was nothing about her indicative of grief. she did not look as if she had been weeping. he could learn nothing from her manner; it was extremely matter-of-fact, and chilly. only, in her eyes he saw suspicion--perhaps, he reflected, suspicion was always in her eyes. her composure amazed him. "yes," he replied gently; "if i don't distress you----" "what is it?" she suddenly lowered her eyebrows, drew them together until they were a straight line at the bottom of her forehead. her cold self-possession made it easy, in fact necessary, for him to deal with facts directly. apparently, she resented his intimated condolence. he could fling any statement, however sensational, against the wall of her indifference. she was, he decided, as free of feeling as she was inscrutable. she would be surprised by emotion into nothing. it was his brain against hers. "i want to say first," he continued, "that my only concern, outside of my natural and very real sympathy with such a loss as yours must be, is to find the man who killed her." she moved slowly to and fro on the armless, low-backed rocker, watching him intently. "will you help me?" "if i can." "thank you," he said, smiling encouragement from force of habit, not because he expected to arouse any spirit of cooperation in her. "i may ask you a few questions then?" "certainly." her thin nostrils dilated once, quickly, and somehow their motion suggested the beginning of a ridiculing smile. he went seriously to work. "have you any idea, mrs. brace, as to who killed your daughter--or could have wanted to kill her?" "yes." "who?" she got up, without the least change of expression, without a word, and, as she crossed the room, paused at the little table against the farther wall to arrange more symmetrically a pile of finger-worn periodicals. she went through the communicating door into the bedroom, and, from where he sat, he could see her go through another door--into the bathroom, he guessed. in a moment, he heard a glass clink against a faucet. she had gone for a drink of water, to moisten her throat, like an orator preparing to deliver an address. she came back, unhurried, imperturbable, and sat down again in the armless rocker before she answered his question. so far as her manner might indicate, there had been no interruption of the conversation. he swept her with wondering eyes. she was not playing a part, not concealing sorrow. the straight, hard lines of her lean figure were a complement to her gleaming, unrevealing eyes. there was hardness about her, and in her, everywhere. a slow, warm breeze brought through the curtainless window a disagreeable odour, sour and fetid. the apartment was at the back of the building; the odour came from a littered courtyard, a conglomeration of wet ashes, neglected garbage, little filthy pools, warmed into activity by the sun, high enough now to touch them. he could see the picture without looking--and that odour struck him as excruciatingly appropriate to this woman's soul. "berne webster killed my daughter," she said evenly, hands moveless in her lap. "there are several reasons for my saying so. mildred was his stenographer for eight months, and he fell in love with her--that was the way he described his feeling, and intention, toward her. the usual thing happened; he discharged her two weeks ago. "he wants to marry money. you know about that, i take it--miss sloane, daughter of a. b. sloane, sloanehurst, where she was murdered. they're engaged. at least, that is--was mildred's information, although the engagement hasn't been announced, formally. fact is, he has to marry the sloane girl." her thin, mobile lips curled upward at the ends and looked a little thicker, giving an exaggerated impression of wetness. hastings thought of some small, feline animal, creeping, anticipating prey--a sort of calculating ferocity. she talked like a person bent on making every statement perfectly clear and understandable. there was no intimation that she was so communicative because she thought she was obliged to talk. on the contrary, she welcomed the chance to give him the story. "have you told all this to that sheriff, mr. crown?" he inquired. "yes; but he seemed to attach no importance to it." she coloured her words with feeling at last--it was contempt--putting the sheriff beyond the pale of further consideration. "you were saying mr. webster had to marry miss sloane. what do you mean by that, mrs. brace?" "money reasons. he had to have money. his bank balance is never more than a thousand dollars. he's got to produce sixty-five thousand dollars by the seventh of next september. this is the sixteenth of july. where is he to get all that? he's got to marry it." hastings put more intensity into his scrutiny of her smooth, untroubled face. it showed no sudden access of hatred, no unreasoning venom, except that the general cast of her features spoke generally of vindictiveness. she was, unmistakably, sure of what she said. "how do you know that?" he asked, hiding his surprise. "mildred knew it--naturally, from working in his office." "let me be exact, mrs. brace. your charge is just what?" he felt the need of keen thought. he reached for his knife and piece of wood. entirely unconsciously, he began to whittle, letting little shavings fall on the bare floor. she made no sign of seeing his new occupation. "it's plain enough, mr.--i don't recall your name." "hastings--jefferson hastings." "it's plain and direct, mr. hastings. he threw her over, threw mildred over. she refused to be dealt with in that way. he wouldn't listen to her side, her arguments, her protests, her pleas. she pursued him; and last night he killed her. i understand--mr. crown told me--he was found bending over the body--it seemed to me, caught in the very commission of the crime." a fleeting contortion, like mirthless ridicule, touched her lips as she saw him, with head lowered, cut more savagely into the piece of wood. she noticed, and enjoyed, his dismay. "that isn't quite accurate," he said, without lifting his head. "he and another man, judge wilton, stumbled--came upon your daughter's body at the same moment." "was that it?" she retorted, unbelieving. when he looked up, she was regarding him thoughtfully, the black brows elevated, interrogative. the old man felt the stirrings of physical nausea within him. but he waited for her to elaborate her story. "do you care to ask anything more?" she inquired, impersonal as ashes. "if i may." "why, certainly." he paused in his whittling, brought forth a huge handkerchief, passed it across his forehead, was aware for a moment that he was working hard against the woman's unnatural calmness, and feeling the heat intensely. she was untouched by it. he whittled again, asking her: "you a native of washington?" "no." "how long have you been here?" "about nine months. we came from chicago." "any friends here--have you any friends here?" "neither here nor elsewhere." she made that bleak declaration simply, as if he had suggested her possession of green diamonds. her tone made friendship a myth. he felt again utterly free of the restraints and little hesitancies usual in situations of this nature. "and your means, resources. any, mrs. brace?" "none--except my daughter's." he was unaccountably restless. putting the knife into his pocket, he stood up, went to the window. his guess had been correct. the courtyard below was as he had pictured it. he stood there at least a full minute. turning suddenly in the hope of catching some new expression on her face, he found her gazing steadily, as if in revery, at the opposite wall. "one thing more, mrs. brace: did you know your daughter intended to go to sloanehurst last night?" "no." "were you uneasy when she failed to come in--last night?" "yes; but what could i do?" "had she written to mr. webster recently?" "yes; i think so." "you think so?" "yes; she went out to mail a letter night before last. i recall that she said it was important, had to be in the box for the midnight collection, to reach its destination yesterday afternoon--late. i'm sure it was to webster." "did you see the address on it?" "i didn't try to." he stepped from the window, to throw the full glare of the morning sky on her face, which was upturned, toward him. "was it in a grey envelope?" "yes; an oblong, grey envelope," she said, the impassive, unwrinkled face unmoved to either curiosity or reticence. with surprising swiftness he took a triangular piece of paper from his breast pocket and held it before her. "might that be the flap of that grey envelope?" she inspected it, while he kept hold of it. "very possibly." without leaving her chair, she turned and put back the lid of a rickety little desk in the corner immediately behind her. there, she showed him, was a bundle of grey envelopes, the corresponding paper beside it. he compared the envelope flaps with the one he had brought. they were identical. here was support of her assertion that berne webster had been pursued by her daughter as late as yesterday afternoon--and, therefore, might have been provoked into desperate action. he had found that scrap of grey paper at sloanehurst, in webster's room. vi action by the sheriff mrs. brace did not ask hastings where he had got the fragment of grey envelope. she made no comment whatever. he reversed the flap in his hand and showed her the inner side on which were, at first sight, meaningless lines and little smears. he explained that the letter must have been put into the envelope when the ink was still undried on the part of it that came in contact with the flap, and, the paper being of that rough-finish, spongy kind frequently affected by women, the flap had absorbed the undried ink pressed against it. "have you a hand-mirror?" he asked, breaking a long pause. she brought one from the bedroom. holding it before the envelope flap, he showed her the marks thus made legible. they were, on the first line: "--edly de--," with the first loop or curve of an "n" or an "m" following the "de"; and on the second line the one word "pursuit!" the whole reproduction being this: edly de pursuit! "does that writing mean anything to you, mrs. brace?" hastings asked, keeping it in front of her. she moved her left hand, a quiet gesture indicating her lack of further interest in the piece of paper. "nothing special," she said, "except that the top line seems to bear out what i've told you. it might be: 'repeatedly demanded'--i mean mildred may have written that she had repeatedly demanded justice of him, something of that sort." "is it your daughter's writing?" "yes." "and the word 'pursuit,' with an exclamation point after it? that suggest anything to you?" "why, no." she showed her first curiosity: "where did you get that piece of envelope?" "not from berne webster," he said, smiling. "i suppose not," she agreed, and did not press him for the information. "you said," he went to another point, "that the sheriff attached no importance to your belief in webster's guilt. can you tell me why?" her contempt was frank enough now, and visible, her lips thickening and assuming the abnormally humid appearance he had noticed before. "he thinks the footsteps which miss sloane says she heard are the deciding evidence. he accuses a young man named russell, eugene russell, who's been attentive to mildred." hastings was relieved. "crown's seen him, seen russell?" he asked, not troubling to conceal his eagerness. on that, he saw the beginnings of wrath in her eyes. the black eyebrows went upward, the thin nostrils expanded, the lips set to a line no thicker than the edge of a knife. "you, too, will----" she broke off, checked by the ringing of the wall telephone in the entrance hall. she answered the call, moving without haste. it was for mr. hastings, she said, going back to her seat. he regretted the interruption; it would give her time to regain the self-control she had been on the point of losing. sheriff crown was at the other end of the wire. he was back at sloanehurst, he explained, and miss sloane had asked him to give the detective certain information: he had asked the washington police to hold eugene russell, or to persuade him to attend the inquest at sloanehurst. crown, going in to washington, had stopped at the car barns of the electric road which passed sloanehurst, and had found a conductor who had made the ten-thirty run last night. this conductor, barton, had slept at the barns, waiting for the early-morning resumption of car service to take him to his home across the city. barton remembered having seen a man leave his car at ridgecrest, the next stop before sloanehurst, at twenty-five minutes past ten last night. he answered russell's description, had seemed greatly agitated, and was unfamiliar with the stops on the line, having questioned barton as to the distance between ridgecrest and sloanehurst. that was all the conductor had to tell. "mrs. brace's description of russell, a real estate salesman who had been attentive to her daughter," continued crown, "tallied with barton's description of the man who had been on his car. i got his address from her. but say! she don't fall for the idea that russell's guilty! she gave me to understand, in that snaky, frozen way of hers, that i was a fool for thinking so. "anyway, i'm going to put him over the jumps!" the sheriff was highly elated. "what was he out here for last night if he wasn't jealous of the girl? wasn't he following her? and, when he came up with her on the sloanehurst lawn, didn't he kill her? it looks plain to me; simple. i told you it was a simple case!" "have you seen him?" hastings was looking at his watch as he spoke--it was nine o'clock. "no; i went to his boarding house, waked up the place at three o'clock this morning. he wasn't there." hastings asked for the number of the house. it was on eleventh street, crown informed him, and gave the number. "i searched his room," the sheriff added, his voice self-congratulatory. "find anything?" "i should say! the nail file was missing from his dressing case." "what else?" "a pair of wet shoes--muddy and wet." "then, he'd returned to his room, after the murder, and gone out again?" "that's it--right." "anybody in the house hear him come in, or go out?" "not a soul.--and i don't know where he is now." hastings, leaving the telephone, found mrs. brace carefully brushing into a newspaper the litter made by his whittling. her performance of that trivial task, the calm thoroughness with which she went about it, or the littleness of it, when compared with her complete indifference to the tragedy which should have overwhelmed her--something, he could not tell exactly what, made her more repugnant to him than ever. he spoke impulsively: "did you want--didn't you feel some impulse, some desire, to go out there when you heard of this murder?" she paused in her brushing, looking up to him without lifting herself from hands and knees. "why should i have wanted to do any such thing?" she replied. "mildred's not out there. what's out there is--nothing." "do you know about the arrangements for the removal of the body?" "the sheriff told me," she replied, cold, impersonal. "it will be brought to an undertaking establishment as soon as the coroner's jury has viewed it." "yes--at ten o'clock this morning." she made no comment on that. he had brought up the disagreeable topic--one which would have been heart-breaking to any other mother he had ever known--in the hope of arousing some real feeling in her. and he had failed. her self-control was impregnable. there was about her an atmosphere that was, in a sense, terrifying, something out of all nature. she brushed up the remaining chips and shavings while he got his hat. he was deliberating: was there nothing more she could tell him? what could he hope to get from her except that which she wanted to tell? he was sure that she had spoken, in reply to each of his questions, according to a prearranged plan, a well designed scheme to bring into high relief anything that might incriminate berne webster. and he was by no means in a mood to persuade himself of webster's guilt. he knew the value of first impressions; and he did not propose to let her clog his thoughts with far-fetched deductions against the young lawyer. she got to her feet with cat-like agility, and, to his astonishment, burst into violent speech: "you're standing there trying to think up things to help berne webster! like the sheriff! now, i'll tell you what i told him: webster's guilty. i know it! he killed my daughter. he's a liar and a coward--a traitor! he killed her!" there was no doubt of her emotion now. she stood in a strange attitude, leaning a little toward him in the upper part of her body, as if all her strength were consciously directed into her shoulders and neck. she seemed larger in her arms and shoulders; they, with her head and face, were, he thought, the most vivid part of her--an effect which she produced deliberately, to impress him. her whole body was not tremulous, but, rather, vibrant, a taut mechanism played on by the rage that possessed her. her eyebrows, high on her forehead, reminded him of things that crawled. her eyes, brilliant like clear ice with sunshine on it, were darting, furtive, always in motion. she did not look him squarely in the eye, but her eyes selected and bored into every part of his face; her glance played on his countenance. he could easily have imagined that it burned him physically in many places. "all this talk about gene russell's being guilty is stuff, bosh!" she continued. "gene wouldn't hurt anybody. he couldn't! wait until you see him!" her lips curled momentarily to their thickened, wet sneer. "there's nothing to him--nothing! mildred hated him; he bored her to death. even i laughed at him. and this sheriff talks about the boy's having killed her!" suddenly, she partially controlled her fury. he saw her eyes contract to the gleam of a new idea. she was silent a moment, while her vibrant, tense body swayed in front of him almost imperceptibly. when she spoke again, it was in her flat, constrained tone. he was impressed anew with her capacity for making her feeling subordinate to her intelligence. "she's a dangerous woman," he thought again. "you're working for webster?" her inquiry came after so slight a pause, and it was put to him in a manner so different from the unrestraint of her denunciation of webster, that he felt as he would have done if he had been dealing with two women. "i've told you already," he said, "my only interest is in finding the real murderer. in that sense, i'm working for webster--if he's innocent." "but he didn't hire you?" "no." seeing that he told the truth, she indulged herself in rage again. it was just that, hastings thought; she took an actual, keen pleasure in giving vent to the anger that was in her. relieved of the necessity of censoring her words and thoughts closely, she could say what she wanted to say. "he's guilty, and i'll prove it!" she defied the detective's disbelief. "i'll help to prove it. guilty? i tell you he is--guilty as hell!" he made an abrupt departure, her shrill hatred ringing in his ears when he reached the street. he found it hard, too, to get her out of his eyes, even now--she had impressed herself so shockingly upon him. the picture of her floated in front of him, above the shimmering pavement, as if he still confronted her in all her unloveliness, the smooth, white face like a travesty on youth, the swift, darting eyes, the hard, straight lines of the lean figure, the cold deliberation of manner and movement. "she's incapable of grief!" he thought. "terrible! she's terrible!" lally drove him to his apartment on fifteenth street, where the largest of three rooms served him as a combination library and office. there he kept his records, in a huge, old-fashioned safe; and there, also, he held his conferences, from time to time, with police chiefs and detectives from all parts of the country when they sought his help in their pursuit of criminals. the walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. a large table in the centre of the room was stacked high with newspapers and magazines. dusty papers and books were piled, too, on several chairs set against the bookcases, and on the floor in one corner was a pyramid of documents. "this place is like me," he explained to visitors; "it's loosely dressed." he sat down at the table and wrote instructions for one of his two assistants, his best man, hendricks. russell's room must be searched and russell interviewed--work for which hastings felt that he himself could not spare the time. he gave hendricks a second task: investigation of the financial standing of two people: berne webster and mrs. catherine brace. he noted, with his customary kindness, in his memorandum to hendricks: "sunday's a bad day for this sort of work, but do the best you can. report tomorrow morning." that arranged, he set out for sloanehurst, to keep his promise to lucille--he would be there for the inquest. on the way he reviewed matters: "somehow, i got the idea that the brace woman _knew_ russell hadn't killed her daughter. funny, that is. how could she have known that? how can she know it now? "she's got the pivotal fact in this case. i felt it. i'm willing to bet she persuaded her daughter to pursue webster. and things have gone 'bust'--didn't come out as she thought they would. what was she after, money? that's exactly it! exactly! her daughter could hold up webster, and webster could hold up the sloanes after his marriage." he whistled softly. "if she can prove that webster should have married her daughter, that he's in need of anything like sixty-five thousand dollars--where does he get off? he gets off safely if the brace woman ever sees fit to tell--what? i couldn't guess if my whittling hand depended on it." he grimaced his repugnance. "what a woman! a mania for wickedness--evil from head to foot, thoroughly. _she_ wouldn't stick at murder--if she thought it safe. she'd do anything, say anything. every word she uttered this morning had been rehearsed in her mind--with gestures, even. when i beat her, i beat this puzzle; that's sure." that he had to do with a puzzle, he had no manner of doubt. the very circumstances surrounding the discovery of the girl's body--arthur sloane flashing on the light in his room at a time when his being awake was so unusual that it frightened his daughter; judge wilton stumbling over the dead woman; young webster doing the same thing in the same instant; the light reaching out to them at the moment when they bent down to touch the thing which their feet had encountered--all that shouted mystery to his experienced mind. he thought of webster's pronouncement: "the thug, acting on the spur of the moment, with a blow in the dark and a getaway through the night----" here was reproduction of that in real life. would people say that webster had given himself away in advance? they might. and the weapon, what about that? it could have been manufactured in ten minutes. crown had said over the wire that russell's nail file was missing. what if webster's, too, were missing? he would see--although he expected to uncover no such thing. he came, then, to lucille's astounding idea, that her father must be "protected," because he was nervous and, being nervous, might incur the enmity of the authorities. he could not take that seriously. and yet the most fruitful imagination in the world could fabricate no motive for arthur sloane's killing a young woman he had never seen. only webster and russell could be saddled with motives: webster's, desperation, the savage determination to rid himself of the woman's pursuit; russell's, unreasoning jealousy. so far as facts went, the crime lay between those two--and he could not shake off the impression that mrs. brace, shrilly asserting russell's innocence, had known that she spoke the absolute truth. vii the hostility of mr. sloane delayed by a punctured tire, hastings reached sloanehurst when the inquest was well under way. he went into the house by a side door and found lucille sloane waiting for him. "won't you go to father at once?" she urged him. "what's the matter?" he saw that her anxiety had grown during his absence. "he's in one of his awfully nervous states. i hope you'll be very patient with him--make allowances. he doesn't seem to grasp the importance of your connection with the case; wants to ask questions. won't you let me take you to him, now?" "why, yes, if i can be of any help. what do you want me to say to him?" as a matter of fact, he was glad of the opportunity for the interview. he had long since discovered the futility of inquests in the uncovering of important evidence, and he had not intended to sit through this one. he wanted particularly to talk to berne webster, but sloane also had to be questioned. "i thought you might explain," she continued hurriedly, preceding him down the hall toward her father's room, "that you will do exactly what i asked you to do--see that the mysterious part of this terrible affair, if there is any mystery in it--see that it's cleared up promptly. please tell him you'll act for us in dealing with newspaper reporters; that you'll help us, not annoy us, not annoy him." she had stopped at sloane's door. "and you?" hastings delayed her knock. "if they want you to testify, if dr. garnet calls for you, i think you'd better testify very frankly, tell them about the footsteps you heard." "i've already done that." she seemed embarrassed. "father asked me to 'phone mr. southard, mr. jeremy southard, his lawyer, about it. i know i told you i wanted your advice about everything. i would have waited to ask you. but you were late. i had to take mr. southard's advice." "that's perfectly all right," he reassured her. "mr. southard advised you wisely.--now, i'm going to ask your help. the guest-rooms upstairs--have the servants straightened them up this morning?" they had not, she told him. excitement had quite destroyed their efficiency for the time being; they were at the parlour windows, listening, or waiting to be examined by the coroner. "that's what i hoped," he said. "won't you see that those rooms are left exactly as they are until i can have a look at them?" she nodded assent. "and say nothing about my speaking of it--absolutely nothing to anybody? it's vitally important." the door was opened by sloane's man, jarvis, who had in queer combination, hastings thought, the salient aspects of an undertaker and an experienced pick-pocket. he was dismal of countenance and alert in movement, an efficient ghost, admirably appropriate to the twilit gloom of the room with its heavily shaded windows. mr. sloane was in bed, in the darkest corner. "father," lucille addressed him from the door-sill, "i've asked mr. hastings to talk to you about things. he's just back from washington." "shuddering saints!" said mr. sloane, not lifting his head from the pillows. lucille departed. the ghostly jarvis closed the door without so much as a click of the latch. hastings advanced slowly toward the bed, his eyes not yet accustomed to the darkness. "shuddering, shivering, shaking saints!" mr. sloane exclaimed again, the words coming in a slow, shrill tenor from his lips, as if with great exertion he reached up with something and pushed each one out of his mouth. "sit down, mr. hastings, if i can control my nerves, and stand it. what is it?" his hostility to the caller was obvious. the evident and grateful interest with which the night before he had heard the detective's stories of crimes and criminals had changed now to annoyance at the very sight of him. as a raconteur, mr. hastings was quite the thing; as protector of the sloane family's privacy and seclusion, he was a nuisance. such was the impression mr. hastings received. at a loss to understand his host's frame of mind, he took a chair near the bed. mr. sloane stirred jerkily under his thin summer coverings. "a little light, jarvis," he said peevishly. "now, mr. hastings, what can i do for--tell you?" jarvis put back a curtain. "quivering and crucified martyrs!" the prostrate man burst forth. "i said a little, jarvis! you drown my optic nerves in ink and, without a moment's warning, flood them with the glaring brilliancy of the noonday sun!" jarvis half-drew the curtain. "ah, that's better. never more than an inch at a time, jarvis. how many times have i told you that? never give me a shock like that again; never more than an inch of light at a time. frantic fiends! from cimmerian, abysmal darkness to sahara-desert glare!" "yes, sir," said jarvis, as if on the point of digging a grave--for himself. "beg pardon, sir." he effaced himself, in shadows, somewhere behind hastings, who seized the opportunity to speak. "miss sloane suggested that you wanted certain information. in fact, she asked me to see you." "my daughter? oh, yes!" the prone body became semi-upright, leaned on an elbow. "yes! what i want to know is, why--why, in the name of all the jumping angels, everybody seems to think there's a lot of mystery connected with this brutal, vulgar, dastardly crime! it passes my comprehension, utterly!--jarvis, stop clicking your finger-nails together!" this with a note of exaggerated pleading. "you know i'm a nervous wreck, a total loss physically, and yet you stand there in the corner and indulge yourself wickedly, wickedly, in that infernal habit of yours of clicking your finger-nails! mute and mutilated christian martyrs!" he fell back among the pillows, breathing heavily, the perfect picture of exhaustion. jarvis came near on soundless feet and applied a wet cloth to his master's temples. the old man regarded them both with unconcealed amazement. "you'll have to excuse me, mr. hastings, really, i can't be annoyed!" the wreck, somewhat revived, announced feebly. "all i said to my daughter, miss sloane, is what i say to you now: i see no reason why we should employ you, or indeed why you should be connected with this affair. you were my guest, here, at sloanehurst. unfortunately, some ruffian of whom we never heard, whose existence we never suspected--jarvis, take off this counterpane; you're boiling me, parboiling me; my nerves are seething, simmering, stewing! athletic devils! have you no discrimination, jarvis?--as i was saying, mr. hastings, somebody stabbed somebody else to death on my lawn, unfortunately marring your visit. but that's all. i can't see that we need you--thank you, nevertheless." the dismissal was unequivocal. hastings got to his feet, his indignation all the greater through realization that he had been sent for merely to be flouted. and yet, this man's daughter had come to him literally with tears in her eyes, had begged him to help her, had said that money was the smallest of considerations. moreover, he had accepted her employment, had made the definite agreement and promise. apparently, sloane was in no condition to act independently, and his daughter had known it, had hoped that he, hastings, might soothe his silly mind, do away with his objections to assistance which she knew he needed. there was, also, the fact that lucille believed her father unaccountably interested, if not implicated, in the crime. he could not get away from that impression. he was sure he had interpreted correctly the girl's anxiety the night before. she was working to save her father--from something. and she believed berne webster innocent. these were some of the considerations which, flashing through his mind, prevented his giving way to righteous wrath. he most certainly would not allow arthur sloane to eliminate him from the situation. he sat down again. the nervous wreck made himself more understandable. "perhaps, jarvis," he said, shrinking to one side like a man in sudden pain, "the gentleman can't see how to reach that large door. a little more light, half an inch-not a fraction more!" "don't bother," hastings told jarvis. "i'm not going quite yet." "leaping crime!" moaned mr. sloane, digging deeper into the pillows, "frantic imps!" "i hope i won't distress you too much," the detective apologized grimly, "if i ask you a few questions. fact is, i must. i'm investigating the circumstances surrounding what may turn out to be a baffling crime, and, irrespective of your personal wishes, mr. sloane, i can't let go of it. this is a serious business----" the sick man sat up in bed with surprising abruptness. "serious business! serious saints!--jarvis, the eau de cologne!--you think i don't know it? they make a slaughter-house of my lawn. they make a morgue of my house. they hold a coroner's inquest in my parlour. they're in there now--live people like ravens, and one dead one. they cheat the undertaker to plague me. they wreck me all over again. they give me a new exhaustion of the nerves. they frighten my daughter to death.--jarvis, the smelling salts. shattered saints, jarvis! hurry! thanks.--they rig up lies which, tom wilton, my old and trusted friend, tells me, will incriminate berne webster. they sit around a corpse in my house and chatter by the hour. you come in here and make jarvis nearly blind me. "and, then, then, by the holy, agile angels! you think you have to persuade me it's a serious business! never fear! i know it!--jarvis, the bromide, quick! before i know it, they'll drive me to opiates.--serious business! shrivelled and shrinking saints!" arms clasped around his legs, knees pressed against his chin, mr. sloane trembled and shook until jarvis, more agile than the angels of whom his employer had spoken, gave him the dose of bromides. still, mr. hastings did not retire. "i was going to say," he resumed, in a tone devoid of compassion, "i couldn't drop this thing now. i may be able to find the murderer; and you may be able to help me." "i?" "yes." "isn't it russell? he's among the ravens now, in my parlour. wilton told me the sheriff was certain russell was the man. murdered martyrs! sacrificed saints! can't you let a guilty man hang when he comes forward and puts the rope around his own worthless neck?" "if russell's guilty," hastings said, glad of the information that the accused man was then at sloanehurst, "i hope we can develop the necessary evidence against him. but----" "the necessary----" "let me finish, mr. sloane, if you please!" the old man was determined to disregard the other's signs of suffering. he did not believe that they were anything but assumed, the exaggerated camouflage which he usually employed as an excuse for idleness. "but, if russell isn't guilty, there are facts which may help me to find the murderer. and you may have valuable information concerning them." "sobbing, sorrowing saints!" lamented mr. sloane, but his trembling ceased; he was closely attentive. "a cigarette, jarvis, a cigarette! nerves will be served.--i suppose the easiest way is to submit. go on." "i shall ask you only two or three questions," hastings said. the jackknife-like figure in the bed shuddered its repugnance. "i've been told, mr. sloane, that mr. webster has been in great need of money, as much as sixty-five thousand dollars. in fact, according to my information, he needs it now." "well, did he kill the woman, expecting to find it in her stocking?" "the significance of his being hard-pressed, for so large an amount," the old man went on, ignoring the sarcasm, "is in the further charge that miss brace was trying to make him marry her, that he should have married her, that he killed her in order to be free to marry your daughter--for money." "my daughter! for money!" shrilled sloane, neck elongated, head thrust forward, eyes bulging. "leaping and whistling cherubim!" for all his outward agitation, he seemed to hastings in thorough command of his logical faculties; it was more than possible, the detective thought, that the expletives were time-killers, until he could decide what to say. "it's ridiculous, absurd! why, sir, you reason as loosely as you dress! are you trying to prostrate me further with impossible theories? webster marry my daughter for money, for sixty-five thousand dollars? he knows i'd let him have any amount he wanted. i'd give him the money if it meant his peace of mind and lucille's happiness.--dumb and dancing devils! jarvis, a little whiskey! i'm worn out, worn out!" "did you ever tell mr. webster of the extent of your generous feeling toward him, mr. sloane--in dollars and cents?" "no; it wasn't necessary. he knows how fond of him i am." "and you would let him have sixty-five thousand dollars--if he had to have it?" "i would, sir!--today, this morning." "now, one other thing, mr. sloane, and i'm through. it's barely possible that there was some connection between this murder and a letter which came to sloanehurst yesterday afternoon, a letter in an oblong grey envelope. did----" the nervous man went to pieces again, beat with his open palms on the bed covering. "starved and stoned evangels, jarvis! quit balling your feet! you stand there and see me harassed to the point of extinction by a lot of crazy queries, and you indulge yourself in that infernal weakness of yours of balling your feet! leaping angels! you know how acute my hearing is; you know the noise of your sock against the sole of your shoe when you ball your feet is the most exquisite torture to me! a little whiskey, jarvis! quick!" he spoke now in a weak, almost inaudible voice to hastings: "no; i got no such letter. i saw no such letter." he sank slowly back to a prone posture. "i was going to remind you," the detective continued, "that i brought the five o'clock mail in. getting off the car, i met the rural carrier; he asked me to bring in the mail, saving him the few steps to your box. all there was consisted of a newspaper and one letter. i recall the shape and colour of the envelope--oblong, grey. i did not, of course, look at the address. i handed the mail to you when you met me on the porch." mr. sloane, raising himself on one elbow to take the restoring drink from jarvis, looked across the glass at his cross-examiner. "i put the mail in the basket on the hall table," he said in high-keyed endeavour to express withering contempt. "if it had been for me, jarvis would have brought it to me later. i seldom carry my reading glasses about the house with me." hastings, subjecting the pallid jarvis to severe scrutiny, asked him: "was that grey letter addressed to--whom?" "i didn't see it," replied jarvis, scarcely polite. "and yet, it's your business to inspect and deliver the household's mail?" "yes, sir." "what became of it, then--the grey envelope?" "i'm sure i can't say, sir, unless some one got it before i reached the mail basket." hastings stood up. interrogation of both master and man had given him nothing save the inescapable conviction that both of them resented his questioning and would do nothing to help him. the reason for this opposition he could not grasp, but it was a fact, challenging his analysis. arthur sloane rejected his proffered help in the pursuit of the man who had brought murder to the doors of sloanehurst. why? was this his method of hiding facts in his possession? hastings questioned him again: "your waking up at that unusual hour last night--was it because of a noise outside?" the neurasthenic, once more recumbent, succeeded in voicing faint denial of having heard any noises, outside or inside. nor had he been aware of the murder until called by judge wilton. he had turned on his light to find the smelling-salts which, for the first time in six years, jarvis had failed to leave on his bed-table,--terrible and ill-trained apes! couldn't he be left in peace? the hall door opened, admitting judge wilton. the newcomer, with a word of greeting to hastings, sat down on the bedside and put a hand on sloane's shoulder. hastings turned to leave the room. "any news?" the judge asked him. "i've just been asking mr. sloane that," hastings said, in a tone that made wilton look swiftly at his friend's face. "i told arthur this morning," he said, "how lucky he was that you'd promised lucille to go into this thing." "apparently," hastings retorted drily, "he's unconvinced of the extent of his good fortune." mr. sloane, quivering from head to foot, mourned softly: "unfathomable fate!" wilton, his rugged features softening to frank amusement, stared a moment in silence at sloane's thin face, at the deeply lined forehead topped by stringy grey hair. "see here, arthur," he protested, nodding hastings an invitation to remain; "you know as much about crime as hastings and i. if you've thought about this murder at all, you must see what it is. if russell isn't guilty--if he's not the man, that crime was committed shrewdly, with forethought. and it was a devilish thing--devilish!" "well, what of it?" sloane protested shrilly, not opening his eyes. "take my advice. quit antagonizing mr. hastings. be thankful that he's here, that he's promised to run down the guilty man." mr. sloane turned his face to the wall. "a little whiskey, jarvis," he said softly. "i'm exhausted, tom. leave me alone." wilton waved his hand, indicative of the futility of further argument. "judge," announced hastings, at the door, "i'll ask you a question i put to mr. sloane. did you receive, or see, a letter in an oblong, grey envelope in yesterday afternoon's mail?" "no. i never get any mail while i'm here for a week-end." wilton followed the detective into the hall. "i hope you're not going to give up the case, hastings. you won't pay any attention to arthur's unreasonable attitude, will you?" "i don't know," hastings said, still indignant. "i made my bargain with his daughter. i'll see her." "if you can't manage any other way, i--or she--will get any information you want from arthur." "i hope to keep on. it's a big thing, i think." the old man was again intent on solving the problem. "tell me, judge; do you think berne webster's guilty?" seeing the judge's hesitance, he supplemented: "i mean, did you notice anything last night, in his conduct, that would indicate guilt--or fear?" later, when other developments gave this scene immense importance, hastings, in reviewing it, remembered the curious little flicker of the judge's eyelids preceding his reply. "absolutely not," he declared, with emphasis. "are you working on that"--he hesitated hardly perceptibly--"idea?" viii the man who ran away ancestors of the old family from whom arthur sloane had purchased this colonial mansion eight years ago still looked out of their gilded frames on the parlour walls, their high-bred calm undisturbed, their aristocratic eyes unwidened, by the chatter and clatter of the strangers within their gates. hastings noticed that even the mob and mouthing of a coroner's inquest failed to destroy the ancient atmosphere and charm of the great room. he smiled. the pictured grandeur of a bygone age, the brocaded mahogany chairs, the tall french mirrors--all these made an incongruous setting for the harsh machinery of crime-inquiry. the detective had completed his second and more detailed search of the guest-rooms in time to hear the words and study the face of the last witness on dr. garnet's list. that was eugene russell. "one of life's persimmons--long before frost!" hastings thought, making swift appraisal. "a boneless spine--chin like a sheep--brave as a lamb." russell could not conceal his agitation. in fact, he referred to it. fear, he explained in a low, husky voice to the coroner and the jury, was not a part of his emotions. his only feeling was sorrow, varied now and then by the embarrassment he felt as a result of the purely personal and very intimate facts which he had to reveal. his one desire was to be frank, he declared, his pale blue eyes roving from place to place, his nervous fingers incessantly playing with his thin, uncertain lips. this mania for truthfulness, he asserted, was natural, in that it offered him the one sure path to freedom and the establishment of his innocence of all connection with the murder of the woman he had loved. he was, he testified, thirty-one years old, a clerk in a real-estate dealer's office and a native of washington. mildred brace had been employed for a few weeks by the same firm for which he worked, and it was there that he had met her. although she had refused to marry him on the ground that his salary was inadequate for the needs of two people, she had encouraged his attentions. sometimes, they had quarrelled. "speak up, mr. russell!" dr. garnet directed. "and take your time. let the jury hear every word you utter." after that, the witness abandoned his attempt to exclude the family portraits from his confidence, but his voice shook. "conductor barton is right," he said, responding to the coroner's interrogation. "i did come out on his car, the car that gets to the sloanehurst stop at ten-thirty, and i did leave the car at the ridgecrest stop, a quarter of a mile from here. i was following mil--miss brace. i saw her leave her apartment house, the walman. i followed her to the transfer station at the bridge, and i saw her take the car there. i followed on the next car. i knew where she was going, knew she was going to sloanehurst." "how did you know that, mr. russell?" "i mean i was certain of it. she'd told me mr. berne webster, the lawyer she'd been working for, was out here spending the week-end; and i knew she was coming out to meet him." "why did she do that?" mr. russell displayed pathetic embarrassment and confusion before he answered that. he plucked at his lower lip with spasmodic fingers. his eyes were downcast. he attempted a self-deprecatory smile which ended in an unpleasant grimace. "she wouldn't say. but it was because she was in love with him." "and you were jealous of mr. webster?" "we-ell--yes, sir; that's about it, i guess." "did miss brace tell you she was coming to sloanehurst?" "no, sir. i suspected it." "and watched her movements?" "yes, sir." "and followed her?" "yes." "why did you think she was in love with mr. webster, mr. russell? and please give us a direct answer. you can understand the importance of what you're about to say." "i do. i thought so because she had told me that he was in love with her, and because of her grief and anger when he dismissed her from his office. and she did everything to make me think so, except declaring it outright. she did that because she knew i hated to think she was in love with him." "all right, mr. russell. now, tell us what happened during your--ah--shadowing miss brace the night she was killed." "i got off the car at ridgecrest and walked toward sloanehurst. it was raining then, pretty hard. i thought she had made an appointment to meet mr. webster somewhere in the grounds here. it was a quarter to eleven when i got to the little side-gate that opens on the lawn out there on the north side of the house." "how did you know that?" "i looked at my watch then. it's got a luminous dial." "you were then at the gate near where she was found, dead?" "yes. and she was at the gate." "oh! so you saw her?" "i saw her. when i lifted the latch of the gate, she came toward me. there was a heavy drizzle then. i thought she had been leaning on the fence a few feet away. she whispered, sharp and quick, 'who's that?' i knew who she was, right off. i said, 'gene.' "she caught hold of my arm and shook it. she told me, still whispering, if i didn't get away from there, if i didn't go back to town, she'd raise an alarm, accuse me of trying to kill her--or she'd kill me. she pressed something against my cheek. it felt like a knife, although i couldn't see, for the darkness." the witness paused and licked his dry lips. he was breathing fast, and his restless eyes had a hunted look. the people in the room leaned farther toward him, some believing, some doubting him. hastings thought: "he's scared stiff, but telling the truth--so far." "all right; what next?" asked dr. garnet, involuntarily lowering his voice to russell's tone. "i accused her of having an appointment to meet webster there. i got mad. i hate to have to tell all this, gentlemen; but i want to tell the truth. i told her she was a fool to run after a man who'd thrown her over. "'it's none of your look-out what i do!' she told me. 'you get away from here, now--this minute! you'll be sorry if you don't!' there was something about her that frightened me, mad as i was. i'd never seen her like that before." "what do you mean?" garnet urged him. "i thought she would kill me, or somebody else would, and she knew it. i got the idea that she was like a crazy woman, out of her head about webster, ready to do anything desperate, anything wild. i can't explain it any better than that." "and did you leave her?" "yes, sir." "at once?" "practically. a sort of panic got hold of me. i can't explain it, really." russell, seeking an illuminative phrase, gave vent to a long-drawn, anxious sigh. he appeared to feel no shame for his flight. his fear was that he would not be believed. "just as she told me a second time to leave her, i thought i heard somebody coming toward us, a slushy, dull sound, like heavy footsteps on the wet grass. mildred's manner, her voice, had already scared me. "when i heard those footsteps, i turned and ran. my heart was in my mouth. i ran out to the road and back toward washington. i ran as fast as i could. twice i fell on my hands and knees. i can't tell you exactly how it was, why it was. i just knew something terrible would happen if i stayed there. i never had a feeling like that before. i was more afraid of her than i was of the man coming toward us." members of the jury pushed back their chairs, were audible with subdued exclamations and long breaths, relieved of the nervous tension to which russell's story of the encounter at the gate had lifted them. they were, however, prejudiced against him, a fact which he grasped. one of them asked him: "can you tell us why you followed her out here?" "why?" russell echoed, like a man seeking time for deliberation. "yes. what did you think you'd do after you'd overtaken her?" "persuade her to go back home with me. i wanted to save her from doing anything foolish--anything like that, you know." "but, from what you've told us here this morning, it seems you never had much influence on her behaviour. isn't that true?" "i suppose it is.--but," russell added eagerly, "i can prove i had no idea of hurting her, if that's what you're hinting at. i can prove i never struck her. at twenty minutes past eleven last night i was four miles from here. mr. otis, a washington commission merchant, picked me up in his automobile, six miles outside of washington and took me into town. i couldn't have made that four miles on foot, no matter how i ran, in approximately fifteen or twenty minutes. "it's been proved that she was struck down after eleven anyway.--you said the condition of the body showed that, doctor.--you see, i would have had to make the four miles in less than twenty minutes--an impossibility. you see?" his eagerness to win their confidence put a disagreeable note, almost a whimper, into his voice. it grated on dr. garnet. it affected hastings more definitely. "now," he decided, "he's lying--about something. but what?" he noted a change in russell's face, a suggestion of craftiness, the merest shadow of slyness over his general attitude of anxiety. and yet, this part of his story seemed straight enough. dr. garnet's next question brought out the fact that it would be corroborated. "this mr. otis, mr. russell; where is he?" "right there, by the window," the witness answered, with a smug smile which gave him a still more unprepossessing look. jury and spectators turned toward the man at the window. they saw a clean-shaven, alert-looking person of middle age, who nodded slightly in russell's direction as if endorsing his testimony. there seemed no possible grounds for doubting whatever otis might say. hastings at once accepted him as genuine, an opinion which, it was obvious, was shared by the rest of the assemblage. russell sensed the change of sentiment toward himself. until now, it had been a certainty that he would be held for the murder. but his producing an outsider, incontestably a trustworthy man, to establish the truth of his statement that he had been four miles away from the scene of the crime a quarter of an hour after it had been committed--that was something in his favour which could not be gainsaid. granting even that he had had an automobile at his disposal--a supposition for which there was no foundation--his alibi would still have been good, in view of the rain and the fact that one of the four miles in question was "dirt road." with the realization of this, the jury swung back to the animus it had felt against webster, the incredulity with which it had received his statement that there had been between him and the dead woman no closer relationship than that of employer and employe. webster, seated near the wall furthest from the jury, felt the inquiry of many eyes upon him, but he was unmoved, kept his gaze on russell. dr. garnet, announcing that he would ask mr. otis to testify a little later, handed russell the weapon with which mildred brace had been murdered. "have you ever seen that dagger before?" he asked. russell said he had not. reminded that sheriff crown had testified to searching the witness's room and had discovered that a nail file was missing from his dressing case, a file which, judging by other articles in the case, must have been the same size as the one used in making the amateur dagger, russell declared that his file had been lost for three years. he had left it in a hotel room on the only trip he had ever taken to new york. he gave way to mr. otis, who described himself as a commission merchant of washington. returning from a tour to lynchburg, virginia, he said, he had been hailed last night by a man in the road and had agreed to take him into town, a ride of six miles. reaching washington shortly before midnight, he had dropped his passenger at eleventh and f streets. "who was this passenger?" inquired garnet. "he told me," said otis, "his name was eugene russell. i gave him my name. that explains how he was able to find me this morning. when he told me how he was situated, i agreed to come over here and give you gentlemen the facts." "notice anything peculiar about mr. russell last night?" "no; i think not." "was he agitated, disturbed?" "he was out of breath. and he commented on that himself, said he'd been walking fast. oh, yes! he was bareheaded; and he explained that--said the rain had ruined a cheap straw hat he had been wearing; the glue had run out of the straw and down his neck, he had thrown the hat away." "and the time? when did you pick him up?" "it was twenty minutes past eleven o'clock. when i stopped, i glanced at my machine clock; i carry a clock just above my speedometer." mr. otis was positive in his statements. he realized, he said, that his words might relieve one man of suspicion and bring it upon another. unless he had been absolutely certain of his facts, he would not have stated them. he was sure, beyond the possibility of doubt, that he had made no mistake when he looked at his automobile clock; it was running when he stopped and when he reached washington; yes, it was an accurate timepiece. russell's alibi was established. his defence appealed to the jurymen as unassailable. when, after a conference of less than half an hour, they brought in a verdict that mildred brace had been murdered by a thrust of the "nail-file dagger" in the hands of a person unknown, nobody in the room was surprised. and nobody was blind to the fact that the freeing of eugene russell seriously questioned the innocence of berne webster. ix the breaking down of webster hastings, sprawling comfortably in a low chair by the south window in the music room, stopped his whittling when berne webster came in with judge wilton. "meddlesome mike!" thought the detective. "i sent for webster." "berne asked me to come with him," the judge explained his presence at once. "we've talked things over; he thought i might help him bring out every detail--jog his memory, if necessary." hastings did not protest the arrangement. he saw, almost immediately, that webster had come with no intention of giving him hearty cooperation. the motive for this lack of frankness he could not determine. it was enough that he felt the younger man's veiled antagonism and appreciated the fact that wilton accompanied him in the rôle of protector. "if i'm to get anything worth while out of this talk," he decided, "i've got to mix up my delivery, shuffle the cards, spring first one thing and then another at him--bewilder him." he proceeded with that definite design: at an opportune time, he would guide the narrative, take it out of webster's hands, and find out what he wanted to know, not merely what the young lawyer wanted to tell. he recognized the necessity of breaking down the shell of self-control that overlaid the suspected man's uneasiness. that it was only a shell, he felt sure. webster, leaning an elbow lightly on the piano, looked down at him out of anxious eyes, and continually passed his right hand over his smooth, dark-brown hair from forehead to crown, a mechanical gesture of his when perplexed. his smile, too, was forced, hardly more than a slight, fixed twist of the lips, as if he strove to advertise his ability to laugh at danger. his customary dash, a pleasing levity of manner, was gone, giving place to a suggestion of strain, so that he seemed always on the alert against himself, determined to edit in advance his answer to every question. wilton had chosen a chair which placed him directly opposite hastings and at the same time enabled him to watch webster. he was smoking a cigar, and, through the haze that floated up just then from his lips, he gave the detective a long, searching look, to which hastings paid no attention. webster talked nearly twenty minutes, explaining his eagerness to be "thoroughly frank as to every detail," reviewing the evidence brought out by the inquest, and criticising the action of the jury, but producing nothing new. occasionally he left the piano and paced the floor, smoking interminably, lighting the fresh cigarette from the stub of the old, obviously strung to the limit of his nervous strength. hastings detected a little twitching of the muscles at the corners of his mouth, and the too frequent winking of his eyes. judge wilton had told him, webster continued, of mrs. brace's charge that he wanted to marry miss sloane because of financial pressure; there was not a word of truth in it; he had already arranged for a loan to make that payment when it fell due. he was, however, aware of his unenviable position, and he wanted to give the detective every assistance possible, in that way assuring his own prompt relief from embarrassment. by this time, hastings had mapped out his line of questioning, his assault on webster's reticence. "that's the right idea!" he said, getting to his feet. "let's go to work." they saw the change in him. instead of the genial, drawling, slow-moving old fellow who had seemed thankful for anything he might chance to hear, they were confronted now by an aroused, quick-thinking man whose words came from him with a sharp, clipped-off effect, and whose questions scouted the whole field of their possible and probable information. he stood leaning his elbows on the other end of the piano, facing webster across the polished length of its broad top. his dominance of the night before, in the library, had returned. "now, mr. webster," he began, innocent of threat, "as things stack up at present, only two people had the semblance of a motive for killing mildred brace--either eugene russell killed her out of jealousy of you; or you killed her to silence her demands. do you see that?" he had put back his head a little and was peering at webster under his spectacle-rims, down the line of his nose. he saw how the other fought down the impulse to deny, hesitating before answering, with a laugh on a high note, like derision: "i suppose that's what a lot of people will say." "precisely. now, i've just had a talk with this russell--caught him after the inquest. i believe there's something rotten about that alibi of his; but i couldn't shake him; and the otis testimony's sound. so we'll have to quit counting on russell's proving his own guilt. we've got that little job on our hands, and the best way to handle it is to prove your innocence. see that?" the bow with which webster acknowledged this statement was a curious mingling of grace and mockery. the detective ignored it. "and," he continued, "there's only one way for you to come whole out of this muddle--frankness. i'm working for you; you know that. tell me everything you know, and we've got a chance to win. the innocent man who tries to twist black into white is an innocent fool." he looked swiftly to wilton, who was leaning far back in his chair, head lolling slowly from side to side, the picture of indifference. "isn't that so, judge?" "quite," wilton agreed, pausing to remove his cigar from his mouth. "of course, it's so," webster said curtly. "i've just told you so. that's why i've decided--the judge and i have talked it over--to give you something in confidence." "one moment!" hastings warned him. "maybe, i won't take it in confidence--if it's something incriminating you." "yes; you've phrased that unfortunately, berne," the judge put in, tilting his head on the chair-back to meet the detective's look. webster was nonplussed. apparently, his surprise came from the judge's remark rather than from the detective's refusal to assume the rôle of confidant. hastings inferred that wilton, agreeing beforehand to the proposal being advanced, had changed his mind after entering the room. "hastings is right," the judge concluded; "even if he's on your side, you can't expect him to be tied up blind that way by a suspected man--and you're just that, berne." seeing webster's uncertainty, hastings took another course. "i think i know what you're talking about, mr. webster," he said, matter-of-fact. "your nail-file's missing from your dressing case--disappeared since yesterday morning." "you know that!" berne flashed, suddenly angry. "and you're holding it over me!" open hostility was in every feature of his face; his lips twitched to the sharp intake of his breath. "why don't you look at it another way?" the old man countered quickly. "if i'd told the coroner about it--if i'd told him also that the size of that nail-file, judging from the rest of the dressing case, matched that of the one used for the blade of the dagger, matched it as well as russell's--what then?" "he's right, berne," wilton cautioned again. "he's taken the friendly course." "i understand that, judge," berne said; and, without answering hastings, turned squarely to wilton: "but it's a thin clue. he admits russell lost a nail-file, too." "several years ago," hastings goaded, so that webster pivoted on his heel to face him; "you lost yours when?--last night?--this morning?" "i don't know! i noticed its absence this morning." "there you are!--but," hastings qualified, to avoid the quarrel, "the nail-file isn't much of a clue if unsupported." he approached cordiality. "and i appreciate your intending to tell me. that was what you intended to give me in confidence, wasn't it?" "yes," webster answered, half-sullen. hastings changed the subject again. "did you know mildred brace intended to clear out, leave washington, today?" "why, no!" webster shot that out in genuine surprise. "i got it from russell," hastings informed, and went at once to another topic. "and that brings us to the letter. judge wilton tell you about that?" webster was lighting a cigarette, with difficulty holding the fire of the old one to the end of the new. the operation seemed to entail hard labour for him. "in the grey envelope?" he responded, drawing on the cigarette. "yes. i didn't get it." he took off his coat. the heat oppressed him. at frequent intervals he passed his handkerchief around the inside of his collar, which was wilting. now, more than ever, he gave the impression of exaggerated watchfulness, as if he attempted prevision of the detective's questions. "nobody got it, so far as i can learn," hastings said, a note of sternness breaking through the surface of his tone. "it vanished into thin air. that's the most mysterious thing about this mysterious murder." he, in his turn, began pacing the floor, a short distance to and fro in front of judge wilton's chair, his hands behind him, flopping the baggy tail of his coat from side to side. "you doubtless see the gravity of the facts: that letter was mailed to sloanehurst. russell has just told me so. she waved it in his face, to taunt him about you, before she dropped it into the mail-box. he swears"--hastings stopped, at the far end of his pacing, and looked hard at webster--"it was addressed to you." webster, again with his queer, high-pitched laugh, like derision, threw back his head and took two long strides toward the centre of the room. there he stood a moment, hands in his pockets, while he stared at the toe of his right shoe, which he was carefully adjusting to a crack in the flooring. judge wilton made his chair crackle as he moved to look at webster. it was the weight of the detective's gaze, however, that drew the lawyer's attention; when he looked up, his eyes were half-closed, as if the light had suddenly become painful to them. "that would be russell's game, wouldn't it?" he retorted, at last. "mrs. brace told me the same thing," hastings said quietly, flashing a look at wilton and back to the other. "damn her!" webster broke forth with such vehemence that wilton stared at him in amazement. "damn her! and that's the first time i ever said that of a woman. it's as i suspected, as i expected. she's begun some sort of a crooked game!" he trembled like a man with a chill. hastings gave him no time to recover himself. "you know mrs. brace, then? know her well?" he pressed. "well enough!" webster retorted with hot repugnance. "well enough, although i never had but one conversation with her--if you may call that bedlam wildness a conversation. she came to my office the second day after i'd dismissed her daughter. she made a scene. she charged me with ruining her daughter's life, threatened suit for breach of promise. she said she'd 'get even' with me if it took her the rest of her life. i don't as a rule pay much attention to violent women, mr. hastings; but there was something about her that affected me strongly, she's implacable, and like stone, not like a woman. you saw her--understand what i mean?" "perfectly," agreed hastings. there flashed across his mind a picture of that incomprehensible woman's face, the black line of her eyebrows lifted half-way to her hair, the abnormal wetness of her lips thickened by a sneer. "if she's been after this man for two weeks," he thought, "i can understand his trembles!" but he hurried the inquiry. "so you think she lied about that letter?" "of course!" webster laughed on a high note. "next, i suppose, she'll produce the letter." "she can't very well do that." something in his voice alarmed the suspected man. "what do you mean?" he asked. hastings smiled. "what do you mean?" webster asked again, his voice lowered, and came a step nearer to the detective. hastings took a piece of paper from his pocket. "here's the flap of the grey envelope," he said, as if that was all the information he meant to impart. webster urged him, with eyes and voice: "well?" "and on the back of it is some of mildred brace's handwriting." the old man examined the piece of paper with every show of absorption. he could hear webster's hurried breathing, and the gulp when he swallowed the lump in his throat. the scene had got hold of wilton also. leaning forward in his chair, his lips half-parted, the thumb and forefinger of his right hand mechanically fubbing out his cigar, so that a little stream of fire trickled to the floor, he gazed unwinking at the envelope flap. webster went a step nearer to hastings, and stood, passing his hand across the top of his head and staring again out of his half-closed eyes, as if the light had hurt them. "and," the old man said, regarding webster keenly but keeping any hint of accusation out of his voice, "i found it last night in the fireplace, behind the screen, in your room upstairs." he paused, looking toward the door, his attention caught by a noise in the hall. webster laughed, on the high, derisive note. he was noticeably pale. "come, man!" judge wilton said, harsh and imperious. "can't you see the boy's suffering? what's written on it?" "what difference does it make--the writing?" webster objected, with a movement of his shoulders that looked like a great effort to pull himself together. "if there's any at all, it's faked. faked! that's what it is. people don't write on the inside of envelope flaps." his face did not express the assurance he tried to put into his voice. he went back to the piano and leaned on it, his posture such that it might have indicated a nonchalant ease or, equally well, might have betrayed his desperate need of support. "this letter incident can't be waved away," hastings, without handing over the scrap of envelope, proceeded in even, measured tones--using his sentences as if they were hammers with which he assailed the young lawyer's remnants of self-control. "you're not trifling with a jury, mr. webster. i believe i know as much about the value of facts, this kind of facts, as you do. consider what you're up against. you----" webster put up a hand in protest, the fingers so unsteady that they dropped the cigarette which he had been on the point of lighting. "just a moment!" the old man commanded him. "this mildred brace claimed she had suffered injury at your hands. you fired her out of your office. she and her mother afterwards pursued you. she came out here in the middle of the night, where she knew you were. she was murdered, and by a weapon whose blade may have been fashioned from an article you possessed, an article which is now missing, missing since you came to sloanehurst this time. you were found bending over the dead body. "her mother and her closest friend, her would-be fiancé, say she wrote to you friday night, addressing her letter to sloanehurst. the flap of an envelope, identified by her mother and friend, and bearing the impression in ink of her handwriting, is found in the fireplace of your room here. the man who followed her out here, who might have been suspected of the murder, has proved an alibi. "now, i ask you, as a lawyer and a sensible man, who's going to believe that she came out here without having notified you of her coming? who, as facts stand now, is going to believe anything but that you, desperate with the fear that she would make revelations which would prevent your marriage to miss sloane and keep you from access to an immense amount of money which you needed--who's going to believe you didn't kill her, didn't strike her down, there in the night, according to a premeditated plan, with a dagger which, for better protection of yourself, you had manufactured in a way which you hoped would make it beyond identification? who's----" wilton intervened again. "what's your object, hastings?" he demanded, springing from his chair. "you're treating berne as if he'd killed the woman and you could prove it!" webster was swaying on his feet, falling a little away from the piano and reeling against it again, his elbows sliding back and forth on its top. he was extremely pale; even his lips, still stiff and twisted to what he thought was a belittling smile, were white. he looked at the detective as a man might gaze at an advancing terror which he could neither resist nor flee. his going to pieces was so complete, so absolute, that it astonished hastings. "and you, both of you," the old man retorted to wilton's protest; "you're treating me as if i were a meddlesome outsider intent on 'framing up' a case, instead of the representative of the sloane family--at least, of miss lucille sloane! why's that?" "tell me what's on that paper," webster said hoarsely, as if he had not heard the colloquy of the other two. he held up a trembling hand, but without taking a step. he still swayed, like a man dangled on strings, against the piano. "yes; tell him!" urged wilton. hastings handed webster the envelope flap. instead of looking at it, webster let it drop on the piano. "one of the words," hastings said, "is 'pursuit.' the other two are uncompleted." "and it's her handwriting, the daughter's?" wilton said. "beyond a doubt." webster kept his unwinking eyes on the detective, apparently unable to break the spell that held him. for a long moment, he had said nothing. when he did speak, it was with manifest difficulty. his words came in a screaming whisper: "then, i'm in desperate shape!" "nonsense, man!" judge wilton protested, his voice raised, and, going to his side, struck him sharply between the shoulders. "get yourself together, berne! brace up!" the effect on the collapsing man was, in a way, magical. he stood erect in response to the blow, his elbows no longer seeking support on the piano. he got his eyes away from hastings and looked at the judge as a man coming out of a sound sleep might have done. for a few seconds, he had one hand over his mouth, as if, by actual manipulation, he would gain control of the muscles of his lips. "i feel better," he said at last, dropping the hand from before his face and squaring his shoulders. "i don't know what hit me. if i'd--you know," he hesitated, frowning, "if i'd killed the woman, i couldn't have acted the coward more thoroughly." hastings went through with what he wanted to say: "about that letter, mr. webster: have you any idea, can you advance any theory, as to how that piece of the envelope got into your room?" webster was passing his hand across his hair now, and breathing in a deep, gusty fashion. "not the faintest," he replied, hoarsely. "that's all, then, gentlemen!" hastings said, so abruptly that both of them started. "we don't seem to have gone very far ahead with this business. we won't, until you--particularly you, webster--tell me what you know. it's your own affair----" "my dear sir----" judge wilton began. "let me finish!" hastings spoke indignantly. "i'm no fool; i know when i'm trifled with. understand me: i don't say you got that letter, mr. webster; i don't say you ever saw it; i don't know the truth of it--yet. i do say you've deliberately refused to respond to my requests for cooperation. i do say you'd prefer to have me out of this case altogether. i know it, although i'm not clear as to your motives--or yours, judge. you were anxious enough, you said when we talked at sloane's door, for me to go on with it. if you're still of that opinion, i advise you to advise your friend here to be more outspoken with me. i'll give you this straight: if i can't be corn, i won't be shucks. but i intend to be corn. i'm going to conduct this investigation as i see fit. i won't be turned aside; i won't play second to your lead!" he was fine in his intensity. astounded by his vehemence, the two men he addressed were silent, meeting his keen and steady scrutiny. he smiled, and, as he did so, they were aware, with an emotion like shock, that his whole face mirrored forth a genuine and warm self-satisfaction. the thing was as plain as if he had spoken it aloud: he had gotten out of the interview what he wanted. their recognition of this fact increased their blankness. "you know my position now," he added, no longer denunciatory. "if you change your minds, that will be great! i want all the help i can get. and, take it from me, young man, you can't afford to throw away any you can get." "threats?" webster had shot out the one word with cool insolence before the judge could begin a conciliatory remark. the change in the lawyer's manner was so unpleasant, the insult so palpably deliberate, that hastings could not mistake the purpose back of it. webster regarded him out of burning eyes. "no; not threats," hastings answered him in a voice that was cold as ice. "i think you understand what i mean. i know too little, and i suspect too much, to drop my search for the murderer of that woman." judge wilton tried to placate him: "i don't see what your complaint is, hastings. we----" a smothered, half-articulate cry from webster interrupted him. hastings, first to spring forward, caught the falling man by his arm, breaking the force of the fall. he had clutched the edge of the piano as his legs gave under him. that, and the quickness of the detective, made the fall more like a gentle sliding to the floor. save for the one, gurgling outcry, no word came from him. he was unconscious, his colourless lips again twisted to that poor semblance of smiling defiance which hastings had noticed at the beginning of the interview. x the whispered conference dr. garnet, reaching sloanehurst half an hour later, found webster in complete collapse. he declared that for at least several days the sick man must be kept quiet. he could not be moved to his apartment in washington, nor could he be subjected to questioning about anything. "that is," he explained, "for three or four days--possibly longer. he's critically ill. but for my knowledge of the terrific shock he's sustained as a result of the murder, i'd be inclined to say he'd broken down after a long, steady nervous strain. "i'll have a nurse out to look after him. miss sloane has volunteered, but she has troubles of her own." judge wilton took the news to hastings, who was on the front porch, whittling, waiting to see lucille before returning to washington. "i think garnet's right," wilton added. "i thought, even before last night, berne acted as if he'd been worn out. and you handled him rather roughly. that sort of questioning, tantalizing, keeping a man on tenterhooks, knocks the metal out of a high-strung temperament like his. i don't mind telling you it had me pretty well worked up." "i'm sorry it knocked him out," hastings said. "all i wanted was the facts. he wasn't frank with me." "i came out here to talk about that," wilton retorted, brusquely. "you're all wrong there, hastings! the boy's broken all to pieces. he sees clearly, too clearly, the weight of suspicion against him. you've mistaken his panic for hostility toward yourself." the old man was unconvinced, and showed it. "suspicion doesn't usually knock a man into a cocked hat--unless there's something to base it on," he contended. "all right; i give up," wilton said, with a short laugh. "all i know is, he came to me before we saw you in the music room, and told me he wanted me to be there, to see that he omitted not even a detail of what he knew." hastings, looking up from the intricate pattern he was carving, challenged the judge: "has it occurred to you that, if he's not guilty, he might suspect somebody else in this house, might be trying to shield that person?" in the inconsiderable pause that followed, wilton's lips, parting for an incredulous smile, showed the top of his tongue against his teeth, as if set for pronunciation of the letter "s." hastings, in a mental flash, saw him on the point of exclaiming: "sloane!" but, if that was in his mind, he put it down, elaborating the smile to a laughing protest: "that's going far afield, isn't it?" hastings smiled in return: "maybe so, but it's a possibility--and possibilities have to be dealt with." "which reminds me," the judge said, now all amiability; "don't forget i'm always at your service in this affair. i see now that you might have preferred to question webster alone, in the music room; but my confidence in his innocence blinded me to the fact that you could regard him as actually guilty. i expected nothing but a friendly conference, not a fierce cross-examination." "it didn't matter at all," hastings matched wilton's cordial tone; "and i appreciate your offer, judge. suppose you tell me anything that occurs to you, anything that will throw light on this case any time; and i'll act as go-between for you with the authorities--if necessary." "you mean----?" "i'd like to do the talking for this family and its friends. i can work better if i can handle things myself. the half of my job is to save the sloanes from as many wild rumours as i can." wilton nodded approval. "how about arthur? you want me to take any questions to him for you?" "no; thanks.--but," hastings added, "you might make him see the necessity of telling me what he saw last night. if he doesn't come out with it, he'll make it all the harder on webster." "i don't think he saw anything." "didn't he? why'd he refuse to testify before the coroner, then?" sheriff crown's car came whirling up the driveway; and hastings spoke hurriedly: "you know he's not as sick as he makes out. he's got to tell me what he knows, judge! he's holding back something. that's why he wants to make me so mad i'll quit the case. who's he shielding? that's what people will want to know." wilton pondered that. "i'll see what i can do," he finally agreed. "according to you, it may appear--people may suspect--that webster's guilty or shielding somebody else; and arthur's guilty or shielding webster!" when mr. crown reached the porch, they were discussing webster's condition, and hastings, with the aid of the judge's penknife, was tightening a screw in his big barlowesque blade. they were careful to say nothing that might arouse the sheriff's suspicion of their compact--an agreement whereby a private detective, and not the law's representative, was to have the benefit of all the judge's information bearing on the murder. mr. crown, however, was dissatisfied. "i'm tied up!" he complained, nursing with forefinger and thumb his knuckle-like chin. "the only place i can get information is at the wrong end--russell!" "what's the matter with me?" the detective asked amiably. "i'll be glad to help--if you think i can." "what good's that to me?" he wore his best politician's smile, but there was resentment in his voice. "your job is keeping things quiet--for sloanehurst. mr. sloane's ill, too ill to see me without endangering his life, so his funeral-faced valet tells me. miss lucille says, politely enough, she's told all she knows, told it on the stand, and i'm to go to you if i want anything more from her. the judge here knows nothing about the inside relationships of the family and webster, or of webster and the brace girl. and webster's down and out, thoroughly and conveniently! if all that don't catch your uncle robert where the hair's short, i'll quit!" "what do you want to know?" hastings countered. "you've had access to everything, far as i can see." reply to that was delayed by the appearance of jarvis, summoning the judge to arthur sloane's room. "i want to get at webster," crown told hastings. "and here's why: if russell didn't kill her, webster did." "why, you've weakened!" the old man guyed head bent over his whittling. "you had russell's goose cooked this morning--roasted to a rich, dark brown!" "yes; and if i could break down his alibi, i'd still have him cooked!" "you accept the alibi, then?" "sure, i accept it." "i don't." "why don't you?" objected crown. "he didn't have an aeroplane in his hip pocket, did he? that's the only way he could have covered those four miles in fifteen minutes.--or does his alibi have to fall in order to save miss sloane's fiancé?" he slapped his thigh and thrust out his bristly moustache. "you're paid to fasten the thing on russell," he said, clearly pugnacious. "i don't expect you to help me work against webster! i'm not that simple!" the old man, with a gesture no more arresting than to point at the sheriff with the piece of wood in his left hand, made the official jaw drop almost to the official chest. "mr. crown," he said, "get this, once and for all: a man ain't necessarily a crook because he's once worked for the government. i'm as anxious to find the guilty man now, every time, as when i was in the department of justice. and i intend to. from now on, you'll give me credit for that!--won't you, mr. sheriff?" crown apologized. "i'm worried; that's what. i'm up a gum stump and can't get down." "all right, but don't try to make a ladder out of me! why don't you look into that alibi?" crown was irritated again. "what do you stick to that for?" "because," hastings declared, "i'm ready to swear-and-cross-my-heart he lied when he said he ran that four miles. i'm ready to swear he was here when the murder was done. when a man's got as good an alibi as he said he had, his adam's-apple don't play 'yankee doodle' on his windpipe." "is that so!" "it is--and here's another thing: when's mrs. brace going to break loose?" "now, you're talking!" agreed crown, with momentary enthusiasm. "she told me this morning she'd help me show up webster--she wouldn't have it that russell killed the girl. foxy business! mixed up in it herself, she runs to the rescue of the man she----" the sheriff paused, unable to bring that reasoning to its logical conclusion. "no," he said, dejected; "i can't believe she put him up to murdering her daughter." "that woman," hastings said, "is capable of anything--anything! we're going to find she's terrible, i tell you, crown. she's mixed up in the murder somehow--and, if you don't find out how, i will!" "how can we get her?" crown argued. "she was in her flat when the killing was done. we've searched these grounds, and found nothing to incriminate anybody. all we've got is a strong suspicion against two men. she's out and away." "not if we watch her. she's promised to make trouble--she'll be lucky if she makes none for herself. let's keep after her." "i'm on! but," the sheriff reminded, again half-hearted, "that won't get us anything soon. she won't leave her flat before the funeral." "that won't keep her quiet very long," hastings contended. "she told me the funeral would be at nine o'clock tomorrow morning--from an undertaker's.--anyway, i've instructed one of my assistants to keep track of her. i'm not counting on her grief absorbing her, even for today." but he saw that crown was not greatly impressed with the possibility of finding the murderer through mrs. brace. the sheriff was engrossed in mental precautions against being misled by "the sloanehurst detective." he was still in that mood when miss sloane sent for hastings. the detective found her in the music room. she had taken the chair which judge wilton had occupied an hour before, and was leaning one elbow on an arm of it, her chin resting in the cup of her hand. her dress--a filmy lavender so light that it shaded almost to pink, and magically made to bring out the grace of her figure--drew his attention to the slight sag of her shoulders, suggestive of great weariness. but he was captivated anew by her grave loveliness, and by her fortitude. she betrayed her agitation only in the fine tremour in her hands and a certain slowness in her words. on the porch, talking to judge wilton, he had wondered, in a moment of irritation, why he continued on the case against so much apparent opposition in the very household which he sought to help. he knew now that neither his sense of duty nor his fee was the deciding influence. he stayed because this girl needed him, because he had seen in her eyes last night the haggard look of an unspeakable suspicion. "you wanted to see me--is there anything special?" she asked him, immediately alert. "yes; there is, miss sloane," he said, careful to put into his voice all the sympathy he felt for her. "yes?" she was looking at him with steady eyes. "it's this, and i want you to bear in mind that i wouldn't bring it up but for my desire to put an end to your uncertainty: i'm afraid you haven't told me everything you know, everything you saw last night in----" when she would have spoken, he put up a warning hand. "let me explain, please. don't commit yourself until you see what i mean. judge wilton and mr. webster seem to think i'm not needed here. it may be a natural attitude--for them. they're both lawyers, and to lawyers a mere detective doesn't amount to much." "oh, i'm sure it isn't that," she flashed out, apologizing. "oh, i don't mind, personally," he said, with a smile for which she felt grateful. "as i say, it's natural for them to think that way, perhaps. your father, however, is not a lawyer; and, when i went into his room at your request, he took pains to offend me, insult me, several times." that brought a faint flush to her face. "so, that leaves only you to give me facts which i must have--if they exist." he became more urgent. "and you employed me, miss sloane; you appealed to me when you were at a loss where to turn. i'm only fair to myself as well as to you when i tell you that your distress, far more than financial considerations, persuaded me to undertake this work without first consulting your father." she leaned toward him, bending from the waist, her eyes slightly widened, so that their effect was to give her a startled air. "you don't mean you'll give it up!" she said, plainly entreating. "you won't give it up!" "are you quite sure you don't want me to give it up? judge wilton has asked me twice, out of politeness, not to give it up. are you merely being polite?" she smiled, looking tired, and shook her head. "really, mr. hastings, if you were to desert us now, i should be desperate--altogether. desperate! just that." "i can't desert you," he said gently. "as i told mr. webster, i know too little and i suspect too much to do that." before she spoke again, she looked at him intently, drawing in her under lip a little against her teeth. "what, mr. hastings?" she asked, then. "what do you suspect?" "let me answer that with a question," he suggested. "last night, your one idea was that i could protect you and your father, everybody in the house here, by acting as your spokesman. i think you wanted to set me up as a buffer between all of you on the one side and the authorities and the reporters on the other. you wanted things kept down, nothing to get out beyond that which was unavoidable. wasn't that it?" "yes; it was," she admitted, not seeing where his question led. "you were afraid, then, that something incriminating might be divulged, weren't you?" "oh, no!" she denied instantly. "i mean something which might seem incriminating. you trusted the person whom it would seem to incriminate; and you wanted time for the murderer to be found without, in the meantime, having the adverse circumstance made public. isn't that it, miss sloane?" "yes--practically." "let's be clear on that. your fear was that too much questioning of you or the other person might result in a slip-up--might make you or him mention the apparently damaging incident, with disastrous effect. wasn't that it?" "yes; that was it." "now, what was that apparently incriminating incident?" she started. he had brought her so directly to the confession that she saw now the impossibility of withholding what he sought. "it may be," he tried to lighten her responsibility, "the very thing that webster and the judge have concealed--for i'm sure they're keeping something back. perhaps, if i knew it, things would be easier. people closely affected by a crime are the last to judge such things accurately." she gave a long breath of relief, looking at him with perplexity nevertheless. "yes--i know. that was why i came to you--last night--in the beginning." "and it was about them, webster and wilton," he drew the conclusion for her, still encouraging her with his smile, regarding her over the rims of his spectacles with a fatherly kindness. she turned from him and looked out of the window. it was the middle of a hot, still day, no breeze stirring, and wonderfully quiet. for the moment, there was no sound, in the house or outside. "oh!" she cried, her voice a revelation of the extent to which her doubts had oppressed her. "it was like that, out there--quiet, still! if you could only understand!" "my dear child," he said, "rely on me. the sheriff is bound to assert himself, to keep in the front of things; he's that kind of a man. he'll make an arrest any time, or announce that he will. don't you see the danger?" he leaned forward and took her hand, a move to which she seemed oblivious. "don't you see i must have facts to go on--if i'm to help you?" at that, she disengaged her hand, and sat very straight, her face again a little turned from him. a twitch, like a shudder cut short, moved her whole body, so that the heel of her slipper rapped smartly on the floor. "i wish," she whispered dully, "i wish i knew what to do!" "tell me," he urged, as if he spoke to a child. she showed him her face, very white, with sudden shadows under the eyes. "i must, i think; i must tell you," she said, not much louder than the previous whisper. "you were right. i didn't tell the whole story of what i saw. believe me, i didn't think it mattered. i thought, really, things would right themselves and explanations be unnecessary. but you knew--didn't you?" "yes. i knew." he realized her ordeal, helping her through it. "what were they doing?" she held her chin high. "it was all true, what i told you in the library, my being waked up by father's moving about, my going to the window, my seeing berne and the judge facing each other across--her--there at the end of the awful yellow arm of light. but that wasn't all. the moment the light flashed on, the judge threw back his head a little, like a man about to cry out, shout for help. i am sure that was it. "but berne was too quick for that. berne put out his hand; his arm shot across her; and his hand closed the judge's mouth. the judge made no noise whatever, but he shook his head from side to side two or three times--i'm not certain how many--while berne leant over the body and whispered to him. it seemed to me i could almost hear the words, but i didn't. "then berne took his hand from the judge's mouth. i think, before that, the judge made a sign, tried to nod his head up and down, to show he would do as berne said. then, when they saw she was dead, they both hurried around the corner to the front of the house, and i heard them come in; i heard the judge call to father and run up to your room." she was alarmed then by the amazement and disapproval in his face. "oh!" she said, and this time she took his hand. "you see! you see! you don't understand! you think berne killed her!" "i don't know," he said, wondering. "i must think." for the moment, indignation swept him. "wilton! a judge, a judge!--keeping quiet on a thing like that! i must think." xi motives revealed she let go his hand and, still leaning toward him, waited for him to speak. a confusion of misgivings assailed her--she regretted having confided in him. if his anger embraced berne as well as judge wilton, she had done nothing but harm! seeing her dismay, he tried again to reassure her. "but no matter!" he minimized his own sense of shock. "i'm sure i'll understand if you'll tell me more--your explanation." obviously, the only inference he could draw from her story as she had told it was that webster had killed the woman and, found bending over her body, had sprung forward to silence the man who had discovered him. nevertheless, it was equally evident that she was sincere in attributing to webster a different motive for preventing the judge's outcry. consideration of that persuaded hastings that she could give him facts which would change the whole aspect of the crime. her hesitance now made him uneasy; he recognized the necessity of increasing her reliance upon him. if she told him only a part of what she knew, he would be scarcely in a better position than before. "naturally," he added, "you can throw light on the whole incident--light by which i must be guided, to a great degree." "if berne were not ill," she responded to that, "i wouldn't tell.--it's because he's lying up there, his lips closed, unable to keep a look-out for developments, at the mercy of what the sheriff may do or say!--that's why i feel so dreadfully the need of help, mr. hastings!" she slid back in her chair, moving farther from him, as if his kindly gaze disconcerted her. "if he hadn't suffered this collapse, i should have left the matter to him, i think. but now--now i can't!" she straightened again, her chin up, the signal with her of final decision. "he acted on his impulsive desire to prevent my being shocked by that discovery--that horror out there on the lawn. things had happened to convince him that such a thing, shouted through the night, would be a terrific blow to me. i'm sure that that was the only idea he had when he put his hand over judge wilton's mouth." "i can believe that," he said. "tell me why you believe it." "oh!" she protested, hands clenched on her knees; "if it affected only him and me!" her suspicion of her father recurred to him. it was, he thought, back of the terror he saw in her eyes now. "but it does affect only him and me, after all!" she continued fiercely, as much to strengthen herself in what she wanted to believe as to force him to that belief. "let me tell you the whole affair, from beginning to end." she proceeded in a low tone, the words slower, as if she laboured for precision and clarity. "i must go back to friday--the night before last--it seems months ago! i had heard that berne had become involved in some sort of relationship with his stenographer--that she had been dismissed from his office and refused to accept the dismissal as final. i mean, of course, i heard she was in love with him, and he'd been in love with her--or should have been. "it was told me by a friend of mine in washington, lucy carnly. it seems another stenographer overheard the conversation between berne and miss--miss brace. it got out that way. it was very circumstantial; i couldn't help believing it, some of it; lucy wouldn't have brought me idle gossip--i thought." she drew in her under lip, to hide its momentary tremour, and shook her head from side to side once. "all that, mr. hastings, came up, as a matter of course, when berne reached here evening before last for the week-end. i'd just heard it that day. he denied it, said there had been nothing remotely resembling a love affair.--he was indignant, and very hurt!--he said she'd misconstrued some of his kindnesses to her. he couldn't explain how she had misconstrued them. at any rate, the result was that i broke our engagement. i----" "friday night!" hastings exclaimed involuntarily. he grasped on the instant how grossly webster, by withholding all this, had deceived him, left him in the dark. "yes; and i told father about it," she hurried her words here, the effect of her manner being the impression that she hoped this fact would not bulk too large in the detective's thoughts. "the three of us had a talk about it friday night. father's wonderfully fond of berne and tried to persuade me i was foolishly ruining my life. i refused to change my mind. when i went upstairs, they stayed a long time in the library, talking. "i think they decided the best thing for berne was to stay on here, through yesterday and today, in the hope that he and father might change my mind. father tried to, yesterday morning. he was awfully upset. that's one reason he's so worn out and sick today.--i love my father so, mr. hastings!" she held her lips tight-shut a moment, a sob struggling in her throat. "but my distress, my own hurt pride----" "what did your father say about mildred brace?" hastings asked, when she did not finish that sentence. she looked at him, again with widened eyes, a startled air, putting both her hands to her throat. "there!" she said, voice falling to a whisper. then, turning her face half from him, she whispered so low that he heard her with difficulty: "i wish i were dead!" her words frightened him, they had so clearly the ring of truth, as if she would in sober fact have preferred death to the thought which was breaking her heart--suspicion of her father. "that was why berne stopped the judge's outcry," she said at last, turning her white face to him; "he had the sudden wild idea that i'm afraid you have--that father might have killed her. and berne did not want that awful fact screamed through the night at me. oh, can't you see--can't you see that, mr. hastings?" "it's entirely possible; mr. webster may have thought that.--but let's keep the story straight. what had your father said about mildred brace--to arouse any such suspicion?" "he was angry, terribly indignant. you know i made no secret to you of his high temper. his rages are fierce.--once, when he was that way, i saw him kill a dog. if it had--but i think all men who're unstrung nervously, as he is, have high tempers. he felt so indignant because she had come between berne and myself. he blamed neither berne nor me. he seemed to concentrate all his anger upon her. "he said--you see, mr. hastings, i tell you everything!--he threatened to go to her and---- he had, of course, no definite idea what he would do. finally, he did say he would buy her off, pay her to leave this part of the country. after that, he said, he knew i would 'see things clearly,' and berne and i would be reconciled." hastings remembered russell's assertion that mildred had her ticket to chicago. "did he buy her off?" he asked quickly. "oh, no; he was merely wishing that he could, i think." "but he made no attempt to get in touch with her yesterday? you're sure?" "quite," she said. "but don't you see. mr. hastings? father was so intense in his hatred of her that berne thought of him the moment he found that body--out there. he thought father must have encountered her on the lawn in some way, or she must have come after him, and he, in a fit of rage, struck her down." "has webster told you this?" "no--but it's true; it is!" "but, if your supposition is to hold good, how did your father happen to be in possession of that dagger, which evidently was made with malice aforethought, as the lawyers say?" "exactly," she said, her lips quivering, hands gripping spasmodically at her knees. "he didn't do it! he didn't do it! berne's idea was a mistake!" "who, then?" he pressed her, realizing now that she was so unstrung she would give him her thoughts unguarded. "why, that man russell," she said, her voice so low and the words so slow that he thought her at the limit of her endurance. "but i've said all this to show you why berne put his hand over the judge's mouth. i want to make it very clear that he feared father--think of it, mr. hastings!--had killed her! at first, i thought----" she bowed her face in both her hands and wept unrestrainedly, without sobs, the tears streaming between her fingers and down her wrists. the old man put one hand on her hair, and with the other brought forth his handkerchief, being bothered by the sudden mistiness of his spectacles. "a brave girl," he said, his own voice insecure. "what a woman! i know what you mean. at first, you feared your father might have been concerned in the murder. i saw it in your eyes last night. you had the same thought that young webster had--rather, that you say he had." her weeping ceased as suddenly as it had begun. she looked at him through tears. "and i've only injured berne in your eyes; i think, irreparably! this morning i thought you heard me when i asked him not to let it be known that our engagement was broken? don't you remember? you were on the porch as we came around the corner." for the first time since its utterance, he recalled her statement then, "we'll have to leave it as it was," and webster's significant rejoinder. he despised his own stupidity. had he magnified webster's desire to keep that promise into guilty knowledge of the crime itself? and had not the mistake driven him into false and valueless interpretations of his entire interview with webster? "he promised," lucille pursued, "for the same reason i had in asking it--to prevent discovery of the fact that father might have had a motive for wishing her dead! it was a mistake, i see now, a terrible mistake!" "can you tell me why you didn't have the same thoughts about berne?" he was sorry he had to make that inquiry. if he could, he would have spared her further distress. "why wouldn't he have had the same motive, hatred of mildred brace, a thousand times stronger?" "i don't know," she said. "i simply never thought of it--not once." fine psychologist that he was, hastings knew why that view had not occurred to her. her love for webster was an idealizing sentiment, putting him beyond even the possibility of wrong-doing. her love for her father, unusual in its devotion as it was, recognized his weaknesses nevertheless. and, while seeking to protect the two, she had told a story which, so far as bald facts went, incriminated the lover far more than the father. she had attributed to sloane, in her uneasiness, the motive which would have been most natural to the discarded webster. even now, she could not suspect berne; her only fear was that others, not understanding him as she did, might suspect him! although she had broken with him, she still loved him. more than that: his illness and consequent helplessness increased her devotion for him, brought to the surface the maternal phase of it. "if she had to choose between the two," hastings thought, "she'd save webster--every time!" "i know--i tell you, mr. hastings, i _know_ neither berne nor father is at all responsible for this crime. i tell you," she repeated, rising to her feet, as if by mere physical height she hoped to impress her knowledge upon him, "i _know_ they're innocent.--don't _you_ know it?" she stood looking down at him, her whole body tense, arms held close against her sides, the knuckles of her fingers white as ivory. her eyes now were dry, and brilliant. he evaded the flat statement to which she pressed him. "but your knowledge, miss sloane, and what we must prove," he said, also standing, "are two different things just now. the authorities will demand proofs." "i know. that's why i've told you these things." somehow, her manner reproached him. "you said you had to have them in order to handle this--this situation properly. now that you know them, i'm sure you'll feel safe in devoting all your time to proving russell's guilt." she moved her head forward, to study him more closely. "you know he's guilty, don't you?" "i'm certain mrs. brace figured in her daughter's murder," he said. "she was concerned in it somehow. if that's true, and if your father approached neither her nor her daughter yesterday, it does seem highly possible that russell's guilty." he turned from her and stood at the window, his back to her a few long moments. when he faced her again, he looked old. "but the facts--if we could only break down russell's alibi!" "oh!" she whispered, in new alarm. "i'd forgotten that!" all the tenseness went out of her limbs. she sank into her chair, and sat there, looking up to him, her eyes frankly confessing a panic fear. "i think i'm sorry i told you," she said, desperately. "i can't make you understand!" another consideration forced itself upon her. "you won't have to tell anybody--anybody at all--about this, will you--now?" he was prepared for that. "i'll have to ask judge wilton why he acted on mr. webster's advice--and what that advice was, what they whispered to each other when you saw them." "why, that's perfectly fair," she assented, relieved. "that will stop all the secrecy between them and me. it's the very thing i want. if that's assured, everything else will work itself out." her faith surprised him. he had not realized how unqualified it was. "did you ask the judge about it?" he inquired. "yes; just before i came in here--after berne's collapse. i felt so helpless! but he tried to persuade me my imagination had deceived me; he said they had had no such scene. you know how gruff and hard judge wilton can be at times. i shouldn't choose him for a confidant." "no; i reckon not. but we'll ask him now--if you don't mind." willis, the butler, answered the bell, and gave information: judge wilton had left sloanehurst half an hour ago and had gone to the randalls'. he had asked for miss sloane, but, learning that she was engaged, had left his regrets, saying he would come in tomorrow, after the adjournment of court. "he's on the bench tomorrow at the county-seat," lucille explained the message. "he always divides his time between us and the randalls when he comes down from fairfax for his court terms. he told me this morning he'd come back to us later in the week." "on second thought," hastings said, "that's better. i'll talk to him alone tomorrow--about this thing, this inexplicable thing: a judge taking it upon himself to deceive the sheriff even! but," he softened the sternness of his tone, "he must have a reason, a better one than i can think of now." he smiled. "and i'll report to you, when he's told me." "i'm glad it's tomorrow," she said wearily. "i--i'm tired out." on his way back to washington, the old man reflected: "now, she'll persuade sloane to do the sensible thing--talk." then, to bolster that hope, he added a stern truth: "he's got to. he can't gag himself with a pretended illness forever!" at the same time the girl he had left in the music room wept again, saying over and over to herself, in a despair of doubt: "not that! not that! i couldn't tell him that. i told him enough. i know i did. he wouldn't have understood!" xii hendricks reports in his book-lined, "loosely furnished" apartment sunday afternoon hastings whittled prodigiously, staring frequently at the flap of the grey envelope with the intensity of a crystal-gazer. once or twice he pronounced aloud possible meanings of the symbols imprinted on the scrap of paper. "'--edly de--,'" he worried. "that might stand for 'repeatedly demanded' or 'repeatedly denied' or 'undoubtedly denoted' or a hundred---- but that 'pursuit!' is the core of the trouble. they put the pursuit on him, sure as you're knee-high to a hope of heaven!" the belief grew in him that out of those pieces of words would come solution of his problem. the idea was born of his remarkable instinct. its positiveness partook of superstition--almost. he could not shake it off. once he chuckled, appreciating the apparent absurdity of trying to guess the criminal meaning, the criminal intent, back of that writing. but he kept to his conjecturing. he had many interruptions. newspaper reporters, instantly impressed by the dramatic possibilities, the inherent sensationalism, of the murder, flocked to him. referred to him by the people at sloanehurst, they asked for not only his narration of what had occurred but also for his opinion as to the probability of running down the guilty man. he would make no predictions, he told them, confining himself to a simple statement of facts. when one young sleuth suggested that both sloane and webster feared arrest on the charge of murder and had relied on his reputation to prevent prompt action against them by the sheriff, the old man laughed. he knew the futility of trying to prevent publication of intimations of that sort. but he took advantage of the opportunity to put a different interpretation on his employment by the sloanes. "seems to me," he contributed, "it's more logical to say that their calling in a detective goes a long way to show their innocence of all connection with the crime. they wouldn't pay out real money to have themselves hunted, if they were guilty, would they?" afterwards, he was glad he had emphasized this point. in the light of subsequent events, it looked like actual foresight of mrs. brace's tactics. soon after five hendricks came in, to report. he was a young man, stockily built, with eyes that were always on the verge of laughter and lips that sloped inward as if biting down on the threatened mirth. the shape of his lips was symbolical of his habit of discourse; he was of few words. "webster," he said, standing across the table from his employer and shooting out his words like a memorized speech, "been overplaying his hand financially. that's the rumour; nothing tangible yet. gone into real estate and building projects; associated with a crowd that has the name of operating on a shoestring. nobody'd be surprised if they all blew up." "as a real-estate man, i take it," hastings commented, slowly shaving off thin slivers of chips from his piece of pine, "he's a brilliant young lawyer. that's it?" "yes, sir," hendricks agreed, the slope of his lips accentuated. "keep after that, tomorrow.--what about mrs. brace?" "destitute, practically; in debt; threatened with eviction; no resources." "so money, lack of it, is bothering her as well as webster!--how much is she in debt?" "enough to be denied all credit by the stores; between five and seven hundred, i should say. that's about the top mark for that class of trade." "all right, hendricks; thanks," the old man commended warmly. "that's great work, for sunday.--now, russell's room?" "yes, sir; i went over it." "find any steel on the floor?" hendricks took from his pocket a little paper parcel about the size of a man's thumb. "not sure, sir. here's what i got." he unfolded the paper and put it down on the table, displaying a small mass of what looked like dust and lint. "wonderful what a magnet will pick up, ain't it?" mused his employer: "i got the same sort of stuff at sloanehurst this morning.--i'll go over this, look for the steel particles, right away." "anything else, sir--special?" the assistant was already half-way to the door. he knew that a floor an inch deep in chips from his employer's whittling indicated laborious mental gropings by the old man. it was no time for superfluous words. "after dinner," hastings instructed, "relieve gore--at the walman. thanks." as hendricks went out, there was another telephone call, this time from crown, to make amends for coolness he had shown hastings at sloanehurst. "i was wrong, and you were right," he conceded, handsomely; "i mean about that brace woman. better keep your man on her trail." "what's up?" hastings asked amicably. "that's what i want to know! i've seen her again. i couldn't get anything more from her except threats. she's going on the warpath. she told me: 'tomorrow i'll look into things for myself. i'll not sit here idle and leave everything to a sheriff who wants campaign contributions and a detective who's paid to hush things up!' you can see her saying that, can't you? wow!" "that all?" "that's all, right now. but i've got a suspicion she knows more than we think. when she makes up her mind to talk, she'll say something!--mr. hastings," crown added, as if he imparted a tremendous fact, "that woman's smart! i tell you, she's got brains, a head full of 'em!" "so i judged," the detective agreed, drily. "by the way, have you seen russell again?" "yes. there's another thing. i don't see where you get that stuff about his weak alibi. it's copper-riveted!" "he says so, you mean." "yes; and the way he says it. but i followed your advice. i've advertised, through the police here and up and down the atlantic coast, for any automobile party or parties who went along that sloanehurst road last night between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty." "fine!" hastings congratulated. "but get me straight on that: i don't say any of them saw him; i say there's a chance that he was seen." the old man went back, not to examination of hendricks' parcel, but to further consideration of the possible contents of the letter that had been in the grey envelope. russell, he reflected, had been present when mildred brace mailed it, and, what was more important, when mildred started out of the apartment with it. he made sudden decision: he would question russell again. carefully placing hendricks' package of dust and lint in a drawer of the table, he set out for the eleventh street boarding house. it was, however, not russell who figured most prominently in the accounts of the murder published by the monday morning newspapers. the reporters, resenting the reticence they had encountered at sloanehurst, and making much of mrs. brace's threats, put in the forefront of their stories an appealing picture of a bereaved mother's one-sided fight for justice against the baffling combination of the sloanehurst secretiveness and indifference and the mysterious circumstances of the daughter's death. not one of them questioned the validity of russell's alibi. "with the innocence of the dead girl's fiancé established," said one account, "sheriff crown last night made no secret of his chagrin that berne webster had collapsed at the very moment when the sheriff was on the point of putting him through a rigid cross-examination. the young lawyer's retirement from the scene, coupled with the sloane family's retaining the celebrated detective, jefferson hastings, as a buffer against any questioning of the sloanehurst people, has given society, here and in virginia, a topic for discussion of more than ordinary interest." another paragraph that caught hastings' attention, as he read between mouthfuls of his breakfast, was this: "mrs. brace, discussing the tragedy with a reporter last night, showed a surprising knowledge of all its incidents. although she had not left her apartment in the walman all day, she had been questioned by both sheriff crown and mr. hastings, not to mention the unusually large number of newspaper writers who besieged her for interviews. "and it seemed that, in addition to answering the queries put to her by the investigators, she had accomplished a vast amount of keen inquiry on her own account. when talking to her, it is impossible for one to escape the impression that this extraordinarily intelligent woman believes she can prove the guilt of the man who struck down her daughter." "just what i was afraid of," thought the detective. "nearly every paper siding with her!" his face brightened. "all the better," he consoled himself. "more chance of her overreaching herself--as long as she don't know what i suspect. i'll get the meaning of that grey letter yet!" but he was worried. berne webster's collapse, he knew, was too convenient for webster--it looked like pretence. ninety-nine out of every hundred newspaper readers would consider his illness a fake, the obvious trick to escape the work of explaining what seemed to be inexplicable circumstances. to hastings the situation was particularly annoying because he had brought it about; his own questioning had turned out to be the straw that broke the suspected man's endurance. "always blundering!" he upbraided himself. "trying to be so all-shot smart, i overplayed my hand." he got dr. garnet on the wire. "doctor," he said, in a tone that implored, "i'm obliged to see webster today." "sorry, mr. hastings," came the instant refusal; "but it can't be done." "for one question," qualified hastings; "less than a minute's talk--one word, 'yes' or 'no'? it's almost a matter of life and death." "if that man's excited about anything," garnet retorted, "it will be entirely a matter of death. frankly, i couldn't see my way clear to letting you question him if his escaping arrest depended on it. i called in dr. welles last night; and i'm giving you his opinion as well as my own." "when can i see him, then?" "i can't answer that. it may be a week; it may be a month. all i can tell you today is that you can't question him now." with that information, hastings decided to interview judge wilton. "he's the next best," he thought. "that whispering across the woman's body--it's got to be explained, and explained right!" as a matter of fact, he had refrained from this inquiry the day before, so that his mind might not be clouded by anger. his deception by the judge had greatly provoked him. xiii mrs. brace begins court had recessed for lunch when hastings, going down a second-story corridor of the alexandria county courthouse, entered judge wilton's anteroom. his hand was raised to knock on the door of the inner office when he heard the murmur of voices on the other side. he took off his hat and sat down, welcoming the breeze that swept through the room, a refreshing contrast to the forenoon's heat and smother downstairs. he reached for his knife and piece of pine, checked the motion and glanced swiftly toward the closed door. a high note of a woman's voice touched his memory, for a moment confusing him. but it was for a moment only. while the sound was still in his ears, he remembered where he had heard it before--from mrs. brace when, toward the close of his interview with her, she had shrilly denounced berne webster. mrs. brace, her daughter's funeral barely three hours old, had started to make her threats good. while he was considering that, the door of the private office swung inward, judge wilton's hand on the knob. it opened on the middle of a sentence spoken by mrs. brace: "--tell you, you're a fool if you think you can put me off with that!" her gleaming eyes were so furtive and so quick that they traversed the whole of wilton's countenance many times, a fiery probe of each separate feature. the inflections of her voice invested her words with ugliness; but she did not shriek. "you bully everybody else, but not me! they don't call you 'hard tom wilton' for nothing, do they? i know you! i know you, i tell you! i was down there in the courtroom when you sentenced that man! you had cruelty in your mind, cruelty on your face. ugh! and you're cruel to me--and taking an ungodly pleasure in it! well, let me tell you, i won't be broken by it. i want fair dealing, and i'll have it!" at that moment, facing full toward hastings, she caught sight of him. but his presence seemed a matter of no importance to her; it did not break the stream of her fierce invective. she did not even pause. he saw at once that her anger of yesterday was as nothing to the storming rage which shook her now. every line of her face revealed malignity. the eyebrows were drawn higher on her forehead, nearer to the wave of white hair that showed under her black hat. the nostrils dilated and contracted with indescribable rapidity. the lips, thickened and rolling back at intervals from her teeth, revealed more distinctly that animal, exaggerated wetness which had so repelled him. "you were out there on that lawn!" she pursued, her glance flashing back to the judge. "you were out there when she was killed! if you try to tell me you----" "stop it! stop it!" wilton commanded, and, as he did so, turned his head to an angle that put hastings within his field of vision. the judge, with one hand on the doorknob, had been pressing with the other against the woman's shoulders, trying to thrust her out of the room--a move which she resisted by a hanging-back posture that threw her weight on his arm. he put more strength now into his effort and succeeded in forcing her clear of the threshold. his eyes were blazing under the shadow of his heavy, overhanging brows; but there was about him no suggestion of a loss of self-control. "i'm glad to see you!" he told hastings, speaking over mrs. brace's head, and smiling a deprecatory recognition of the hopelessness of contending with an infuriated woman. she addressed them both. "smile all you please, now!" she threatened. "but the accounts aren't balanced yet! wait for what i choose to tell--what i intend to do!" suddenly she got herself in hand. it was as unexpected and thorough a transformation as the one hastings had seen twenty-four hours before during her declaration of webster's guilt. she had the same appearance now as then, the same tautness of body, the same flat, constrained tone. she turned to wilton: "i ask you again, will you help me as i asked you? are you going to deny me fair play?" he looked at her in amazement, scowling. "what fair play?" he exclaimed, and, without waiting for her reply, said to hastings: "she insists that i know young webster killed her daughter, that i can produce the evidence to prove it. can you disabuse her mind?" she surprised them by going, slowly and with apparent composure, toward the corridor door. there she paused, looking at first one and then the other with an evil smile so openly contemptuous that it affected them strongly. there was something in it that made it flagrantly insulting. hastings turned away from her. judge wilton gave her look for look, but his already flushed face coloured more darkly. "very well, judge wilton!" she gave him insolent good-bye, in which there was also unmistakable threat. "you'll do the right thing sooner or later--and as i tell you. you're--get this straight--you're not through with me yet!" she laughed, one low note, and, impossible as it seemed, proclaimed with the harsh sound an absolute confidence in what she said. "nor you, mr. hastings!" she continued, taking her time with her words, and waiting until the detective faced her again, before she concluded: "you'll sing a different tune when you find i've got this affair in my hands--tight!" still smiling her contempt, as if she enjoyed a feeling of superiority, she left the room. when her footsteps died down the corridor, the two men drew long breaths of relief. wilton broke the ensuing silence. "is she sane?" "yes," hastings said, "so far as sanity can be said to exist in a mind consecrated to evil." the judge was surprised by the solemnity of the other's manner. "why do you say that?" he asked. "do you know that much about her?" "who wouldn't?" hastings retorted. "it's written all over her." wilton led the way into his private office and closed the door. "i'm glad it happened at just this time," he said, "when everybody's out of the building." he struck the desk with his fist. "by god!" he ground out through gritted teeth. "how i hate these wild, unbridled women!" "yes," agreed hastings, taking the chair wilton rolled forward for him. "she worries me. wonder if she's going to sloanehurst." "that would be the logical sequel to this visit," wilton said. "but pardon my show of temper. you came to see me?" "yes; and, like her, for information. but," the detective said, smiling, "not for rough-house purposes." the judge had not entirely regained his equanimity; his face still wore a heightened colour; his whole bearing was that of a man mentally reviewing the results of an unpleasant incident. instead of replying promptly to hastings, he sat looking out of the window, obviously troubled. "her game is blackmail," he declared at last. "on whom?" the detective queried. "arthur sloane, of course. she calculates that he'll play to have her cease annoying his daughter's fiancé. and she'll impress arthur, if jarvis ever lets her get to him. somehow, she strangely compels credence." "not for me," hastings objected, and did not point out that wilton's words might be taken as an admission of webster's guilt. the judge himself might have seen that. "i mean," he qualified, "she seems too smart a woman to put herself in a position where ridicule will be sure to overtake her. and yet, that's what she's doing--isn't she?" the detective was whittling, dropping the chips into the waste-basket. he spoke with a deliberateness unusual even in him, framing each sentence in his mind before giving it utterance. "i reckon, judge, you and i have had some four or five talks--that is, not counting saturday evening and yesterday at sloanehurst. that's about the extent of our acquaintance. that right?" "why, yes," wilton said, surprised by the change of topic. "i mention it," hastings explained, "to show how i've felt toward you--you interested me. excuse me if i speak plainly--you'll see why later on--but you struck me as worth studying, deep. and i thought you must have sized me up, catalogued me one way or the other. you're like me: waste no time with men who bore you. i felt certain, if you'd been asked, you'd have checked me off as reliable. would you?" "unquestionably." "and, if i was reliable then, i'm reliable now. that's a fair assumption, ain't it?" "certainly." the judge laughed shortly, a little embarrassed. "that brings me to my point. you'll believe me when i tell you my only interest in this murder is to find the murderer, and, while i'm doing it, to save the sloanes as much as possible from annoyance. you'll believe me, also, when i say i've got to have all the facts if i'm to work surely and fast. you recognize the force of that, don't you?" "why, yes, hastings." wilton spoke impatiently this time. "fine!" the old man shot him a genial glance over the steel-rimmed spectacles. "that's the introduction. here's the real thing: i've an idea you could tell me more about what happened on the lawn saturday night." after his involuntary, immediate start of surprise, wilton tilted his head, slowly blowing the cigar smoke from his pursed lips. he had a fine air of reflection, careful thought. "i can elaborate what i've already told you," he said, finally, "if that's what you mean--go into greater detail." he watched closely the edge of the detective's face unhidden by his bending over the wood he was cutting. "i don't think elaboration could do much good," hastings objected. "i referred to new stuff--some fact or facts you might have omitted, unconsciously." "unconsciously?" wilton echoed the word, as a man does when his mind is overtaxed. hastings took it up. "or consciously, even," he said quickly, meeting the other's eyes. the judge moved sharply, bracing himself against the back of the chair. "what do you mean by that?" "skilled in the law yourself, thoroughly familiar, with the rules of evidence, it's more than possible that you might have reviewed matters and decided that there were things which, if they were known, would do harm instead of good--obscure the truth, perhaps; or hinder the hunt for the guilty man instead of helping it on. that's clear enough, isn't it? you might have thought that?" the look of sullen resentment in the judge's face was unmistakable. "oh, say what you mean!" he retorted warmly. "what you're insinuating is that i've lied!" "it don't have to be called that." "well, then, that i, a judge, sworn to uphold the law and punish crime, have elected to thwart the law and to cheat its officials of the facts they should have. is that what you mean?" "i'll be honest with you," hastings admitted, unmoved by the other's grand manner. "i've wondered about that--whether you thought a judge had a right to do a thing of that sort." wilton's hand, clenched on the edge of the desk, shook perceptibly. "did you think that, judge?" the detective persisted. the judge hesitated. "it's a point i've never gone into," he said finally, with intentional sarcasm. hastings snapped his knife-blade shut and thrust the piece of wood into his pocket. "let's get away from this beating about the bush," he suggested, voice on a sterner note. "i don't want to irritate you unnecessarily, judge. i came here for information--stuff i'm more than anxious to get. and i go back to that now: won't you tell me anything more about the discovery of the woman's body by the two of you--you and webster?" "no; i won't! i've covered the whole thing--several times." "is there anything that you haven't told--anything you've decided to suppress?" wilton got up from his chair and struck the desk with his fist. "see here, hastings! you're getting beside yourself. representing miss sloane doesn't warrant your insulting her friends. suppose we consider this interview at an end. some other time, perhaps----" hastings also had risen. "just a minute, judge!" he interrupted, all at once assuming the authoritative air that had so amazed wilton the night of the murder. "you're suppressing something--and i know it!" "that's a lie!" wilton retorted, the flush deepening to crimson on his face. "it ain't a lie," hastings contradicted, holding his self-control. "and you watch yourself! don't you call me a liar again--not as long as you live! you can't afford the insult." "then, don't provoke it. don't----" "what did webster whisper to you, across that corpse?" hastings demanded, going nearer to wilton. "what's this?" wilton's tone was one of consternation; the words might have been spoken by a man stumbling on an unsuspected horror in a dark room. they stared at each other for several dragging seconds. the detective waved a hand toward the judge's chair. "sit down," he said, resuming his own seat. there followed another pause, longer than the first. the judge's breathing was laboured, audible. he lowered his eyes and passed his hand across their thick lids. when he looked up again, hastings commanded him with unwavering, expectant gaze. "i've made a mistake," wilton began huskily, and stopped. "yes?" hastings said, unbending. "how?" "i see it now. it was a matter of no importance, in itself. i've exaggerated it, by my silence, into disproportionate significance." his tone changed to curiosity. "who told you about--the whispering?" the detective was implacable, emphasizing his dominance. "first, what was it?" when wilton still hesitated, he repeated: "what did webster say when he put his hand over your mouth--to prevent your outcry?" the judge threw up his head, as if in sudden resolve to be frank. he spoke more readily, with a clumsy semblance of amiability. "he said, 'don't do that! you'll frighten lucille!' i tried to nod my head, agreeing. but he misunderstood the movement, i think. he thought i meant to shout anyway; he tightened his grip. 'keep quiet! will you keep quiet?' he repeated two or three times. when i made my meaning clear, he took his hand away. he explained later what had occurred to him the moment arthur's light flashed on. he said it came to him before he clearly realized who i was. it---- "i swear, hastings, i hate to tell you this. it suggests unjust suspicions. of what value are the wild ideas of a nervous man, all to pieces anyway, when he stumbles on a dead woman in the middle of the night?" "they were valuable enough," hastings flicked him, "for you to cover them up--for some reason. what were they?" wilton was puzzled by the detective's tone, its abstruse insinuation. but he answered the question. "he said his first idea, the one that made him think of lucille, was that arthur might have had something to do with the murder." "why? why did he think sloane had killed mildred brace?" "because she had been the cause of lucille's breaking her engagement with berne--and arthur knew that. arthur had been in a rage----" "all right!" hastings checked him suddenly, and, getting to his feet, fell to pacing the room, his eyes, always on wilton. "i'm acquainted with that part of it." he paid no attention to wilton's evident surprise at that statement. he had a surprise of his own to deal with: the unexpected similarity of the judge's story with lucille sloane's theorizing as to what webster had whispered across the body in the moment of its discovery. the two statements were identical--a coincidence that defied credulity. he caught himself doubting lucille. had she been theorizing, after all? or had she relayed to him words that wilton had put into her mouth? then, remembering her grief, her desperate appeals to him for aid, he dismissed the suspicion. "i'd stake my life on her honesty," he decided. "her intuition gave her the correct solution--if wilton's not lying now!" he put the obvious question: "judge, am i the first one to hear this--from you?" and received the obvious answer: "you are. i didn't volunteer it to you, did i?" "all right. now, did you believe webster? wait a minute! did you believe his fear wasn't for himself when he gagged you that way?" "yes; i did," replied wilton, in a tone that lacked sincerity. "do you believe it now?" "if i didn't, do you think i'd have tried for a moment to conceal what he said to me?" "why did you conceal it?" "because arthur sloane was my friend, and his daughter's happiness would have been ruined if i'd thrown further suspicion on him. besides, what i did conceal could have been of no value to any detective or sheriff on earth. it meant nothing, so long as i knew the boy's sincerity--and his innocence as well as arthur's." "but," hastings persisted, "why all this concern for webster, after his engagement had been broken?" "how's that?" wilton countered. "oh, i see! the break wasn't permanent. arthur and i had decided on that. we knew they'd get together again." hastings halted in front of the judge's chair. "have you kept back anything else?" he demanded. "nothing," wilton said, with a return of his former sullenness. "and," he forced himself to the avowal, "i'm sorry i kept that back. it's nothing." hastings' manner changed on the instant. he was once more cordial. "all right, judge!" he said heartily, consulting his ponderous watch. "this is all between us. i take it, you wouldn't want it known by the sheriff, even now?" wilton shook his head in quick negation. "all right! he needn't--if things go well. and the person i got it from won't spread it around.--that satisfactory?" the judge's smile, in spite of his best effort, was devoid of friendliness. the dark flush that persisted in his countenance told how hardly he kept down his anger. hastings put on his hat and ambled toward the door. "by the way," he proclaimed an afterthought, "i've got to ask one more favour, judge. if mrs. brace troubles you again, will you let me know about it, at the earliest possible moment?" he went out, chuckling. but the judge was as mystified as he was resentful. he had detected in hastings' manner, he thought, the same self-satisfaction, the same quiet elation, which he and berne had observed at the close of the music-room interview. going to the window, he addressed the summer sky: "who the devil does the old fool suspect--arthur or berne?" xiv mr. crown forms an alliance "if you've as much as five hundred dollars at your disposal--pin-money savings, perhaps--anything you can check on without the knowledge of others, you can do it," hastings urged, ending a long argument. "i! take it to her myself?" lucille still protested, although she could not refute his reasonings. "it's the only way that would be effective--and it wouldn't be so difficult. i had counted on your courage--your unusual courage." "but what will it accomplish? if i could only see that, clearly!" she was beginning to yield to his insistence. they were in the rose garden, in the shade of a little arbor from whose roof the great red flowers drooped almost to the girl's hair. he was acutely aware of the pathetic contrast between her white, ravaged face and the surrounding scene, the fragrance, the roses of every colour swaying to the slow breeze of late afternoon, the long, cool shadows. he found it hard to force her to the plan, and would have abandoned it but for the possibilities it presented to his mind. "i've already touched on that," he applied himself to her doubts. "i want you to trust me there, to accept my solemn assurance that, if mrs. brace accepts this money from you on our terms, it will hasten my capture of the murderer. i'll say more than that: you are my only possible help in the matter. won't you believe me?" she sat quite still, a long time, looking steadily at him with unseeing eyes. "i shall have to go to that dreadful woman's apartment, be alone with her, make a secret bargain," she enumerated the various parts of her task, wonder and repugnance mingling in her voice. "that horrible woman! you say, yourself, mr. hastings, she's horrible." "still," he repeated, "you can do it." a little while ago she had cried out, both hands clenched on the arm of the rustic bench, her eyes opening wide in the startled look he had come to know: "if i could do something, _anything_, for berne! dr. welles said only an hour ago he had no more than an even chance for his life. half the time he can't speak! and i'm responsible. i am! i know it. i try to think i'm not. but i am!" he recurred to that. "dr. welles said the ending of mr. webster's suspense would be the best medicine for him. and i think webster would see that nobody but you could do this--in the very nature of things. the absolute secrecy required, the fact that you buy her silence, pay her to cease her accusations against berne--don't you see? he'd want you to do it." that finished her resistance. she made him repeat all his directions, precautions for secrecy. "i wish i could tell you how important it is," he said. "and keep this in mind always: i rely on your paying her the money without even a suspicion of it getting abroad. if accidents happen and you're seen entering the walman, what more natural than that you want to ask this woman the meaning of her vague threats against--against sloanehurst?--but of money, your real object, not a word! nobody's to have a hint of it." "oh, yes; i see the necessity of that." but she was distressed. "suppose she refuses?" her altered frame of mind, an eagerness now to succeed with the plan she had at first refused, brought him again his thought of yesterday: "if she were put to it--if she could save only one and had to choose between father and fiancé, her choice would be for the fiancé." he answered her question. "she won't refuse," he declared, with a confidence she could not doubt. "if i thought she would, i'd almost be willing to say we'd never find the man who killed her daughter." "when i think of russell's alibi----" "have we mentioned russell?" he protested, laughing away her fears. "anyway, his old alibi's no good--if that's what's troubling you. wait and see!" he was in high good humour. in that same hour the woman for whom he had planned this trap was busy with a scheme of her own. her object was to form an alliance with sheriff crown. that gentleman, to use his expressive phrase, had been "putting her over the jumps" for the past forty minutes, bringing to the work of cross-questioning her all the intelligence, craftiness and logic at his command. the net result of his fusillade of interrogatories, however, was exceedingly meagre. as he sat, caressing his chin and thrusting forward his bristly moustache, mrs. brace perceived in his eyes a confession of failure. although he was far from suspecting it, he presented to her keen scrutiny an amusing figure. she observed that his shoulders drooped, and that, as he slowly produced a handkerchief and mopped his forehead, his movements were eloquent of gloom. in fact, mr. crown felt himself at a loss. he had come to the end of his resourcefulness in the art of probing for facts. he was about to take his departure, with the secret realization that he had learned nothing new--unless an increased admiration of mrs. brace's sharpness of wit might be catalogued as knowledge. she put his thought into language. "you see, mr. crown, you're wasting your time shouting at me, bullying me, accusing me of protecting the murderer of my own daughter." there was a new note in her voice, a hint, ever so slight, of a willingness to be friendly. he was not insensible to it. hearing it, he put himself on guard, wondering what it portended. "i didn't say that," he contradicted, far from graciousness. "i said you knew a whole lot more about the murder than you'd tell--tell me anyway." "but why should i want to conceal anything that might bring the man to justice?" "blessed if i know!" he conceded, not without signs of irritation. so far as he could see, not a feature of her face changed. the lifted eyebrows were still high upon her forehead, interrogative and mocking; the restless, gleaming eyes still drilled into various parts of his person and attire; the thin lips continued their moving pictures of contempt. and yet, he saw, too, that she presented to him now another countenance. the change was no more than a shadow; and the shadow was so light that he could not be sure of its meaning. he thought it was friendliness, but that opinion was dulled by recurrence of his admiration of her "smartness." he feared some imposition. "you've adopted mr. hastings' absurd theory," she said, as if she wondered. "you've subscribed to it without question." "what theory?" "that i know who the guilty man is." "well?" he was still on guard. "it surprises me--that's all--a man of your intellect, your originality." she sighed, marvelling at this addition to life's conundrums. "why?" he asked, bluntly. "i should never have thought you'd put yourself in that position before the public. i mean, letting him lead you around by the nose--figuratively." mr. crown started forward in his chair, eyes popped. he was indignant and surprised. "is that what they're saying?" he demanded. "naturally," she said, and with the one word laid it down as an impossibility that "they" could have said anything else. "that's what the reporters tell me." "well, i'll be--dog-goned!" the knuckle-like chin dropped. "they're saying that, are they?" disturbed as he was, he noticed that she regarded him with apparently genuine interest--that, perhaps, she added to her interest a regret that he had displayed no originality in the investigation, a man of his intellect! "they couldn't understand why you were playing hastings' game," she proceeded, "playing it to his smallest instructions." "hastings' game! what the thunder are they talking about? what do they mean, his game?" "his desire to keep suspicion away from the sloanes and mr. webster. that's what they hired him for--isn't it?" "i guess it is--by gravy!" mr. crown's long-drawn sigh was distinctly tremulous. "that old man pockets his fee when he throws gene russell into jail. why, then, isn't it his game to convince you of gene's guilt? why isn't it his game to persuade you of my secret knowledge of gene's guilt? why----" "so, that's----" "let me say what i started," she in turn interrupted him. "as one of the reporters pointed out, why isn't it his game to try to make a fool of you?" the smile with which she recommended that rumour to his attention incensed him further. it patronized him. it said, as openly as if she had spoken the words: "i'm really very sorry for you." he dropped his hands to his widespread knees, slid forward to the edge of his chair, thrust his face closer to hers, peered into her hard face for her meaning. "making a fool of me, is he?" he said in the brutal key of unrepressed rage. a quick motion of her lifted brows, a curve of her lower lip--indubitably, a new significance of expression--stopped his outburst. "by george!" he said, taken aback. "by george!" he repeated, this time in a coarse exultation. he thrust himself still closer to her, certain now of her meaning. "what do you know?" he lowered his voice and asked again: "mrs. brace, what do you know?" she moved back, farther from him. she was not to be rushed into--anything. she made him appreciate the difficulty of "getting next" to her. he no longer felt fear of her imposing on him--she had just exposed, for his benefit, how hastings had played on his credulity! he felt grateful to her for that. his only anxiety now was that she might change her mind, might refuse him the assistance which that new and subtle expression had promised a moment ago. "if i thought you'd use----" she began, broke off, and looked past his shoulder at the opposite wall, the pupils of her eyes sharp points of light, lips drawn to a line almost invisible. her evident prudence fired his eagerness. "if i'd do what?" he asked. "if you thought i'd--what?" "let me think," she requested. he changed his posture, with a great show of watching the sunset sky, and stole little glances at her smooth, untroubled face. he believed now that she could put him on the trail of the murderer. he confessed to himself, unreservedly, that hastings had tricked him, held him up to ridicule--to the ridicule of a nation, for this crime held the interest of the entire country. but here was his chance for revenge! with this "smart" woman's help, he would outwit hastings! "if you'd use my ideas confidentially," she said at last, eying him as if she speculated on his honesty; "if i were sure that----" "why can't you be sure of it?" he broke in. "my job is to catch the man who killed your daughter. i've got two jobs. the other is to show up old hastings! why wouldn't i do as you ask--exactly as you ask?" she tantalized him. "and remember that what i say is ideas only, not knowledge?" "sure! certainly, mrs. brace." "and, even when you arrest the right man, say nothing of what you owe me for my suggestions? you're the kind of man to want to do that sort of thing--give me credit for helping you." even that pleased him. "if you specify silence, i give you my word on it," he said, with a fragment of the pompous manner he had brought into the apartment more than an hour ago. "you'll take my ideas, my theory, work on it and never bring me into it--in any way? if you make that promise, i'll tell you what i think, what i'm certain is the answer to this puzzle." "win or lose, right or wrong idea, you have my oath on it." "very well!" she said that with the air of one embarking on a tremendous venture and scorning all its possibilities of harm. "i shall trust you fully.--first, let me sketch all the known facts, everything connected with the tragedy, and everything i know concerning the conduct of the affected individuals since." he was leaning far toward her once more, a child-like impatience stamped on his face. as she proceeded, his admiration grew. for this, there was ample ground. the newspaper paragraph hastings had read that morning commenting on her mastery of all the details of the crime had scarcely done her justice. before she concluded, crown had heard from her lips little incidents that had gone over his head. she put new and accurate meaning into facts time and time again, speaking with the particularity and vividness of an eye-witness. "now," she said, having reconstructed the crime and described the subsequent behaviour of the tragedy's principal actors; "now who's guilty?" "exactly," echoed crown, with a click in his throat. "who's guilty? what's your theory?" she was silent, eyes downcast, her hands smoothing the black, much-worn skirt over her lean knees. recital of the gruesome story, the death of her only child, had left her unmoved, had not quickened her breathing. "in telling you that," she resumed, her restless eyes striking his at rapid intervals, "i think i'll put you in a position to get the right man--if you'll act." "oh, i'll act!" he declared, largely. "don't bother your head about that!" "of course, it's only a theory----" "yes; i know! and i'll keep it to myself." "very well. arthur sloane is prostrated, can't be interviewed. he can't be interviewed, for the simple reason that he's afraid he'll tell what he knows. why is he afraid of that? because he knows too much, for his own comfort, and too much for his daughter's comfort. how does he know it? because he saw enough night before last to leave him sure of the murderer's identity. "he was the man who turned on the light, showing webster and judge wilton bending over mildred's body. it occurred at a time when usually he is in his first sound sleep--from bromides. something must have happened to awake him, an outcry, something. and yet, he says he didn't see them--wilton and webster." "by gravy!" exclaimed the sheriff, awe-struck. "either," she continued, "arthur sloane saw the murder done, or he looked out in time to see who the murderer was. the facts substantiate that. they are corroborated by his subsequent behaviour. immediately after the murder he was in a condition that couldn't be explained by the mere fact that he's a sufferer from chronic nervousness. when hastings asked him to take a handkerchief, he would have fallen to the ground but for the judge's help. he couldn't hold an electric torch. and, ever since, he's been in bed, afraid to talk. why, he even refused to talk to hastings, the man he's retained for the family's protection!" "he did, did he! how do you know that, mrs. brace?" "isn't it enough that i know it--or advance it as a theory?" "did--i thought, possibly, jarvis, the valet, told you." she ignored that. "now, as to the daughter of the house. there was only one possible reason for lucille sloane's hiring hastings: she was afraid somebody in the house, webster, of course, would be arrested. being in love with him, she never would have suspected him unless there had been concrete, undeniable evidence of his guilt. do you grasp that reasoning?" "sure, i do!" mr. crown condemned himself. "what i'm wondering is why i didn't see it long ago." "she, too, you recall, was looking out of a window--on that side of the house--scarcely fifteen yards from where the crime was done. it's not hard to believe that she saw what her father saw: the murder or the murderer. "mr. crown, if you can make her or her father talk, you'll get the truth of this thing, the truth and the murderer. "and look at judge wilton's part. you asked me why i went to his office this morning. i went because i'm sure he knows the truth. didn't he stay right at webster's side when old hastings interviewed webster yesterday? why? to keep webster from letting out, in his panic, a secret which both of them knew." the sheriff's admiration by this time was boundless. he felt driven to give it expression. "mrs. brace, you're a loo-loo! a loo-loo, by gravy! sure, that was his reason. he couldn't have had any other!" "as for webster himself," she carried on her exposition, without emotion, without the slightest recognition of her pupil's praise, "he proves the correctness of everything we've said, so far. that secret which the judge feared he would reveal, that secret which old hastings was blundering after--that secret, mr. crown, was such a danger to him that, to escape the questioning of even stupid old hastings, he could do nothing but crumple up on the floor and feign illness, prostration. why, don't you see, he was afraid to talk!" "everything you say hits the mark!" agreed crown, smiling happily. "centre-shots! centre-shots! you've been right from the very beginning. you tried to tell me all this yesterday morning, and, fool that i was--fool that hastings was!" he switched to a summary of what she had put into his mind: "it's right! webster killed her, and sloane and his daughter saw him at it. even wilton knows it--and he a judge! it seems impossible. by gravy! he ought to be impeached." a new idea struck him. mrs. brace, imperturbable, exhibiting no elation, was watching him closely. she saw his sudden change of countenance. he had thought: "she didn't reason this out. russell saw the murder--the coward--and he's told her. he ran away from----" another suspicion attacked him: "but that was jarvis' night off. has she seen jarvis?" impelled to put this fresh bewilderment into words, he was stayed by the restless, brilliant eyes with which she seemed to penetrate his lumbering mind. he was afraid of losing her cooperation. she was too valuable an ally to affront. he kept quiet. she brought him back to her purpose. "then, you agree with me? you think webster's guilty?" "think!" he almost shouted his contempt of the inadequate word. "think! i know! guilty? the man's black with guilt." "i'm sure of it," she said, curiously skilful in surrendering to him all credit for that vital discovery. "what are you going to do--now that you know?" "make him talk, turn him inside out! playing sick, is he! i'm going back to sloanehurst this evening. i'm going to start something. you can take this from me: webster'll loosen that tongue of his before another sun rises!" but that was not her design. "you can't do it," she objected, her voice heavy with disappointment. "dr. garnet, your own coroner, says questioning will kill him. dr. garnet's as thoroughly fooled as hastings, and," she prodded him with suddenly sharp tone, "you." "that's right." he was crestfallen, plucking at his chin. "that's hard to get around. but i've got to get around it! i've got to show results, mrs. brace. people, some of the papers even, are already hinting that i'm too easy on a rich man and his friend." "yes," she said, evenly. "and you told--i understood you'd act, on our theory." "i've got to! i've got to act!" his confusion was manifest. he did not know what to do, and he was silent, hoping for a suggestion from her. she let him wait. the pause added to his embarrassment. "what would--that is," he forced himself to the appeal, "i was wondering--anything occur to you? see any way out of it?" "of course, i know nothing about such procedure," she replied to that, slowly, as if she groped for a new idea. "but, if you got the proof from somewhere else, enough to warrant the arrest of webster----" her smile deprecated her probable ineptness. "if arthur sloane----" he fairly fell upon the idea. "right!" he said, clapping his hands together. "sloane's no dying man, is he? and he knows the whole story. right you are, mrs. brace! he can shake and tremble and whine all he pleases, but tonight he's my meat--my meat, right! talk? you bet he'll talk!" she considered, looking at the opposite wall. he was convinced that she examined the project, viewing it from the standpoint of his interest, seeking possible dangers of failure. nevertheless, he hurried her decision. "it's the thing to do, isn't it?" "i should think so," she said at last. "you, with your mental forcefulness, your ability as a questioner--why, i don't see how you can fail to get at what he knows. beside, you have the element of surprise on your side. that will go far toward sweeping him off his feet." he was again conscious of his debt of gratitude to this woman, and tried to voice it. "this is the first time," he declared, big with confidence, "i've felt that i had the right end of this case." when she had closed the door on him, she went back to the living room and set back in its customary place the chair he had occupied. her own was where it always belonged. from there she went into the bathroom and, as hastings had seen her do before, drew a glass of water which she drank slowly. then, examining her hard, smooth face in the bedroom mirror, she said aloud: "pretty soon, now, somebody will talk business--with me." there was no elation in her voice. but her lips were, for a moment, thick and wet, changing her countenance into a picture of inordinate greed. xv in arthur sloane's room hastings went back to sloanehurst that evening for another and more forceful attempt to argue arthur sloane into frankness. like mrs. brace, he could not get away from the definite conclusion that lucille's father was silent from fear of telling what he knew. moreover, he realized that, without a closer connection with sloane, his own handling of the case was seriously impeded. lucille was on the front porch, evidently waiting for him, although he had not notified her in advance of his visit. she went hurriedly down the steps and met him on the walk. when he began an apology for having to annoy her so frequently, she cut short his excuses. "oh, but i'm glad you're here--so glad! we need your help. the sheriff's here." she put her hand on his coat sleeve; he could feel the tremour of it as she pulled, unconsciously, on the cloth. she turned toward the verandah steps. "what's he doing?" he asked, detaining her. "he's in father's room," she said in feverish haste, "asking him all sorts of questions, saying ridiculous things. really, i'm afraid--for father's health! can't you go in now?" "couldn't judge wilton manage him? isn't the judge here?" "no. he came over at dinner time; but he went back to the randalls'. father didn't feel up to talking to him." crown, she explained, had literally forced his way into the bedroom, disregarding her protests and paying no attention to the pretence of physical resistance displayed by jarvis. "the man seems insane!" she said. "i want you to make him leave father's room--please!" she halted near the library door, leaving the matter in hastings' hands. since entering the house he had heard crown's voice, raised to the key of altercation; and now, when he stepped into sloane's room, the rush of words continued. the sheriff, unaware of the newcomer, stood near the bed, emphasizing his speech with restless arms and violent motions of his head, as if to galvanize into response the still and prostrate form before him. on the opposite side of the bed stood the sepulchral jarvis, flashing malign looks at crown, but chiefly busy, with unshaking hands, preparing a beverage of some sort for the sick man. sloane lay on his back, eyes closed, face under the full glare of the reading light. his expression indicated both boredom and physical suffering. "--have to make an arrest!" crown was saying. "you're making me take that action--ain't you? i come in here, considerate as i know how to be, and i ask you for a few facts. do you give 'em to me? not by a long shot! you lie there in that bed, and talk about leaping angels, and say i bore you! well, mr. sloane, that won't get you a thing! you're where i said you were: it's either webster that will be arrested--or yourself! now, i'm giving you another chance. i'm asking you what you saw; and you can tell me--or take the consequences!" hastings thought: "he's up that gum stump of his again, and don't know how to quit talking." sloane made no answer. "well," thundered crown. "i'm asking you!" "moaning martyrs!" sloane protested in a thin, querulous tone. "jarvis, the bromide." "all right!" the sheriff delivered his ultimatum. "i'll stick to what i said. webster may be too sick to talk, but not too sick to have a warrant served on him. he'll be arrested because you won't tell me----" hastings spoke then. "gentlemen!" he greeted pleasantly. "mr. sloane, good evening. mr. sheriff--am i interrupting a private conference?" "fiery fiends!" wailed sloane. "another!" hastings gave his attention to crown. he was certain that the man, balked by sloane's refusal to "talk," would welcome an excuse for leaving the room. "let me see you a moment, will you?" he put a hand on the sheriff's shoulder, persuading: "it's important, right now." "but i want to know what mr. sloane's going to say," crown blustered. "if he'll tell----" hastings stopped him with a whisper: "that's exactly what he'll do--soon!" he led the sheriff into the hall. they went into the parlour. "now," hastings began, in genial tone; "did you get anything from him?" "not a dad-blamed thing!" crown was still blustery. "but he'll talk before i'm through! you can put your little bets down on that!" "all right. you've had your chance at him. better let me see him." crown looked his distrust. he was thinking of mrs. brace's warning that this man had made a fool of him. "i'm not trying to put anything over on you," the detective assured him. "fact is, i'm out here for the newspaper men. they've had nothing from him; they've asked me to get his story. i'll give it to you before i see them. what do you say?" crown still hesitated. "if, after you've heard it," hastings added, "you want to question him further, you can do it, of course. but this way we take two shots at it." to that, the other finally agreed. hastings found sloane smoking a cigarette, his eyes still closed. jarvis was behind a screen near the door, now and then clinking glass against glass as he worked. the old man took a chair near the bed and waited for sloane to speak. he waited a long time. finally, the invalid looked at him from under lowered lids, slyly, like a child peeping. hastings returned the look with a pleasant smile, his shrewd eyes sparkling over the rims of his spectacles. "well!" sloane said at last, in a whiney tone. "what do you want?" "first," hastings apologized, "i want to say how sorry i am i didn't make myself clearly understood night before last when i told miss sloane i'd act as mouthpiece for this household. i didn't mean i could invent a statement for each of you, or for any of you. what i did mean amounts to this: if you, for instance, would tell me what you know--all you know--about this murder, i could relay it to the reporters--and to the sheriff, who's been annoying you so this evening. as----" "flat-headed fiends!" sloane cut in, writhing under the light coverlet. "another harangue!" hastings kept his temper. "no harangue about it. but it's to come to this, mr. sloane: you're handicapping me, and the reporters and the sheriff don't trust you." "why? why don't they trust me?" shrilled sloane, writhing again. "ill tell you in a very few words: because you refused to testify at the inquest yesterday, giving illness as an excuse. that's one reason. the----" "howling helions! wasn't i ill? didn't i have enough to make me ill?--jarvis, a little whiskey!" "dr. garnet hasn't told them so--the reporters. he won't tell them so. in fact," hastings said, with less show of cordiality, "from all he said to me, i gather he doesn't think you an ill man--that is, dangerously ill." "and because of that, they say what, these reporters, this sheriff? what?" "they're in ugly mood, mr. sloane. they're saying you're trying to protect--somebody--by keeping still about a thing which you should be the first to haul into daylight. that's it--in a nutshell." sloane had stopped trembling. he sat up in the bed and stared at the detective out of steady, hard eyes. he waved away the whiskey jarvis held toward him. "and you want what, mr. hastings?" he inquired, a curiously effective sarcasm in his voice. "a statement covering every second from the time you waked up saturday night until you saw the body." "a statement!--reporters!" he was snarling on that. "what's got into you, anyway? what are you trying to do--make people suspect me of the murder-make 'em suspect berne?" he threw away the cigarette and shook his fist at hastings. he gulped twice before he could speak again; he seemed on the point of choking. "in an ugly mood, are they? well, they can stay in an ugly mood. you, too! and that hydrophobiac sheriff! quivering and crucified saints! i've had enough of all of you--all of you, understand! get out of here! get out!" although his voice was shrill, there was no sound of weakness in it. the trembling that attacked him was the result of anger, not of nervousness. hastings rose, astounded by the outbreak. "i'm afraid you don't realize the seriousness of----" "oh, get out of here!" sloane interrupted again. "you've imposed on my daughter with your talk of being helpful, and all that rot, but you can't hoodwink me. what the devil do you mean by letting that sheriff come in here and subject me to all this annoyance and shock? you'd save us from unpleasantness!" he spoke more slowly now, as if he cudgelled his brain for the most biting sarcasm, the most unbearable insolence. "don't realize the seriousness!--flat-headed fiends!--are you any nearer the truth now than you were at the start?--try to understand this, mr. hastings: you're discharged, fired! from now on, i'm in charge of what goes on in this house. if there's any trouble to be avoided, i'll attend to it. get that!--and get out!" hastings, opening his mouth for angry retort, checked himself. he stood a moment silent, shaken by the effort it cost him to maintain his self-control. "humph!" sloane's nasal, twangy exclamation was clearly intended to provoke him further. but, without a word, he turned and left the room. passing the screen near the door, he heard jarvis snicker, a discreet echo of sloane's goading ridicule. on his way back to the parlour, the old man made up his mind to discount sloane's behaviour. "i've got to take a chance," he counselled himself, "but i know i'm right in doing it. a big responsibility--but i'm right!" then he submitted this report: "he says nothing new, crown. far as i can make out, nothing unusual waked him up that night--except chronic nervousness; he turned on that light to find some medicine; he knew nothing of the murder until judge wilton called him." "humph!" growled crown. "and you fall for that!" hastings eyed him sternly. "it's the statement i'm going to give to the reporters." the sheriff was silent, irresolute. hastings congratulated himself on his earlier deduction: that crown, unable to frighten sloane into communicativeness, was thankful for an excuse to withdraw. hendricks had reported the two-hour conference between crown and mrs. brace late that afternoon. hastings decided now: "the man's in cahoots with her. his ally! and he won't act until he's had another session with her.--and she won't advise an arrest for a day or two anyway. her game is to make him play on sloane's nerves for a while. she advises threats, not arrests--which suits me, to a t!" he fought down a chuckle, thinking of that alliance. crown corroborated his reasoning. "all right, hastings," he said doggedly. "i'm not going back to his room. i gave him his chance. he can take the consequences." "what consequences?" "i'd hardly describe 'em to his personal representative, would i? but you can take this from me: they'll come soon enough--and rough enough!" hastings made no reference to having been dismissed by sloane. he was glad when crown changed the subject. "hastings, you saw the reporters this afternoon--i've been wondering--they asked me--did they ask you whether you suspected the valet--jarvis?" "of what?" "killing her." "no; they didn't ask me." "funny," said crown, ill at ease. "they asked me." "so you said," hastings reminded, looking hard at him. "well!" crown blurted it out. "do you suspect him? are you working on that line--at all?" hastings paused. he had no desire to mislead him. and yet, there was no reason for confiding in him--and delay was at present the hastings plan. "i'll tell you, crown," he said, finally; "i'll work on any line that can lead to the guilty man.--what do you know?" "who? me?" crown's tone indicated the absurdity of suspecting jarvis. "not a thing." but it gave hastings food for thought. was mrs. brace in communication with jarvis? and did crown know that? was it possible that crown wanted to find out whether hastings was having jarvis shadowed? how much of a fool was the woman making of the sheriff, anyway? another thing puzzled him: why did mrs. brace suspect arthur sloane of withholding the true story of what he had seen the night of the murder? hastings' suspicion, amounting to certainty, came from his knowledge that the man's own daughter thought him deeply involved in the crime. but mrs. brace--was she clever enough to make that deduction from the known facts? or did she have more direct information from sloanehurst than he had thought possible? he decided not to leave the sheriff entirely subject to her schemes and suggestions. he would give mr. crown something along another line--a brake, as it were, on impulsive action. "you talk about arresting webster right away--or sloane," he began, suddenly confiding. "you wouldn't want to make a mistake--would you?" crown rose to that. "why? what do you know--specially?" "well, not so much, maybe. but it's worth thinking about. i'll give you the facts--confidentially, of course.--hub hill's about a hundred yards from this house, on the road to washington. when automobiles sink into it hub-deep, they come out with a lot of mud on their wheels--black, loamy mud. ain't any other mud like that hub hill mud anywhere near here. it's just special and peculiar to hub hill. that so?" "yes," agreed crown, absorbed. "all right. how, then, did eugene russell keep black, hub hill mud on his shoes that night if he went the four miles on foot to where otis picked him up?" "eh?" said crown, chin fallen. "by the time he'd run four miles, his shoes would have been covered with the red mud of that mile of 'dirt road' or the thin, grey mud of the three miles of pike--wouldn't they? they'd have thrown off that hub hill mud pretty quick, wouldn't they?" "thunder!" marvelled crown. "that's right! and those shoes were in his room; i saw 'em." he gurgled, far back in his throat. "say! how did he get from hub hill to where otis picked him up?" "that's what i say," declared hastings, very bland. "how?" to lucille, after crown's departure, the detective declared his intention to "stand by" her, to stay on the case. he repeated his statement of yesterday: he suspected too much, and knew too little, to give it up. he told her of the responsibility he had assumed in giving the sheriff the fictitious sloane statement. "that is, it's not fictitious, in itself; it's what your father has been saying. but i told crown, and i'm going to tell the newspaper men, that he says it's all he knows, really. and i hate to do it--because, honestly, miss sloane, i don't think it is all. i'm afraid he's deceiving us." she did not contradict that; it was her own opinion. "however," the old man made excuse, "i had to do it--in view of things as they are. and he's got to stick to it, now that i've made it 'official,' so to speak. do you think he will?" she did not see why not. she would explain to him the importance, the necessity, of that course. "he's so mistaken in what he's doing!" she said. "i don't understand him--really. you know how devoted to me he is. he called me into his room again an hour or two ago and tried to comfort me. he said he had reason to know everything would come out as it should. but he looked so--so uncertain!--oh, mr. hastings, who did kill that woman?" "i think i'll be able to prove who did it--let's see," he spoke with a light cheerfulness, and at the same time with sincerity; "i'll be able to prove it in less than a week after mrs. brace takes that money from you." she said nothing to that, and he leaned forward sharply, peering at her face, illegible to him in the darkness of the verandah. "so much depends on that, on you," he added. "you won't fail me--tomorrow?" "i'll do my best," she said, earnestly, struggling against depression. "she must take that money," he declared with great emphasis. "she must!" "and you think she will?" "miss sloane, i know she will," he said, a fatherly encouragement in his voice. "i'm seldom mistaken in people; and i know i've judged this woman correctly. money's her weakness. love of it has destroyed her already. offering this bribe to anybody else situated as she is would be ridiculous--but she--she'll take it." lucille sat a long time on the verandah after hastings had gone. she was far more depressed than he had suspected; she had to endure so much, she thought--the suspense, which grew heavier as time went by; the notoriety; berne webster still in danger of his life; her father's inexplicable pose of indifference toward everything; the suspicions of the newspapers and the public of both her father and berne; and the waiting, waiting, waiting--for what? a little moan escaped her. what if mrs. brace did take the marked money? what would that show? that she was acting with criminal intent, hastings had said. but he had another and more definite object in urging her to this undertaking; he expected from it a vital development which he had not explained--she was sure. she worried with that idea. her confidence in hastings had been without qualification. but what was he doing? anything? judge wilton was forever saying, "trust hastings; he's the man for this case." and that was his reputation; people declared that, if anybody could get to the bottom of all this mystery, he could. yet, two whole days had passed since the murder, and he had just said another week might be required to work out his plan of detection--whatever that plan was. another week of this! she put her hot palms to her hotter temples, striving for clarity of thought. but she was dazed by her terror--her isolated terror, for some of her thoughts were such that she could share them with nobody--not even hastings. "if the sheriff makes no arrest within the next few days, i'll be out of the woods," he had told her. "delay is what i want." there, again, was discouragement, for here was the sheriff threatening to serve a warrant on berne within the next twenty-four hours! she had heard crown make the threat, and to her it had seemed absolutely final: unless her father revealed something which crown wanted, whether her father knew it or not, berne was to be subjected to this humiliation, this added blow to his chance for recovery! she sprang up, throwing her hands wide and staring blindly at the stars. the woman whom she was to bribe cast a deep shadow on her imagination. sharing the feeling of many others, she had reached the reluctant conclusion that mrs. brace in some way knew more than anybody else about the murder and its motives. it was, she told herself, a horrid feeling, and without reason. but she could not shake it off. to her, mrs. brace was a figure of sinister power, an agent of ugliness, waiting to do evil--waiting for what? by a great effort, she steadied her jangled nerves. hastings was counting on her. and work--even work in the dark--was preferable to this idleness, this everlasting summing-up of frightful possibilities without a ray of hope. she would do her best to make that woman take the money! tomorrow she would be of real service to berne webster--she would atone, in some small measure, for the sorrow she had brought upon him, discarding him because of empty gossip!--would he continue to love her?--perhaps, if she had not discarded him, mildred brace would not have been murdered. a groan escaped her. she fled into the house, away from her thoughts. xvi the bribe it was nine o'clock the following evening when lucille sloane, sure that she had entered the walman unobserved, rang the bell of mrs. brace's apartment. her body felt remarkably light and facile, as if she moved in a tenuous, half-real atmosphere. there were moments when she had the sensation of floating. her brain worked with extraordinary rapidity. she was conscious of an unusually resourceful intelligence, and performed a series of mental gymnastics, framing in advance the sentences she would use in the interview confronting her. the constant thought at the back of her brain was that she would succeed; she would speak and act in such a way that mrs. brace would take the money. she was buoyed by a fierce determination to be repaid for all the suspense, all the agony of heart, that had weighed her down throughout this long, leaden-footed day--the past twenty-four hours unproductive of a single enlightening incident. mrs. brace opened the door and, with a scarcely perceptible nod of the head, motioned her into the living room. neither of them spoke until they had seated themselves on the chairs by the window. even then, the silence was prolonged, until lucille realized that her tongue was dry and uncomfortably large for her mouth. an access of trembling shook her. she tried to smile and knew that her lips were twisting in a ghastly grin. mrs. brace moved slowly to and fro on the armless rocker, her swift, appraising eyes taking in her visitor's distress. the smooth face wore its customary, inexpressive calm. lucille, striving desperately to arrive at some opinion of what the woman thought, saw that she might as well try to find emotion in a statue. "i--i," the girl finally attained a quick, flurried utterance, "want to thank you for--for having this--this talk with me." "what do you want to talk about, miss sloane?" the low, metallic voice was neither friendly nor hostile. it expressed, more than anything else, a sardonic, bullying self-sufficiency. it both angered and encouraged lucille. she perceived the futility of polite, introductory phrases here; she could go straight to her purpose, be brutally frank. she gave mrs. brace a brilliant, disarming smile, a proclamation of fellowship. her confidence was restored. "i'm sure we can talk sensibly together, mrs. brace," she explained, dissembling her indignation. "we can get down to business, at once." "what business?" inquired the older woman, with some of the manner hastings had seen, an air of lying in wait. "i said, on the 'phone, it was something of advantage to you--didn't i?" "yes; you said that." "and, of course, i want something from you." "naturally." "i'll tell you what it is." lucille spoke now with cool precision, as yet untouched by the horror she had expected to feel. "it's a matter of money." mrs. brace's tongue came out to the edge of the thin line of her lips. her nostrils quivered, once, to the sharply indrawn breath. her eyes were more furtive. "money?" she echoed. "for what?" "there's no good of my making long explanations, mrs. brace," lucille said. "i've read the newspapers, every line of them, about--our trouble. and i saw the references to your finances, your lack of money." "yes?" mrs. brace's right hand lay on her lap; the thumb of it began to move against the forefinger rapidly, the motion a woman makes in feeling the texture of cloth--or the trick of a bank clerk separating paper money. "yes. i read, also, what you said about the tragedy. today i noticed that the only note of newness in the articles in the papers came from you--from your saying that 'in a few days, three or four at the outside'--that was your language, i'm quite sure--you'd produce evidence on which an arrest would be made. i've intelligence enough to see that the public's interest in you is so great, the sympathy for you is so great, that your threats--i mean, predictions, or opinions--colour everything that's written by the reporters. you see?" "do i see what?" despite her excellent pose of waiting with nothing more than a polite interest, lucille saw in her a pronounced alteration. that was not so much in her face as in her body. her limbs had a look of rigidity. "don't you see what i mean?" lucille insisted. "i see that you can make endless trouble for us--for all of us at sloanehurst. you can make people believe mr. webster guilty, and that father and i are shielding him. people listen to what you say. they seem to be on your side." "well?" "i wondered if you wouldn't stop your interviews--your accusations?" the younger woman's eagerness, evident now in the variety of her gestures and the rapid procession of pallour and flush across her cheeks, persuaded mrs. brace that lucille was acting on an impulse of her own, not as an agent to carry out another's well designed scheme. the older woman, at that idea, felt safe. she asked: "and you want--what?" "i've come here to ask you to tell me all you know, or to be quiet altogether." "i'm afraid i don't understand--fully," returned mrs. brace, with an exaggerated bewilderment. "tell all i know?" "that is, if you do know anything you haven't told!" lucille urged her. "oh, don't you see? i'm saying to you that i want to put an end to this dreadful suspense!" mrs. brace laughed disagreeably; her face was harder, less human. "you mean i'm amusing myself, exerting myself needlessly, as a matter of spite? do you mean to tell me that?" "no! no!" lucille denied, impatient with herself for lack of clearness. "i mean i'm sure you're attacking an innocent man. and i'm willing, i'm anxious--oh, i hope so much, mrs. brace--to make an agreement with you--a financial arrangement----" she paused the fractional part of a second on that; and, seeing that the other did not resent the term, she added: "to pay you to stop it. isn't that clear?" "yes; that's clear." "understand me, please. what i ask is that you say nothing more to the reporters, the sheriff or the washington police, that will have the effect of hounding them on against mr. webster. i want to eliminate from the situation all the influence you've exerted to make mr. crown believe mr. webster's guilty and my father's protecting him." "let me think," mrs. brace said, coolly. lucille exulted inwardly, "she'll do it! she'll do it!" the hard eyes dissected her eager face. the girl drew back in her chair, thinking now: "she suspects who sent me!" at last, the older woman spoke: "the detective, hastings, would never have allowed you to come here, miss sloane.--excuse my frankness," she interjected, with a smile she meant to be friendly; "but you're frank with me; we're not mincing matters; and i have to be careful.--he'd have warned you that your errand's practical confession of your knowledge of something incriminating berne webster. if you didn't suspect the man even more strongly than i do, you'd never have been driven to--this." she leaned the rocker back and crossed her knees, the movement throwing into high relief the hard lankness of her figure. she gazed at the wall, over lucille's head, as she dealt with the possibilities that presented themselves to her analysis. her manner was that of a certain gloating enjoyment, a thinly covered, semi-orderly greediness. "she's not even thinking of her daughter," lucille thought, and went pale a moment. "she's as bad as mr. hastings said--worse!" "then, too," mrs. brace continued, "your father discharged him last night." lucille remembered the detective's misgivings about jarvis; how else had this woman found that out? "and you've taken matters into your own hands.--did your father send you here--to me?" "why, no!" the other smiled slyly, the tip of her tongue again visible, her eyebrows high in interrogation. "of course," she said; "you wouldn't tell me if he had. he would have warned you against that admission." "it's mr. webster about whom i am most concerned," lucille reminded, sharpness in her vibrant young voice. "my father's being annoyed is merely incidental." "oh, of course! of course," mrs. brace grinned, with broad sarcasm. lucille started. the meaning of that could not be misunderstood; she charged that the money was offered at arthur sloane's instigation and that the concern for berne webster was merely pretence. mrs. brace saw her anger, and placated it: "don't mind me, miss sloane. a woman who's had to endure what i have--well, she doesn't always think clearly." "perhaps not," lucille assented; but she was aware of a sudden longing to be done with the degrading work. "now that we understand each other, mrs. brace, what do you say?" mrs. brace thought again. "how much?" she asked at last, her lips thickening. "how much, miss sloane, do you think my silence is worth?" lucille took a roll of bills from her handbag. the woman's chair slid forward, answering to the forward--leaning weight of her new posture. she was lightly rubbing her palms together, as, with head a little bowed, she stared at the money in the younger woman's hand. "i have here five hundred dollars," lucille began. "what!" mrs. brace said that roughly; and, in violent anger, drew back, the legs of her chair grating on the floor. for a moment lucille gazed at her, uncomprehending. "oh!" she said, uncertainly. "you mean--it isn't enough?" "enough!" mrs. brace's rage and disappointment grew, her lowered brows a straight line close down to her eyes. "but i could get more!" lucille exclaimed, struggling with disgust. "this," she added, with ready invention, "can serve as a part payment, a promise of----" "ah-h!" the older woman exclaimed. "that's different. i misunderstood." she put down the signals of her wrath, succeeding in that readjustment so promptly that lucille stared at her in undisguised amazement. "you must pardon me, miss sloane. i thought you were making me the victim of your ridicule, some heartless joke." "then, we can come to an agreement? that is, if this money is the first----" she broke the sentence. mrs. brace had put up her hand, and now held her head to one side, listening. there was a step clearly audible outside, in the main hall. the next moment the doorbell rang. they sat motionless. when the bell rang again, mrs. brace informed her with a look that she would not answer it. but the ringing continued, became a prolonged jangle. it got on lucille's already strained nerves. "suppose you slip into the bedroom," mrs. brace whispered. "oh, no!" lucille whispered back. she was weighed down by black premonition; she hoped mrs. brace would not open the door. the bell rang again. "you'll have to!" mrs. brace said at last. "i won't let anybody in. i have to answer it!" "you'll send them away--whoever it is--at once?" "at once. i don't want you seen here, any more than you want to be seen!" lucille started toward the bedroom. at the first step she took, mrs. brace put a hand on her arm. "that money!" she demanded, in a low whisper. "i'll take it." "and do what i asked--stop attacking us?" "yes. yes!" lucille gave her the money. there were no lights in the bedroom. lucille, for fear of stumbling or making a noise, stood to one side of the door-frame, close to the wall. mrs. brace's footsteps stopped. there was the click of the opening door. then, there came to lucille the high-pitched, querulous voice which she had been afraid she would hear. it was her father's. xvii "the whole truth" "mrs. brace, good evening.--may i come in?" then followed the sound of footsteps, and the closing of the door. "i shan't detain you long, mrs. brace." they were still in the hall. "may i come in?" "certainly." the tardy assent was the perfection of indifference. they entered the living room. lucille, without using her eyes, knew that her father was standing just within the doorway, glancing around with his slight squint, working his lips nervously, his head thrust forward. "ah-h!" his shrill drawl, although he kept it low, carried back to lucille. "all alone--may i ask?" he went toward the chairs by the window. "that is, i hope to have--well--rather a confidential little talk with you." mrs. brace resumed her place on the armless rocker after she had moved a chair forward for him. lucille heard it grate on the floor. certain that he had taken it, she looked into the room. her intuition was correct; mrs. brace had placed it so that his back was turned to both the bedroom door and the door into the entry. this made her escape possible. the relief she got from the thought was of a violent nature. it came to her like a blow, almost forcing a gasp from her constricted throat. if she could tiptoe without sound a distance of eighteen feet, a matter of six or seven steps, she could leave the apartment without his knowledge. to that she was doubly urged. in the first place, hastings' warning drummed upon her brain; he had specified the importance of keeping even her father in ignorance of her errand. upon that came another reason for flight, her fear of hearing what her father would say. a wave of nausea weakened her. she bowed down, there in the dark, under the burden of her suspicion: he had come to do, for quite a different reason, what she had done! she kept away from definite analysis of his motive. fear for berne, or fear for himself, it was equally horrible to her consideration. "i admire your spirit, mrs. brace," he was saying, in ingratiating tone; "and your shrewdness. i've followed all you said, in the papers. and i'm in hopes that we may----" he stopped, and lucille, judging from the thin edges of sounds that she caught, had a mental picture of his peering over his shoulder. he resumed: "i must apologize, i'm sure. but you'll realize my concern for secrecy--after i've explained. may i--ah-h-h--do you mind if i look about, for possible hearers?" "it's unnecessary," came the calm, metallic assurance. "i've no objection to your searching my apartment, if you insist." she laughed, a mirthless deprecation of his timidity, and coolly put herself at his disposal in another sentence: "i've sense enough to form an idea of what you'll propose; and i'd scarcely want others to hear it--would i?" "ah-h-h!" he drawled, expressing a grudging disposition to accept her assurance. "certainly not.--well, that's very reasonable--and obliging, i'm sure." again by the thin fringes of sound, lucille got information of his settling into his chair. "why," he began; "why, in the name of all the unfathomable, inscrutable angels----" "first, mr. sloane," mrs. brace interrupted him--and lucille heard the rattle of a newspaper; "as a preface to our--shall we say conference?--our conference, then, let me read you this summary of my position.--that is, if you care to understand my position thoroughly." she was far from her habitual quietness, rattling the newspaper incessantly. the noise, lucille realized, would hang as a curtain between her father's ears and the possible sounds of her progress from the bedroom door to the entry. stealing a glance into the living room, she saw his back and, over his stooped shoulders, mrs. brace's calm face. in that instant, the newspaper shook more violently--enough, she thought, to signal cooperation. she sickened again at sight of that woman about to dispense bought favours to her father. the impulse to step forth and proclaim her presence rose strongly within her; but she was turned from it by fear that her interruption might produce disastrous results. after all, she was not certain of his intention. she knew, however, that at any moment he might insist on satisfying himself, by a tour of inspection, that he was safe from being overheard. she hesitated no longer. she would try to get away. "look at this, mr. sloane, if you please," mrs. brace was saying; "notice how the items are made to stand out, each in a paragraph of large type." she held the paper so that sloane bent forward, and, against his will, was held to joint perusal while she read aloud. the curtain of protecting noise thus was thickened. "'that mrs. brace has knowledge of the following facts,'" the harsh, colourless voice was reading. lucille began her escape. she moved with an agony of precaution, taking steps only a few inches long, her arms held out from her sides to avoid unnecessary rustling of her clothing. she went on the balls of her feet, keeping the heels of her shoes always free of the floor, each step a slow torture. her breathing stopped--a hysterical contraction of her chest prevented breathing. her face burned like fire. her head felt crowded, as if the blood tried to ooze through the confining scalp. there was a great roaring in her ears. the pulse in her temples was like the blows of sledges. once, midway of the distance, as she stood lightly balanced, with arms outstretched, something went wrong with her equilibrium. she started forward as she had often done when a child, with the sensation of falling on her face. her skirt billowed out in front of her. if she had had any breath in her, she would have cried out. but the automatisms of her body worked better than her overtaxed brain. her right foot went out easily and softly--she marvelled at that independent motion of her leg--and, taking up the falling weight of her body, restored her balance. mrs. brace's voice had not faltered, although she must have seen the misstep. arthur sloane's bowed shoulders had not stirred. mrs. brace continued the printed enumeration of her stores of knowledge. lucille took another step. she was safe!--almost. there remained but a yard of her painful progress. one more step, she comforted herself, would put her on the threshold of the entry door, and from there to the corridor door, shielded by the entry wall from possible observation by her father, would be an easy business. she completed that last step. on the threshold, she had to turn her body through an arc of ninety degrees, unless she backed out of the door. this she was afraid to do; her heel might meet an obstruction; a raised plank of the flooring, even, would mean an alarming noise. she began to turn. the reading continued. the whole journey from door to door, in spite of the anguished care of every step, had consumed scarcely a minute. she was turning, the balancing arms outstretched. deep down in her chest there was the beginning of a sensation, muscles relaxing, the promise of a long breath of relief. her left hand--or, perhaps, her elbow; in the blinding, benumbing flash of consternation, she did not know which--touched the pile of magazines on the table that was set against the door-frame. the magazines did not fall to the floor, but the fluttering of the loose cover of the one on top made a noise. she fled, taking with her the flashing memory of the first stirring of her father's figure and the crackle of the paper in mrs. brace's hand. in two light steps she was at the corridor door. her hands found the latch and turned it. she ran down the stairs with rapid, skimming steps, the door clicking softly shut as she made the turn on the next landing. her exit had been wonderfully quiet. she knew this, in spite of the fact that her straining senses had exaggerated the flutter of the magazine cover and the click of the door into a terrifying volume of sound. it was entirely possible that mrs. brace had been able to persuade her father that he had heard nothing more than some outside noise. she was certain that he had not seen her. she crossed the dim, narrow lobby of the walman so quickly, and so quietly, that the girl at the telephone board did not look in her direction. once in the street, she was seized by desire to confide to hastings the story of her experience. she decided to act on the impulse. he was at first more concerned with her physical condition than with what she had to tell. he saw how near she was to the breaking point. "my dear child!" he said, in the tone of fatherly solicitude which she had learned to like. "comfort before conference! here, this chair by the window--so--and this wreck of a fan, can you use it? fine! now, cool your flushed face in this thin, very thin stream of a breeze--feel it? a glass of water?--just for the tinkling of ice? that's better, isn't it?" the only light in the room was the reading lamp, under a dark-green shade, and from this little island of illumination there ran out a chaotic sea of shadows, huge waves of them, mounting the height of the book-shelves and breaking irregularly on the ceiling. in the dimness, as he walked back and forth hunting for the fan or bringing her the water, he looked weirdly large--like, she thought dully, a fairy giant curiously draped. but the serenity of his expression touched her. she was glad she had come. while she told her story, he stood in front of her, encouraging her with a smile or a nod now and then, or ambled with soft step among the shadows, always keeping his eyes upon her. for the moment, her tired spirit was freshened by his lavish praise of the manner in which she had accomplished her undertaking. following that, his ready sympathy made it easier for her to discuss her fear that her father had planned to bribe mrs. brace. nevertheless, the effort taxed her severely. at the end of it, she leaned back and closed her eyes, only to open them with a start of fright at the resultant dizziness. the sensation of bodily lightness had left her. her limbs felt sheathed in metal. an acute, throbbing pain racked her head. she was too weary to combat the depression which was like a cold, freezing hand at her heart. "you don't say anything!" she complained weakly. he stood near her chair, gazing thoughtfully before him. "i'm trying to understand it," he said; "why your father did that. you're right, of course. he went there to pay her to keep quiet. but why?" he looked at her closely. "could it be possible," he put the inquiry at last, "that he knew her before the murder?" "i've asked him," she said. "no; he never had heard of her--neither he nor judge wilton. i even persuaded him to question jarvis about that. it was the same; jarvis never had--until last sunday morning." "you think of everything!" he congratulated her. "no! oh, no!" some quick and overmastering emotion broke down the last of her endurance. whether it was a new and finer appreciation of his persistent, untiring search for the guilty man, or the realization of how sincerely he liked her, giving her credit for a frankness she had not exercised--whatever the pivotal consideration was, she felt that she could no longer deceive him. she closed her lips tightly, to keep back the rising sobs, and regarded him with questioning, fearful eyes. "what is it?" he asked gently, reading her appealing look. "i've a confession to make," she said miserably. he refused to treat it as a tragedy. "but it can't be very bad!" he exclaimed pleasantly. "when we're overwrought, imagination's like a lantern swinging in the wind, changing the size of everything every second." "but it is bad!" she insisted. "i haven't been fair. i couldn't bring myself to tell you this. i tried to think you'd get along without it!" "and now?" she answered him with an outward calmness which was, in reality, emotional dullness. she had suffered so much that to feel vividly was beyond her strength. "you have the right to know it," she said, looking at him out of brilliant, unwinking eyes. "it's about father. he was out there--on the lawn--before he turned on the light in his room. i heard him come in, a minute before berne went down the back stairs and out to the lawn. and i heard him go to his window and stand there, looking out, at least five long minutes before he flashed on his light." he waited, thinking she might have more to tell. construing his silence as reproof, she said, without changing either her expression or her voice: "i know--it's awful. i should have told you. perhaps, i've done great harm." "you've been very brave," he consoled her, with infinite tenderness. "but it happens that i'd already satisfied myself on that point. i knew he'd been out there." she was dumb, incapable of reacting to his words. even the fact that he was smiling, with genuine amusement, did not affect her. "here comes the grotesque element, the comical, that's involved in so many tragedies," he explained. "your father's weakness for 'cure' of nervousness, and his shrinking from the ridicule he's suffered because of it--there's the explanation of why he was out there that night." she could not see significance in that, but neither could she summon energy to say so. she wondered vaguely why he thought it funny. "that night--rather, the early morning hours following--while the rest of you were in the library, i looked through his room, and i found a pair of straw sandals in the closet--such as a man could slip on and off without having to bend down to adjust them. and they were wet, inside and out. "sunday morning, when judge wilton and i were at his bedside, i saw on the table a 'quack' pamphlet on the 'dew' treatment for nervousness, the benefit of the 'wet, cooling grass' upon the feet at night. you know the kind of thing. so----" "oh-h-h!" she breathed, tremulous and weak. "so that's why he was out there! why didn't i think? oh, how i've suspected him of----" "but remember," he warned; "that's why he went out. we still don't know what he--what happened after he got out there--or why he's refused to say that he ever was out there. when we think of this, and other things, and, too, his call tonight on mrs. brace, for bribery--leaving what we thought was a sickbed--" "but he's been up all day!" she corrected. "and yet," he said, and stopped, reflecting. "tell me," she implored; "tell me, mr. hastings, do you suspect my father--or not--of the----?" he answered her unfinished question with a solemn, painstaking care: "miss sloane, you're not one who would want to be misled. you can bear the truth. i'd be foolish to say that he's not under suspicion. he is. any one of the men there that night may have committed the murder. webster, your father, wilton--only there, suspicion seems totally gratuitous--eugene russell, jarvis--i've heard things about him--any one of them may have struck that blow--may have." "and father," she said, in a grieved bewilderment, "has paid mrs. brace to stop saying she suspects berne," she shuddered, facing the alternative, "or himself!" "you see," he framed the conclusion for her, "how hard he makes it for us to keep him out of trouble--if that gets out. he's put his hand on the live wire of circumstantial evidence, a wire that too often thrashes about, striking the wrong man." "and berne?" she cried out. "i think i could stand anything if only i knew----" but this time the mutinous sobs came crowding past her lips. she could not finish the inquiry she had begun. xviii the man who rode away it was early in the afternoon of wednesday when mr. hastings, responding to the prolonged ringing of his telephone, took the receiver off the hook and found himself in communication with the sheriff of alexandria county. this was not the vacillating, veering sheriff who had spent nearly four days accepting the hints of a detective or sitting, chameleon-minded, at the feet of a designing woman. here was an impressive and self-appreciative gentleman, one who delighted in his own deductive powers and relished their results. he said so. his confidence fairly rattled the wire. his words annihilated space grandly and leaped into the old man's receptive ear with sizzling and electric effect. mr. crown, triumphant, was glad to inform others that he was making a hit with himself. "hello! that you, hastings? well, old fellow, i don't like to annoy you with an up-to-date rendition of 'i told you so!'--but it's come out, to the last syllable, exactly as i said it would--from the very first!" ensued a pause, for dramatic effect. the detective did not break it. "waiting, are you? well, here she goes; russell's alibi's been knocked into a thousand pieces! it's blown up! it's gone glimmering!--what do you think of that?" hastings refrained from replying that he had regarded such an event as highly probable. instead, he inquired: "and that simplifies things?" "does it!" exploded mr. crown. "i'm getting to you a few minutes ahead of the afternoon papers. you'll see it all there." an apologetic laugh came over the wire. "you'll excuse me, i know; i had to do this thing up right, put on the finishing touches before you even guessed what was going on. i've wound up the whole business. the washington police nabbed russell an hour ago, on my orders. "'simplifies things?' i should say so! i guess you can call 'em 'simplified' when a murder's been committed and the murderer's waiting to step into my little ring-tum-fi-diddle-dee of a country jail! 'no clue to this mystery,' the papers have been saying! what's the use of a clue when you _know_ a guy's guilty? that's what i've been whistling all along!" "but the alibi?" hastings prompted. "you say it's blown up?" "blown! gone! result of my sending out those circulars asking if any automobile parties passed along the sloanehurst road the murder night. remember?" "yes." the old man recalled having made that suggestion, but did not say so. "this morning the chief of police of york--york, pennsylvania--wired me. i got him by long-distance right away. he gave me the story, details absolutely right and straight, all verified--and everything. a york man, named stevens, saw a newspaper account, for the first time this morning, of the murder. he and four other fellows were in a car that went up hub hill that night a little after eleven--a few minutes after.--hear that?" "yes. go on." "stevens was on the back seat. they went up the hill on low--terrible piece of road, he calls it--they were no more than crawling. he says he was the only sober man in the crowd--been out on a jollification tour of ten days. he saw a man slide on to the running board on his side of the car as they were creeping up the hill. the rest of the party was singing, having a high old time. "stevens said he never said a word, just watched the guy on the running board, and planned to crack him on the head with an empty beer bottle when they got on the straight road and were hitting up a good clip--just playing, you understand. "after he'd watched the guy a while and was trying to fish up a beer bottle from the bottom of the car, the chauffeur slowed down and hollered back to him on the back seat that he wanted to stop and look at his radiator--it was about to blow up, too hot. he'd been burning the dust on that stretch of good road. "when he slowed down, the guy on the running board slipped off. stevens says he rolled down a bank." the jubilant mr. crown stopped, for breath. "that's all right, far as it goes," hastings said; "but does he identify that man as russell?" "to the last hair on his head!" replied the sheriff. "stevens' description of the fellow is russell all over--all over! just to show you how good it is, take this: stevens describe the clothes russell wore, and says what otis said: he'd lost his hat." "stevens got a good look at him?" "says the headlights were full on him as he stood on one side of the road, there on hub hill, waiting to slide on the running board.--and this stevens is a shrewd guy, the york chief says. i guess his story plugs russell's lies, shoots that alibi so full of holes it makes a sifter look like a piece of sheet-iron! "that car went up hub hill at seven minutes past eleven--that means russell had plenty of time to kill the girl after the rain stopped and to get out on the road and slip on to that running board. and the car slowed up, where he rolled off the running board, at eighteen minutes past eleven. "time's right, location's right, identification's right!--pretty sweet, ain't it, old fellow? congratulate me, don't you? congratulate me, even if it does step on all those mysterious theories of yours--that right?" hastings bestowed the desired felicitations upon the exuberant conqueror of crime. turning from the telephone, he gazed a long time at the piece of grey envelope on the table before him. he had clung to his belief that, in those fragments of words, was to be found a clue to the solution of the mystery. he picked up his knife and fell to whittling. outside in the street a newsboy set up an abrupt, blaring din, shouting sensational headlines: "sloanehurst mystery solved!--russell the murderer!--alibi a fake!" the old man considered grimly, the various effects of this development in the case--lucille sloane's unbounded relief mingled with censure of him for having added to her fears, and especially for having subjected her to the ordeal of last night's experience with mrs. brace--the adverse criticism from both press and public because of his refusal to join in the first attacks upon russell, arthur sloane's complacency at never having treated him with common courtesy. his thoughts went to mrs. brace and her blackmail schemes, as he had interpreted or suspected them. "if i'd had a little more time," he reflected, "i might have put my hand on----" his eyes rested on the envelope flap. his mind flashed to another and new idea. his muscles stiffened; he put his hands on the arms of his chair and slowly lifted himself up, the knife dropping from his fingers and clattering on the floor. he stood erect and held both hands aloft, a gesture of wide and growing wonder. "cripes!" he said aloud. he picked up the grey paper with a hand that trembled. his pendent cheeks puffed out like those of a man blowing a horn. he stared at the paper again, before restoring it to its envelope, which he put back into one of his pockets. "cripes!" he said again. "it's a place! pursuit! that's where the----" he became a whirlwind of action, covered the floor with springy step. taking a book of colossal size from a shelf, he whirled the pages, running his finger down a column while he murmured, "pursuit--p-u-r--p-u--p-u----" but there was no such name in the postal directory. he went back to older directories. he began to worry. was there no such postoffice as pursuit? he went to other books, whirling the pages, running down column after column. and at last he got the information he sought. consulting a railroad folder, he found a train schedule that caused him to look at his watch. "twenty-five minutes," he figured. "i'm going!" he telephoned for a cab. then, seating himself at the table, he tore a sheet from a scratch-pad and wrote: "don't lose sight of mrs. brace. disregard russell's arrest. "hendricks: the sloanehurst people are members of the arlington golf club. get a look at golf bags there. did one, or two, contain piece or pieces of a bed-slat? "gore: check up on mrs. b.'s use of money. "i'll be back sunday." he sealed the envelope into which he put that, and, addressing it to hendricks, left it lying on the table. at the station he bought the afternoon newspapers and turned to eugene russell's statement, made to the reporters immediately after his arrest. it ran: "i repeat that i'm innocent of the murder. of course, i made a mistake in omitting all mention of my having ridden the first four miles from sloanehurst. but, being innocent and knowing the weight of the circumstantial evidence against me, i could not resist the temptation to make my alibi good. i neither committed that murder nor witnessed it. the story i told at the inquest of what happened to me and what i did at sloanehurst stands. it is the truth." xix "pursuit!" returning from his trip sunday morning, the detective, after a brief conference with hendricks, had gone immediately to mrs. brace's apartment. she sat now, still and watchful, on the armless rocker by the window, waiting for him to disclose the object of his visit. except the lifted, faintly interrogating eyebrows, there was nothing in her face indicative of what she thought. he caught himself comparing her to a statue, forever seated on the low-backed, uncomfortable chair, awaiting without emotion or alteration of feature the outcome of her evil scheming. her hardness gave him the impression of something hammered on, beaten into an ugly pattern. having that imperturbability to overcome, he struck his first blow with surprising directness. "i'm just back from pursuit," he said. that was the first speech by either of them since the monosyllabic greeting at the door. he saw that she had prepared herself for such an announcement; but the way she took it reminded him of a door shaken by the impact of a terrific blow. a little shiver, for all her force of repression, moved her from head to foot. "you are?" she responded, her voice controlled, the hard face untouched by the shock to which her body had responded. "yes; i got back half an hour ago, and, except for one of my assistants, you're the first person i've seen." when that drew no comment from her, he added: "i want you to remember that--later on." he began to whittle. "why?" she asked with genuine curiosity, after a pause. "because it may be well for you to know that i'm dealing with you alone, and fairly.--i got all the facts concerning you." "concerning me?" her tone intimated doubt. "now, mrs. brace!" he exclaimed, disapproving her apparent intention. "you're surely not going to pretend ignorance--or innocence!" she crossed her knees, and, putting her left forearm across her body, rested her right elbow in that hand. she began to rock very gently, her posture causing her to lean forward and giving her a look of continual but polite questioning. "if you want to talk to me," she said, her voice free of all feeling, "you'll have to tell me what it's about." "all right; i will," he returned. "you'll remember, i take it, my asking you to tell me the meaning of the marks on the flap of the grey envelope. i'll admit i was slow, criminally slow, in coming to the conclusion that 'pursuit!' referred to a place rather than an act. but i got it finally--and i found pursuit--not much left of it now; it's not even a postoffice. "but it's discoverable," he continued on a sterner note, and began to shave long, slender chips from his block of wood. "i'll give you the high lights: young dalton was killed--his murderer made a run for it--but you, a young widow then, in whose presence the thing was done, smoothed matters out. you swore it was a matter of self-defence. the result was that, after a few half-hearted attempts to locate the fugitive, the pursuit was given up." "very well. but why bring that story here--now? what's its significance?" he stared at her in amazement. her thin, sensitive lips were drawn back at the corners, enough to make her mouth look a trifle wider--and enough to suggest dimly that their motion was the start of a vindictive grimace. otherwise, she was unmoved, unresponsive to the open threat of what he had said. "let me finish," he retorted. "an unfortunate feature, for you, was that you seemed to have made money out of the tragedy. in straitened circumstances previously, you began to spend freely--comparatively speaking--a few days after the murderer's disappearance. in fact, bribery was hinted; you had to leave the village. see any significance in that?" he concluded, with irony. "suppose you explain it," she said, still cool. "the significance is in the strengthening of the theory i've had throughout the whole week that's passed since your daughter was killed at sloanehurst." "what's that?" she stopped rocking; her eyes played a fiery tattoo on every feature of his face. "your daughter's death was the unexpected result of your attempts to blackmail young dalton's murderer. you, being afraid of him, and not confessing that timidity to mildred, persuaded her to approach him--in person." "i! afraid of him!" she objected, aroused at last. her brows were lowered, a heavy line above her furtive, swift eyes; her nostrils fluttered nervously. "granting your absurd theory," she continued, "why should i have feared him? what had he done--except strike to save his own life?" "you forget, mrs. brace," he corrected. "that body showed twenty-nine wounds, twenty-eight of them unnecessary--if the first was inflicted in mere self-defence. it was horrible mutilation." "so!" she ridiculed, with obvious effort. "you picture him as a butcher." "precisely. and you, having seen to what lengths his murderous fury could take him, were afraid to face him--even after your long, long search had located him again. let's be sensible, mrs. brace. let's give the facts of this business a hearing. "you had come to washington and located him at last. but, after receiving several demands from you, he'd stopped reading your letters--sent them back unopened. consequently, in order for you to make an appointment with him, he had to be communicated with in a handwriting he didn't know. hence, your daughter had to write the letter making that appointment a week ago last night. then, however----" "what makes you think----" "then, however," he concluded, overbearing her with his voice, "you hadn't the courage to face him--out there, in the dark, alone. you persuaded mildred to go--in your place. and he killed her." "ha!" the mocking exclamation sounded as though it had been pounded out of her by a blow upon her back. "what makes you say that? where do you get that? who put that into your head?" she volleyed those questions at him with indescribable rapidity, her lips drawn back from her teeth, her brows straining far up toward the line of her hair. the profound disgust with which he viewed her did not affect her. she darted to and fro in her mind, running about in the waste and tumult of her momentary confusion, seeking the best thing to say, the best policy to adopt, for her own ends. he had had time to determine that much when her gift of self-possession reasserted itself. she forced her lips back to their thin line, and steadied herself. he could see the vibrant tautness of her whole body, exemplified in the rigidity with which she held her crossed knees, one crushed upon the other. "i know, i think, what misled you," she answered her own question. "you've talked to gene russell, of course. he may have heard--i think he did hear--mildred and me discussing the mailing of a letter that friday night." "he did," hastings said, firmly. "but he couldn't have heard anything to warrant your theory, mr. hastings. i merely made fun of her wavering after she'd once said she'd confront berne webster again with her appeal for fair play." he inspected her with an emotion that was a mingling of incredulity and repugnant wonder. "it's no use, mrs. brace," he told her. "russell didn't see the name of the man to whom the letter was addressed. i saw him last sunday afternoon. he told me he took the name for granted, because mildred had taunted him, saying it went to webster. as a matter of fact, he wanted to see if webster was at sloanehurst and fastened his eyes for a fleeting glimpse on that word--and on that alone. besides, there are facts to prove that the letter did not go to webster.--do you see how your fancied security falls away?" "let me think," she said, her tone flat and impersonal. she was silent, her restless eyes gazing at the wall over his head. he watched her, and glanced only at intervals at the wood he was aimlessly shaving. "of course," she said, after a while, looking at him with a speculative, deliberating air, "you've deduced and pieced this together. you've a woman's intuition--comprehension of motives, feelings." she was silent again. "pieced what together?" he asked. "it's plain enough, isn't it? you began with your suspicion that my need of money was heavier in my mind than grief at mildred's death. on that, you built up--well, all you've just said." "it was more than a suspicion," he corrected. "it was knowledge--that everything you did, after her death, was intended to help along your scheme to--we'll say, to get money." "still," she persisted shrewdly, "you felt the necessity of proving i'd blackmail--if that's the word you want to use." "how?" he put in quickly. "prove it, how?" "that's why you sent that girl here with the five hundred. i see it now; although, at the time, i didn't." she laughed, a short, bitter note. "perhaps, the money, or my need of it, kept me from thinking straight." "well?" "of course," she made the admission calmly, "as soon as i took the hush money, your theory seemed sound--the whole of it: my motives and identity of the murderer." she was thinking with a concentration so intense that the signs of it resembled physical exertion. moisture beaded the upper part of her forehead. he could see the muscles of her face respond to the locking of her jaws. "but there's nothing against me," she began again, and, moved by his expression, qualified: "nothing that i can be held for, in the courts." "you've decided that, have you?" "you'll admit it," she said. "there's nothing--there can be nothing--to disprove my statement that dalton's death was provoked. i hold the key to that--i alone. that being true, i couldn't be prosecuted in pursuit as 'accessory after the fact.'" "yes," he agreed. "that's true." "and here," she concluded, without a hint of triumph, even without a special show of interest, "i can't be proceeded against for blackmail. that money, from both of them, was a gift. i hadn't asked for it, much less demanded it. i," she said with an assured arrogance, "hadn't got that far.--so, you see, mr. hastings, i'm far from frightened." he found nothing to say to that shameless but unassailable declaration. also, he was aware that she entertained, and sought solution of, a problem, the question of how best to satisfy her implacable determination to make the man pay. that purpose occupied all her mind, now that her money greed was frustrated. it was on this that he had calculated. it explained his going to her before confronting the murderer. he had felt certain that her perverted desire to "get even" would force her into the strange position of helping him. he broke the silence with a careful attempt to guide her thoughts: "but don't fool yourself, mrs. brace. you've got out of this all you'll ever get, financially--every cent. and you're in an unpleasant situation--an outcast, perhaps. people don't stand for your line of stuff, your behaviour." she did not resent that. making a desperate mental search for the best way to serve her hard self-interest, he thought, she was impervious to insult. "i know," she said, to his immense relief. "i've been considering the only remaining point." "what's that?" "the sure way to make him suffer as horribly as possible." he pretended absorption in his carving. "why shouldn't he have provided me with money when i asked it?" she demanded, at last. the new quality of her speech brought his head up with a jerk. instead of colourless harshness, it had a warm fury. it was not that she spoke loudly or on a high key; but it had an unbridled, self-indulgent sound. he got the impression that she put off all censorship from either her feeling or her expression. "that wasn't much to ask--as long as he continued his life of ease, of luxury, of safety--as long as i left out of consideration the debt he couldn't pay, the debt that was impossible of payment." alien as the thing seemed in connection with her, he grasped it. she thought that she had once loved the man. "the matter of personal feeling?" he asked. "yes. when he left pursuit, he destroyed the better part of me--what you would call the good part." she said that without sentimentalism, without making it a plea for sympathy; she had better sense, he saw, than to imagine that she could arouse sympathy on that ground. "and," she continued, with intense malignity, "what was so monstrous in my asking him for money? i asked him for no payment of what he really owes me. that's a debt he can't pay! my beauty, destroyed, withered and covered over with the hard mask of the features you see now; my capacity for happiness, dead, swallowed up in my long, long devotion to my purpose to find him again--those things, man as you are, you realize are beyond the scope of payment or repayment!" without rising to a standing position, she leaned so far forward that her weight was all on her feet, and, although her figure retained the posture of one seated on a chair, she was in fact independent of support from it, and held herself crouching in front of him, taut, a tremor in her limbs because of the strain. her hands were held out toward him, the tips of her stiffened, half-closed fingers less than a foot from his face. her brows were drawn so high that the skin of her forehead twitched, as if pulled upward by another's hand. it was with difficulty that he compelled himself to witness the climax of her rage. only his need of what she knew kept him still. "money!" she said, her lean arms in continual motion before him. "you're right, there. i wanted money. i made up my mind i'd have it. it was such a purpose of mine, so strongly grown into my whole being, that even mildred's death couldn't lessen or dislodge it. and there was more than the want of money in my never letting loose of my intention to find him. he couldn't strip me bare and get away! you've understood me pretty well. you know it was written, on the books, that he and i should come together again--no matter how far he went, or how cleverly! "and i see now!" she gave him her decision, and, as she did so, rose to an upright position, her hands at her sides going half-shut and open, half-shut and open, as if she made mental pictures of the closing in of her long pursuit. "i'll say what you want me to say. confront him; put me face to face with him, and i'll say the letter went to him. oh, never fear! i'll say the appropriate thing, and the convincing thing--appropriately convincing!" her eyes glittered, countering his searching glance, as she stood over him, her body flung a little forward from the waist, her arms busy with their quick, angular gesticulation. "when?" he asked. "when will you do that?" "now," she answered instantly. "now!--now!--oh, don't look surprised. i've thought of this possibility. my god!" she said with a bitterness that startled him. "i've thought of every possibility, every possible crook and quirk of this business." she was struck by his slowness in responding to her offer. "but you," she asked; "are you sure--have you the proof?" "thanks," he said drily. "you needn't be uneasy about that.--now, if i may do a little telephoning, we'll start." he went a step from her and turned back. "by the way," he stipulated, "that little matter of the five hundred--you needn't refer to it. i mean it will have to be left out. it's not necessary." "no; it isn't," she agreed, with perfect indifference. "and it's spent." when he had telephoned to sloanehurst and the sheriff's office, he found her with her hat on, ready to accompany him. as they stepped out of the walman, she saw the automobile waiting for them. she stopped, a new rage darting from her eyes. he thought she would go back. after a brief hesitation, however, she gave a short, ugly laugh. "you were as sure as that, were you!" she belittled herself. "had the car wait--to take me there!" "by no means," he denied. "i hoped you'd go--that's all." "that's better," she said, determined to assert her individuality of action. "you're not forcing me into this, you know. i'm doing it, after thinking it out to the last detail--for my own satisfaction." xx denial of the charge hastings, fully appreciating the value of surprise, had instructed mrs. brace to communicate none of the new developments to anybody until he asked for them. reaching sloanehurst, he went alone to the library, leaving her in the parlour to battle as best she might with the sheriff's anxious curiosity. arthur sloane and judge wilton gave him cool welcome, parading for his benefit an obvious and insolent boredom. although uninvited to sit down, he caught up a chair and swung it lightly into such position that, when he seated himself, he faced them across the table. he was smiling, enough to indicate a general satisfaction with the world. there was in his bearing, however, that which carried them back to their midnight session with him immediately following the discovery of mildred brace's body. the smile did not lessen his look of unquestionable power; his words were sharp, clipped-off. "i take it," he said briskly, untouched by their demeanour of indifference, "you gentlemen will be interested in the fact that i've cleared up this mystery." "ah-h-h!" drawled sloane. "again?" "what do you mean by 'again'?" he asked, good-naturedly. "crown, the sheriff, accomplished it four days ago, i'm credibly informed." "he made a mistake." "ah?" sloane ridiculed. "yes. 'ah!'" hastings took him up curtly, and, with a quick turn of his head, addressed himself to wilton: "judge, i've been to pursuit." when he said that, his head was thrown back so that he squinted at wilton down the line of his nose, under the rims of his spectacles. "pursuit!" wilton's echo of the word was explosive. he had been leaning back in his chair, eying the detective from under lowered lids, and drawing deep, prolonged puffs from his cigar. but, with the response to hastings' announcement, he sat up and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the rim of the table. it was an awkward attitude, compelling him to extend his neck and turn his face upward in order to meet the other's glance. "yes," hastings said, after a measurable pause. "interested in that?" "not at all," wilton replied, plainly alarmed, and fubbed out his cigar with forefinger and thumb, oblivious to the fact that he dropped a little shower of fire on the table cover. "i'll trouble you to observe, mr. sloane," hastings put in, "that, being excited, the judge's first impulse is to extinguish his cigar: it's a habit of his.--now, judge, in pursuit i heard a lot about you--a lot." "all right--what?" he made the inquiry reluctantly, as if under compulsion of the detective's glance. "the dalton case--and your part in it." "you know about that, do you?" "all about it," hastings said, in a way that made doubt impossible; sloane, even, bewildered as he was, got the impression of his ruthless certainty. wilton did not contest it. "i struck in self-defence," he excused himself wearily, like a man taking up a task against his will. "it would be ridiculous to call that murder. no jury would have convicted me--none would now, if given the truth." "but the body showed twenty-nine wounds," hastings pressed him, "the marks of twenty-nine separate thrusts of that knife." "yes; that's true.--yes, i'll tell you about that, you and arthur--if you'd care to hear?" "that's what i'm here for," hastings said, settling in his chair. he was thinking: "he didn't expect this. he's unprepared!" sloane, who had been on the point of resenting this unbelievable attack on his friend, was struck dumb by wilton's calm acknowledgment of the charge. from long habit, he took the cap off the smelling-salts with which he had been toying when hastings came in, but his shaking hand could not lift the bottle to his nose. wilton guilty of a murder, years ago! he drew a long, shuddering breath and huddled in his chair. wilton rose clumsily and walked heavily to the door opening into the hall. he put his hand on the knob but did not turn it. he repeated the performance at the door opening into sloane's room. in all this he was unconscionably slow, moving in the manner of a blind man, feeling his way about and fumbling both knobs. when he came back to the table, his shoulders were hunched to the front and downward, crowding his chest. his face looked larger, each separate feature of it throbbing coarsely to the pumping of his heart. pink threads stood out on the white of his eyeballs. when the back of his neck pressed against his collar, the effect was to give the lower half of the back of his head an odd appearance of inflation or puffiness. hastings had never seen a man struggle so to contain himself. "suffering angels!" sloane sympathized shrilly. "what's the matter, tom?" "all right--it's all right," he assured, his voice still low, but so resonant and harsh that it sounded like the thrumming of a viol string. he seated himself, moving his chair several times, adjusting it to a proper angle to the table. in the end, he sat close to the table rim, hunched heavily on his elbows, and looked straight at hastings. "but, since you've been to pursuit, what do you imply, or say?" he asked, the words scraping, as though his throat had been roughened with a file. "that you killed mildred brace," hastings answered, also leaning forward, to give the accusation weight. "i! i killed her!" wilton's teeth went together with a sharp click; the table sagged under his weight. "i deny it. i deny it!" he ripped out an oath. "this man's crazy, arthur! he's dragged up a mistake, a tragedy, of my youth, and now has the effrontery to use it as a reason for suspecting me of murder!" "exactly!" chimed sloane, in tremulous relief. "shivering saints! why haven't you said so long ago, tom?" "i didn't give him credit for the wild insanity he's showing," said wilton thickly. whatever had been his first impulse, however near he had been to trying to explain away all blame in the dalton murder, it was clear to hastings now that he intended to rely on flat denial of his connection with the death of mildred brace. he had, perhaps, decided that explanation was too difficult. seeing his indecision, hastings turned on sloane. "you've been exceedingly offensive to me on several occasions, mr. sloane. and i've had enough of it. now, i've got the facts to show that you're as foolish in the selection of your friends as in making enemies. i'm about to charge this man wilton with murder. he killed mildred brace, and i can prove it. if you want to hear the facts back of this mystery; if you want the stuff that will enable you to decide whether you'll stand by him or against him, you can have it!" before sloane could recover from his surprise at the old man's hot resentment, wilton said, with an air of careless contempt: "oh, we've got to deal with what he says, arthur. i'd rather answer it here than with an audience." "the reading public, for instance?" hastings retorted, and added: "it may interest you, mr. sloane, to know that you gave me my first suspicion of him. when you stepped back from the handkerchief i held out to you--remember, as i was kneeling over the body, and the servant laughed at you?--i jammed it into wilton's right-hand coat-pocket. "later, when i got it back from him, i saw clinging to it a few cigar ashes and two small particles of wet tobacco. he had had in that pocket a cigar stump wet from his saliva. "when he began then his story of finding the body, he said, 'i'd been smoking my good-night cigar; this is what's left of it.' as he said that, he pointed to the unlit--remember that, unlit--cigar stump between his teeth. he made it a point to emphasize the fact that so little time had elapsed between his finding the body and his giving the alarm that he hadn't smoked up the cigar, and also he hadn't taken time to put his hand to his mouth, take out the cigar and throw it away. "it was one of the over-fine little touches that a guilty man tries to pile on his scheme for appearing innocent. but what are the facts? "just now, as soon as he got excited, he mechanically fubbed out his cigar. it's a habit of his--whenever he's in a close corner. he did it during the interview i had with him and webster in the music room last sunday morning--when, in fact, something dangerous to him came up. he did it again when i was talking to him in his office, following a visit from mrs. brace. "there you have the beginning of my suspicion. why had he gone out of his way to put a cigar stump into his pocket that night, and to explain that he had had it in his mouth all the time? when he came into my room, to wake me up, he had no cigar in his mouth. but, when you and i rounded the corner of the porch and first saw him kneeling over the body, he had one hand in his right-hand coat-pocket. and, when we stood beside him, he had put a half-smoked, unlit cigar into his mouth. "you see my point, clearly? instead of having had the cigar in his mouth and having kept it there while he found the body and reported the discovery to us, the truth is this: he had fubbed out the cigar when he met mildred brace on the lawn, and it had occurred to his calculating mind that it would be well, when he chose to give the alarm, to use the cigar stunt as evidence that he hadn't been engaged in quarrelling with and murdering a woman. "he was right in his opinion that the average man doesn't go on calmly smoking while engaged in such activities. he was wrong in letting us discover where he'd carried the stump until he needed it. "he had put it into that pocket, but, after committing the murder, he wasn't quite as calm as he'd expected to be--something had gone wrong; webster had appeared on the scene--and the cigar wasn't restored to his mouth until you and i first reached the body. "here's my handkerchief, showing the ashes and the pieces of cigar tobacco on it, just as it was when he handed it back to me." he took from one of his pockets a tissue-paper parcel, and, unwrapping it, handed it to sloane. "ah-h-h-that's what it shows," sloane admitted, bending over the handkerchief. wilton welcomed that with a laugh which he meant to be lightly contemptuous. "see here, arthur!" he objected. "i'm perfectly willing to listen to any sane statement this man may make, but----" "you said you wanted to hear this!" hasting stopped him. "i'm fair about it. i've told you why i began to watch you. i've got more." "you need it," sloane complained. "if it's all that thin----" "don't shout too soon," hastings interrupted again. "mr. sloane, this man's been working against me from the start. think a moment, and you'll realize it. while he was telling your daughter and a whole lot of other people that i was the only man to handle the case, he was slipping you the quiet instruction to avoid me, not to confide in me, not to tell me a single thing. isn't that true?" "we-ell, he did say the best way for me to avoid all possibility of being involved in the thing was not to talk to anybody." "i knew it!" hastings declared, giving his contempt full play. "and he persuaded you that you might have seen--_might_, mind you--and he gave you the suggestion skilfully, more by indirection than by flat statement--that you might have seen berne webster out there on the lawn that night, when you were uncertain, when you feared it yourself--a little. isn't that true?" sloane looked at him with widening eyes, his lips trembling. "come, mr. sloane! let's play fair, didn't he?" "we-ell, yes." "and," hastings continued, thumping the table with a heavy hand to drive home the points of his statement, "he persuaded you to offer that money to mrs. brace--last tuesday night.--didn't he?--and that matches his slippery cunning in pretending he was saving webster by hiding the fact that webster's hand had gagged him when they found the body. he figured his willingness to help somebody else would keep suspicion away from him. i----" "rot! all rot!" wilton broke in. "where do you think you are, arthur, on the witness stand? he'll have you saying white's black in a minute." "mr. sloane," the detective said, getting to his feet, "he induced you to pay money to mrs. brace--while it's the colour of blackmail, it won't be a matter for prosecution; you gave it to her, in a sense, unsolicited--but he induced you to do that because he knew she was out for blackmail. he hoped that, if you bought her off, she wouldn't pursue him farther." "farther!" echoed sloane. "what do you mean by that?" "why, man! don't you see? money was back of all that tragedy. he murdered the girl because she had come here to renew her mother's attempts at blackmail on him! not content with duping you, with handling you as if you'd been a baby, he put you up to buying off the woman who was after him--and he did it by fooling you into thinking that you were saving the name, if not the very life, of your daughter's fiancé! he----" "lies! wild lie!" thundered wilton, pushing back from the table. "i'm through with----" "no! no!" shrilled sloane. "wait! prove that, hastings! prove it--if you can! shuddering saints! have i----?" he looked once at wilton's contorted face, and recoiled, the movement confessing at last his lack of faith in the man. "i will," hastings answered him, and moved toward the door; "i'll prove it--by the girl's mother." he threw open the door, and, sure now of holding sloane's attention, went in search of mrs. brace and the sheriff. xxi "ample evidence" the two men in the library waited a long time for his return. wilton, elbows on the table, stared straight in front of him, giving no sign of knowledge of the other's presence. sloane fidgeted with the smelling-salts, emitting now and then long-drawn, tremulous sighs that were his own special vocabulary of dissatisfaction. he spoke once. "mute and cringing martyrs!" he said, in suspicious remonstrance. "if he'd say something we could deny! so far, tom, you're mixed up in----" "why can't you wait until he's through?" wilton objected roughly. they heard people coming down the hall. lucille, following mrs. brace into the room, went to her father. they could see, from her look of grieved wonder, that hastings had told her of the charge against wilton. the sheriff's expression confirmed the supposition. his mouth hung open, so that the unsteady fingers with which he plucked at his knuckle like chin appeared also to support his fallen jaw. he made a weak-kneed progress from the door to a chair near the screened fireplace. for a full half-minute hastings was silent, as if to let the doubts and suspense of each member of the group emphasize his dominance of the situation. he reviewed swiftly some of the little things he had used to build up in his own mind the certainty of wilton's guilt: the man's agitation in the music room at the discovery, not that a part of the grey envelope had been found, but that it contained some of the words of the letter--his obvious alarm when found quarrelling with mrs. brace in his office--his hardly controlled impulses: once, outside sloane's bedroom, to accuse berne webster without proof, and, on the sloanehurst porch last sunday, to suggest that sloane was guilty. the detective observed now that he absolutely ignored mrs. brace, not even looking in her direction. he perceived also how she reacted to that assumed indifference. the tightening of her lips, the flutter of her mobile nostrils, left him no longer any doubt that she was in the mood to give him the cooperation she had so bitterly promised. "to be dragged down by such a woman!" he thought. "mrs. brace," he said, "i've charged judge wilton with the murder of your daughter. i say now he killed her, with premeditation, having planned it after receiving a letter from her." "yes?" she responded, a certain tenseness in her voice. she had gone to a chair by the window; and, like the sheriff, she faced the trio at the table: wilton, sloane, and lucille, who stood behind her father, a hand on his shoulder. hastings slowly paced the floor as he talked, his hands clasped behind him and now and then moving the tail of his coat up and down. he glanced at mrs. brace over the rims of his spectacles, his eyes shrewd and keen. he showed an unmistakable self-satisfaction, like the elation wilton had detected in his bearing on two former occasions. "now," he asked her, "what can you tell us about that letter?" wilton, his chest pressed so hard against the edge of the table that his breathing moved his body, turned his swollen face upon her at last, his eyes flaming under the thatch of his down-drawn brows. mrs. brace, her high-shouldered, lean frame silhouetted against the window, began, in a colourless, unemotioned tone: "as you know, mr. hastings, i thought this man wilton owed me money, more than money. i'd looked for him for twenty-six years. less than a year ago i located him here in virginia, and i came to washington. he refused my requests. then, he stopped reading my letters--sent them back unopened at first; later, he destroyed them unread, i suppose." she cleared her throat lightly, and spoke more rapidly. the intensity of her hate, in spite of her power of suppression, held them in a disagreeable fascination. "i was afraid of him, afraid to confront him alone. i'd seen him kill a man. but i was in desperate need. i thought, if my daughter could talk to him, he would be brought to do the right thing. i suppose," she said with a wintry smile, "you'd call it an attempt to blackmail--if he had let it go far enough. "she wrote him a letter, on grey paper, and sent it, in an oblong, grey envelope, to him here at sloanehurst last friday night. he got it saturday afternoon. if he hadn't received it, he'd never have been out on the lawn--with a dagger he'd made for the occasion--at eleven or eleven-fifteen, which was the time mildred said in her letter she'd see him there. she had added that, if he did not keep the appointment, she'd expose him--his crime in pursuit." "i see," hastings said, on the end of her cold, metallic utterance, and took from his pocket the flap of grey envelope. "is this the flap of that envelope; or, better still, are these fragments of words and the word 'pursuit' in your daughter's handwriting?" "i've examined them already," she said. "they are my daughter's writing." her lips were suddenly thick, taking on that appearance of abnormal wetness which had so revolted him before. "and i say what you've just said!" she supplemented, her eyebrows high upon her forehead. "tom wilton killed my daughter. and, when i went to his office--i was sure then that he'd be afraid to harm me so soon after mildred's death--i accused him of the murder. he took it with a laugh. he said i could look at it as a warning that----" "wait!" the interruption came from wilton. "i'm going to make a statement about this thing!" he ground out, his voice coarse and rasping. hastings hung upon him with relentless gaze. "what have you got to say?" "much!" returned wilton. "i'm not going to let myself be ruined on this charge because of a mistake of my youth--mistake, i say! i'm about to tell you the story of such suffering, such misfortune, as no man has ever had to endure. it explains that tragedy in pursuit; it explains my life; it explains everything. i didn't murder that boy dalton. i struck in self-defence. but the twenty-nine wounds on his body----" he paused, preoccupied; he was thinking less of his hearers than of himself. it was at that point, hastings thought afterwards, that he began to lose himself in the ugly enjoyment of describing his cruelty. it was as if the horrors to which he gave voice subjected him to a specious and irresistible charm, equipped him with a spurious courage, a sincere indifference to common opinion. "there is," he said, "a shadow on my soul. my greatest enemy is hidden in my own mind. "but i've fought it, fought it all my life. you may say the makeshifts i've adopted, the strategy of my resistance, my tactics to outwit this thing, do me little credit. i shall leave it to you to decide. results speak for themselves. i have broken no law; there is against me nothing that would bring upon me the penalty of man's laws." he wedged himself more closely against the edge of the table, and struck his left palm with his clenched right hand. "i tell you, hastings, to have fought this thing, in whatever way, has been a task that called for every ounce of strength i had. i've lived in hell and walked with devils, against my will. not a day, not a night, have i been free of this curse, or my fear of it. there have been times when, every night for months, my slumbers were broken or impossible! the devilish thing reached down into the depths of sleep and with its foul and muddy grasp poisoned even those clear, white pools--clear and white for other men! but no matter---- "you've heard of obsessions--of men seized every six months with an irresistible desire to drink--of kleptomaniacs who, having all they need or wish, must steal or go mad--of others driven by inexplicable impulse, mania, to set fire to buildings, for the thrill they get out of seeing the flames burst forth. well, from my earliest childhood until that moment when roy dalton attacked me, i had fought an impulse even more terrible than those. god, what a tyranny! it drove me, drove me, that obsession, at times amounting to mental compulsion, to strike, to stab, to make the blood flow!" he rose, getting to his feet slowly, so that his burly bulk gained in size, like the slow upheaval of a hillside. swollen as his face had been, it expanded now a trifle more. his nostrils coarsened more perceptibly. the puffiness that had been in the back of his neck extended entirely around his throat. he hung forward over the table, giving all his attention to hastings, who was unmoved, incredulous. "the brace woman will tell you i had to kill him," he proceeded more swiftly, displaying a questionable ardour, like a man foreseeing defeat. "the mistake i made was in running away--a bitter mistake! but those unnecessary wounds, twenty-eight that need not have been made! the obsession to see the blood flow drove me to acts which a jury, i thought, would not understand. and, if you don't see the force of my explanation, hastings, if you don't understand, i shall be in little better plight--after all these years!" he put, there, a sorrowful appeal into his voice; but a sly contradiction of it showed faintly in his face, a hint that he took a crafty pleasure in dragging into the light the depravity he had kept in darkness for a lifetime. "i got away. i drifted to virginia, working hard, studying much. i became a lawyer. but always i had that affliction to combat; all my life, man!--always! there were periods months long when devils came up from the ugly corners of my soul to torture and tempt me. "it wasn't the ordinary temptation, not a weak, pale idea of 'i'd like to kill and see the blood!'--but an uproar, an imperial voice, an endless command: 'kill! draw blood! kill!'--what it did to me---- "but to this day i've beaten it! i've been a good citizen. i've observed the law. i've refused to let that involuntary lust for blood ruin me or cast me out. "let me tell you how. i decided that, if i had a hand in awarding just punishments, my affliction would be abated enough for me to live in some measure of security. there you have the explanation of my being on the bench. i cheated the obsession to murder by helping to imprison or execute those who did murder! "that's why i can tell you of my innocence of the brace murder. do you think i'd tell it unless i knew there could be not even an excuse for suspecting me? on the other hand, if i had kept silent as to the true motive that drove my hand to those unnecessary mutilations of young dalton--the only time, remember, that my weakness ever got the better, or the worse, of me!--if i had kept silent on that, you would have had ground for suspecting me of a barbarous murder then, and, arguing from that, of the brace murder now. "do i make myself clear?--do you want me to go into further detail?" he sank slowly back to his chair, spent by the strain of supreme effort. his breathing was laboured, stertorous. "that, crown," hastings denounced, "is a confession! knowing he's caught, he's got the insolence to whine for mercy because of his 'sufferings'! think of it! the thing of which he boasts is the thing for which he deserves death--since death is supposed to be the supreme punishment. he tells us, in self-congratulatory terms, that he curbed his inhuman longings, satisfied his lust for blood, by going on the bench and helping to 'punish those who did murder!' "too cowardly to strike a blow, he skulked behind the protection of his position. he made of the judicial robe an assassin's disguise. on the bench, he was free to sate his thirst for others' sufferings--adding to a sentence five undeserved years here, ten there; slipping into his instructions to juries a phrase that would mean the death penalty! "he revelled in judicial murders. he gloated over the helpless people who, looking to him for justice, were merely the victims of his abhorrent cruelty. he loved the look of sick surprise in their starting eyes. he got a filthy joy out of seeing a man turn pale. he rubbed his hands in glee when a woman swooned. he----" "i can't stand that--can't stand it!" sloane protested, hands over his eyes. "what more do you want, to prove his guilt, his abominable guilt?" hastings swept on. "you have the motive, hatred of this woman here and her daughter--you have the proof of the letter sent to him making the compulsory appointment--you have his own crazy explanation of his homicidal impulse, from which, by the way, he never sought relief, a queer 'impulse' since it gave him time, hours, to plan the crime and manufacture the weapon with which he killed!" "i said at the start," wilton put in hoarsely, "this man hastings was only theorizing. if he had anything to connect me with----" "i have!" hastings told him, and came to a standstill in front of the sheriff, bending over him, as if to drive each statement into crown's reluctant mind. "he got that letter a little after five in the afternoon. he left me here, in this room, with sloane and webster, and was gone three-quarters of an hour. that was just before dinner. he had the second floor, on that side of the house, entirely to himself. he took a nail-file from webster's dressing case, and in webster's room put a sharper point on it by filing it roughly with the file-blade of his own pen knife. "that's doubly proved: first, my magnet, with which i went over the floor in webster's room, picked up small particles of steel. here they are." he produced a small packet and, without unwrapping it, handed it to crown. "again: you'll find that the file-blade of his knife retained particles of the steel in the little furrows of its corrugated surface. i know, because last sunday, as your car came up the driveway, i borrowed his knife, on the pretext of tightening a screw in the blade of mine. and i examined it." he put up a silencing hand as wilton forced a jeering laugh. "but there's more to prove his manufacture and ownership of the weapon that killed the woman. he made the handle from the end of a slat on the bed in the room which i occupied that night. the inference is obvious: he didn't care to risk going outside the house to hunt for the wood he needed; he wouldn't take it from an easily visible place; and, having stolen something from one room, he paid his attention to mine. all this is the supercaution of the so-called 'smart criminal.' it matches the risk he took in returning to the body to hunt for the weapon. that was why he was there when webster found the body. "the handle of the dagger matches the wood of the slat i've just mentioned. you won't find that particular slat upstairs now. it was taken out of the house the next day, broken into sections and packed in his bag of golf-sticks. but there is proof in this room of the fact that he and he only made the dagger. "you'll find in the edge of the large blade of his penknife a nick, triangular in shape, which left an unmistakable groove in the wood every time he cut into it. that little groove shows, to the naked eye, on the end of the shortened slat and on the handle of the dagger. if you doubt it----" "thunder!" crown interrupted, in an awed tone. "you're right!" he had taken the dagger from his pocket and given it minute scrutiny. he handed it now to sloane. wilton, watching the scene with flaming eyes, sat motionless, his chin thrust down hard upon his collar, his face shining as if it had been polished with a cloth. sloane gave the dagger back to crown before he spoke, in a wheezy, shrill key: "they're there, the marks, the grooves!" he did not look at wilton. hastings straightened to his full stature, and looked toward wilton. "now, judge wilton," he challenged, "you said you preferred to answer the accusation here and now. do you, still?" wilton, slowly raising the heavy lids of his eyes, like a man coming out of a trance, presented to him and to the others a face which, in spite of its flushed and swollen aspect, looked singularly bleak. "it's not an accusation," he said in his roughened, grating voice. "it's a network of suppositions, of theories, of impossibilities--a crazy structure, all built on the rotten foundation of a previous misfortune." "arrest him, crown!" hastings commanded sharply. wilton tried to laugh, but his heavy lips merely worked in a crazy barrenness of sound. with a vague, clumsy idea of covering up his confusion, he started to light a cigar. he stopped, hands in mid-air, when crown, shambling to his feet, said: "judge, i've got to act. he's proved his case." "proved it!" wilton made weak protest. "if he hasn't, let's see your penknife." wilton put his hand into his trousers pocket, began the motion that would have drawn out the knife, checked it, and withdrew his hand empty. he managed a mirthless, dreary laugh, a rattling sound that fell, dead of any feeling, from his grimacing lips. "no, by god!" he refused. "i'll give it to neither of you. i don't have to!" in that moment, he fell to pieces. with his thick shoulders dropping forward, he became an inert mass bundled against the table edge. the blood went out of his face, so that his cheeks hollowed, and shadows formed under his eyes. he was like the victim of a quick consumption. crown's eyes were on hastings. "that's enough," the old man said shortly. "too much," agreed crown. "judge, there's no bail--on a murder charge." "i'm very glad," mrs. brace commented, a terrible satisfaction in her voice. "he pays me--at last." in the music room dr. garnet had just given lucille and hastings a favourable report on berne webster's condition. "i should so like to tell him," she said, her glance entreating; "if you'll let me! wouldn't he get well much faster if he knew it--knew the suspense was all over--that neither he nor father's suspected any more?" "i think," the doctor gave his opinion with exaggerated deliberation, "it might--in fact, it really will be his best medicine." she thanked him, stars swimming in her eyes. proofreading team. html version by al haines. the sheridan road mystery by paul and mabel thorne contents i the shot ii detective sergeant morgan iii investigation iv the apartment across the hall v peculiar facts vi the cable from london vii mr. marsh viii a definite clue ix the last letter x the stolen suitcase xi the trail grows clearer xii missing xiii startling disclosures xiv the night call xv "dead men tell no tales" xvi the closed country house xvii what the caretaker saw xviii the enemy shows his hand xix kidnapped xx the fallen pine xxi the chimney that wouldn't draw xxii cornered xxiii sunset the sheridan road mystery chapter i the shot it was a still, balmy night in late october. the scent of burned autumn leaves hung in the air, and a hazy moon, showing just over the housetops, deepened the shadows on the streets. policeman murphy stopped far a moment, as was his custom, at the corner of lawrence avenue and sheridan road. he knew that it was about two o'clock in the morning as that was the hour at which he usually reached this point. he glanced sharply up and down sheridan road, which at that moment seemed to be completely deserted save for the distant red tail-light of a belated taxi, the whir of whose engine came to him quite distinctly on the quiet night air. just then policeman murphy heard a shot! instantly his body quickened with an awakened alertness, and he glanced east and west along the lonely stretch of lawrence avenue. he saw nothing, and concluded that the sound he had heard must have come from one of the many apartment buildings which surrounded him. murphy pondered for a moment. was it a burglary, a domestic row, or perhaps a murder? the position of the shot was hard to locate, for it had been but the sound of a moment on the still night. murphy, however, decided to take a chance, and started stealthily north on sheridan road, keeping within the shadow that clung to the buildings. he had moved only a short distance in this way when a man in a bath robe dashed out of the doorway of an apartment house just ahead of him and ran north. murphy instantly broke into pursuit. at the sound of his heavily shod feet on the pavement, the man in the bath robe stopped and turned. murphy slowed up and the man advanced to meet him. "i'm glad you're handy, officer," panted the man. "i think somebody has been murdered in our building. come and investigate." "sure," assented murphy. "that's what i'm here for," and as they mounted the steps of the apartment house, he inquired, "what flat was it?" "the top floor on the north side," replied the man, who then informed murphy that his name was marsh, and that he lived on the second floor, just below this apartment. "you see," marsh continued, "a little while ago my wife and i were awakened by a noise in the apartment over us. it sounded like a struggle of some kind. as we listened we felt sure that several people were taking part in it. suddenly there was a shot, and a sound followed as if a body had fallen to the floor. after that there was absolute silence. i hastily put on my bath robe, and was hurrying out to find a policeman when i met you." by this time, marsh, with murphy at his heels, had reached the door of the third floor apartment. murphy placed a thick forefinger on the button of the electric hell and rang it sharply several times. the men could distinctly hear the clear notes of the bell, but no other sound reached them. again murphy pressed the button without response. "murder, all right, i guess," muttered murphy, "and the guy's probably slipped down the back stairs. who lives here, anyway?" he inquired, turning to marsh. "that's the peculiar part about it," was the reply. "the people who rent this apartment went to europe this summer, and as i understand it, they won't be back for another month. the apartment has been closed all summer. that is what amazed mrs. marsh and myself when we heard this sound above us." "it looks like we'll have to break in," said murphy. "let me use your telephone." "certainly," agreed marsh, and led the way to his apartment. murphy sat down at the telephone. his hand was on the receiver when he suddenly paused and turned to marsh. "you know," he commented, half meditatively, "it's funny we haven't seen anybody else show up in the halls. i heard that shot way down at lawrence avenue. at least the people across the hall ought to have been waked up by it. are you sure it was in this house?" "why certainly," retorted marsh. "didn't i tell you that we heard the struggle and the shot right over our heads?" "well, it sure takes a lot to disturb some people," said murphy, as he placed the telephone receiver to his ear and called for his connection. after some words he got his precinct station. "hello!" he called. "is that you, sergeant? this is murphy. i'm in the hillcrest apartments on sheridan road... yes, that's right.... just north of lawrence avenue. i think somebody's been murdered and we'll have to break in. send the wagon, will you? ... don't know a damn thing yet," he added, evidently in reply to a question. "hurry up the wagon." he replaced the receiver on its hook; then turned to marsh as he stood up. "i think i'll hang around the door up there until the boys come. much obliged for your help. you'd better get back to bed now." "oh, no," objected marsh. "i couldn't sleep with all this excitement going on. and then--mr. ames is a friend of mine. he would want me to look after things for him." murphy looked marsh over in evident speculation. the man was tall and broad shouldered. his face was clean shaven. the features were strong, with a regularity that many people would consider handsome. he was what one would call a big man, but this appearance of bigness arose more from a heavy frame, and exceptional muscular development, than fleshiness. murphy took in these details quickly, and the pause was slight before he spoke. "who's ames?" he said. "the man who rents the apartment upstairs." then apparently taking the matter as settled, marsh added, "i'll go along with you." murphy grunted, whether in assent or disapproval was hard to tell, but as he climbed the stairs again, marsh was close beside him. murphy placed his hand on the doorknob and shook the door as he violently turned the knob. the door was securely locked. then he threw his two hundred and some odd pounds against the door itself. the stout oak resisted his individual efforts. "no use," he grumbled. "i'll have to wait 'till the boys come." the two men then sat down on the top step to wait for the coming of the police. they chatted, speculating upon the possible causes of the disturbance. marsh, however, seemed more interested in getting murphy's ideas than in expressing opinions of his own. at length they heard the clang of the gong on the police patrol as it crossed lawrence avenue. they stood up expectantly. an instant later there was a clatter in the lower hall as the police entered. they mounted the stairs rapidly-two officers in uniform and another in civilian clothes. "where's the trouble?" cried the latter, as the party climbed the last flight. "in here, as far as i know," returned murphy, as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door of the apartment. "i can't get arise out of anybody. we'll have to break in." marsh stood aside while the four men took turns, two-and-two, in throwing themselves against the door. it creaked and groaned, and from time to time there was a sharp crack as the strong oak began to give. in the meantime, the murmur of voices came up from the lower floors. presently faces appeared on the landing just below where the police were working. marsh leaned over the rail and in a few words outlined to the excited tenants what was going on. intent on their work of breaking in the door, the policemen paid little attention to their audience, and apparently did not notice that the door across the hall was still closed and silent. murphy, however, recalled this fact later on. at last, with a crash and a splintering of wood, the lock gave way and the door flew open. all was darkness and silence before them. the five men stood grouped in the doorway, listening intently. the black silence remained unbroken save for the labored breathing of the men who had just broken in the door. the plain-clothes man then brought forth an electric pocket lamp and flashed its rays into the entrance hall, while the others drew their revolvers and held them in readiness. then all stepped into the hallway. this was a large, square entrance way with four doorways opening from it. two closed doors faced them. as they discovered later, these led to a bedroom, and the bathroom. the others, one opening toward the front of the apartment, and one toward the rear, were wide archways covered with heavy velvet portieres. the plain-clothes man found the wall switch and turned on the electric light. instructing one of his companions to watch the hall door, he led the others in a search of the apartment. seeking for the electric light buttons as they moved about the apartment, the men soon flooded the rooms with light. each man with revolver ready, and intent on searching every corner, none of them gave much attention to the fact that marsh was dogging every move, apparently as keenly on the lookout as any one of the party. their inspection revealed nothing more than that the apartment was apparently in the same condition as its tenant had left it. the door to the outside stairway at the back was locked and the key was missing. in addition to the regular lock a stout bolt was in place. the catches on all the windows were properly locked, and all the shades remained drawn down close to the sills. it was an empty, locked apartment, with no outstanding evidence of having been used for a long time. the police, now joined by the man lately on watch at the door, stood nonplussed in the kitchen. the plain-clothes man uttered an oath. then he addressed his companions. "i've seen some mighty fishy situations, but this trims anything i ever ran up against. ain't been just hearing things, have you, murphy? a swig of this home-made hootch does upset a man dreadful, sometimes." murphy glared. "i ain't never touched the stuff," he bellowed. then added, aggressively, "you know damned well i wasn't the only one to hear that shot. the tenant downstairs heard it, too. it was him that brought me in." "well, you only got his word for it that this is where the shot, was fired. maybe he's trying to cover something up." murphy started, then glanced around. "hell!" he exclaimed. "where's that guy gone to, anyway?" marsh, who had recently been close at their heels, was not now in the group. murphy moved on tiptoe to the kitchen door and listened. on the other side of the dining room was the doorway to the entrance hall, and through the now drawn curtains this space was visible. murphy could see that both these rooms were deserted, but an occasional swishing sound came to his ears. turning to the waiting group, he silently and significantly jerked his head toward the front of the apartment. following his example, they moved cautiously across the dining room and the hall and stopped at the door of the living room. marsh, with his back toward them, was just in the act of pulling a heavy, upholstered chair back into position. his moving of similar articles of furniture had made the sounds heard by murphy. stepping suddenly into the room, murphy inquired, with a note of sarcasm in his voice, "kind of busy, ain't you?" marsh turned abruptly. if they expected to see any signs of confusion on his face they were disappointed, for he simply smiled cheerfully. "just following out a line of thought," he answered. "what's the big idea!" asked the plain-clothes man, suspiciously, as he also stepped into the room and carefully looked over the man before him. "well, detectives in novels always search minutely for things which may not be apparent to the eye. when confronted with so deep a mystery as this one, i thought the application of a little of the story book stuff might do no harm." "huh!" snorted the plain-clothes man, as marsh finished giving this information. "you're more than commonly interested in this affair, ain't you?" "naturally," agreed marsh. "remember, i live just below, and wouldn't like to be murdered in my bed some night. to hear a murder over your head is a bit disconcerting." "how the devil do we know there's been a murder?" shot back the plain-clothes man. "we've only got your word for it." "but this officer also heard the shot," and marsh turned toward murphy. "he was looking for the trouble when i met him." "yes," murphy admitted. "i heard the shot, but i only got your word for it that it was here. if there was a murder, what became of the body?" "that is for you gentlemen to find out," marsh snapped back, now evidently alive to the fact that these men were regarding him with something approaching suspicion. "i have already done more than my share of the work. i have discovered visible proof that there was a murder!" this information startled the group of policemen. hasty glances swept the room for a moment. then the plain-clothes man remarked, with a meaning smile, "well, i'm from missouri." marsh walked over to where the policemen stood. "take a look around," he began. "there are certain accepted ways of placing the furniture in a room. when there is a radical departure from such placing, an inquiring mind is led to wonder. notice the chair i was just moving. it is located almost in the center of the room--obviously not its regular position. so why was it there?" "say, you'd make some detective!" came in an admiring tone from murphy. the others nodded approval of the remark. "i began to examine that chair and its surroundings carefully," continued marsh, ignoring the interruption. he then moved over to the chair, and added, as he pulled it to one side, "i moved it away like this. now, look at the floor!" the policemen crowded forward. what marsh had found was apparent at once. on the light background of the rug was a large, dark spot which the chair had covered. the plain-clothes man stooped and placed his hand on the spot. it felt damp to the touch, and as he stood erect again, holding his hand under the light, they all saw that the fingers were covered with a thin film of red. "blood!" cried murphy. "yep," affirmed the plain-clothes man. "fresh blood!" excited exclamations from the others showed their appreciation of the discovery. marsh smiled. "i guess that looks like a possible murder," he said. "the chair was placed there to cover the spot, all right," now admitted the plain-clothes man. "but what became of the body?" again questioned murphy. "as i said before," marsh answered him, "that is for you to find out. it is not my business." "some mystery!" exclaimed the plain-clothes man. "this is a job for dave morgan." chapter ii detective sergeant morgan on sheffield avenue, just across from the ball park, where the "cubs," chicago's famous baseball team, has its headquarters, is a row of apartment houses. one realizes, of course, that these are not homes of wealth, but they have a comfortable, substantial look, which somehow conveys the idea that those who live there are good citizens, typical of the hard-working, progressive class that has made chicago one of the greatest commercial cities of the world. in one of these apartments lived detective sergeant dave morgan and his mother. he had located here in the days when, as a patrolman, he had walked beat out of the town hall police station, a short distance away. after his promotion to the detective force, he remained here because of the convenient location. the elevated railroad had its right of way directly back of his home, and the addison street station was only around the corner. he could quickly get to the detective bureau or almost any part of the widespreading city. morgan's home was unpretentious but comfortable. the hand of a careful and thoughtful housekeeper was in evidence everywhere. in the big living room, at the front, were several lounging chairs, and along one wall, between the front windows and the entrance door, stood two roomy bookcases. a glance at the titles showed the owner's inquiring and investigative turn of mind. his interest in his profession was also indicated by several volumes on criminology, and even popular detective stories of the day. in the center of the room was a commodious table with a large reading lamp. beside the table was the big easy chair in which morgan always sat, and where many of the solutions of difficult criminal problems had been worked out by him. just across from this easy chair, and within reach of an outstretched hand, stood a tabouret, holding the telephone. on the morning following the peculiar occurrence on sheridan road, morgan was sitting in his favorite chair. his slippered feet were stretched before him and clouds of smoke hung about as he puffed at his favorite pipe, selected from a row of about ten that were hanging on a nearby home-made pipe holder. this might be said to be an eventful day for dave morgan. only the day before, he and his partner, detective sergeant tierney, had completed the solving of a baffling case and placed the criminal behind the bars. now he had a well-earned and long-awaited "day off," and he was going to devote it to the restful pursuit of his favorite amusement--reading. his mother, a white-haired, pleasant faced little woman, entered the room. "dave," she reminded him, "here's the morning paper. you forgot to look it over at breakfast." "i know, mother," he returned, "but i wanted to forget all about the world this morning. that brock case has tired me out." "but," she protested, "i notice from the headlines that there was a big murder on sheridan road last night. i didn't think you'd want to miss the details of that." professional instinct was too strong. morgan reached for the paper and glanced quickly over the glaring headlines and the few words below, while the mother proudly watched him. morgan made a good figure for a detective. not so tall as to be conspicuous, his breadth of shoulder and depth of chest clearly showed that he possessed the strength to meet most of the emergencies into which his work might lead him. his face had none of the hardened sharpness that usually marks the detective. in fact, although he was nearly thirty, his face still had a boyish look that made him appear younger, and taken with his sleek dark hair and mild brown eyes one would have presumed him to be just an average young business man rather than a hunter of criminals. "no details here," he said, a moment later, laying the paper on the table. "they evidently received the notice just before going to press. anyway, there is seldom much mystery about a murder. the men in that precinct probably have a line on who did it by this time." "yes, i know they use my boy only for the big cases," asserted the mother, and giving him an affectionate pat on the head, she went to her housework, while morgan took a book from one of the cases, refilled his pipe, and settled down to spend a quiet morning in the big chair. at eleven o'clock the telephone bell rang. only a few words passed between morgan and his caller, but the detective's face lighted up with interest. the instant he replaced the receiver he sprang to his feet, went to his bedroom, and hurriedly changed his clothes. "mother," he called. "the chief has just 'phoned me that they have the biggest case for me that i ever handled. i must go down at once." his mother came to the door of the room. "can't you even wait for a bite of lunch?" she questioned. "no," he explained, "it is a hurry call. the chief says we cannot lose a minute in getting started. i'll have to stop in somewhere after i see the chief." kissing his mother good-bye, morgan hurried around to the elevated station. fifteen minutes later he opened the chief's office door. "sit down, morgan," said the chief, waving his hand toward a chair. "i've got a case here that'll make even you go some." as morgan sat down the chief gathered up some typewritten sheets from his desk, and continued; "i didn't like to break up the first day you've had off in a long time, morgan, but there was a murder on sheridan road last night--or early, this morning, to be exact--that has put a real mystery up to the department. it'll need a man like you to solve it--if it can be solved. the newspapers had big headlines this morning, and the public will be watching us on account of the peculiar nature of the crime." "i saw something about it in my paper this morning," said morgan. "there were no details, however. the notice probably caught the last edition with little more than the fact that a murder had been committed." "well," exclaimed the chief, "it's one of the biggest mysteries we've ever had handed to us. the shot was heard by both the man on the beat and a tenant in the building, but outside of the stories of these two men, and the discovery of a blood stain on a rug in a supposedly empty flat, not another thing has been found. the body is missing, and there is no trace of how it got out of the flat or where it is now. here is a report of all that we know so far. by the way, your partner tierney made this report. he happened to be on the job last night, so i told him to stick to it." the chief handed the typewritten sheets to morgan. "you will note," he went on, "that the man on beat heard a shot at about a.m.; that he met a tenant from the house who said that he had heard sounds of a struggle, a shot, and something like the falling of a body. the police found the flat locked, and after they broke in could find no one on the premises. nothing was upset, and there were no signs of the struggle, said to have taken place. another peculiar thing is that the police even overlooked the bloodstain until the tenant who had heard the shot called their attention to it. tierney tried to get some more details this morning, but you will find from his report that none of the other tenants admit hearing the shot; that the tenant in the flat across the hall was apparently not at home, and that the janitor says the people who rent the flat in which the trouble occurred, have been away all summer. the only really definite information of any kind comes from this one tenant, marsh." "you'll probably find tierney at the flat, as i sent him back after he had turned in this report. he may have found out something more by now than he could put in that quick report." "chief," said morgan, as he thumbed over the typewritten sheets in his hands, "you say there has been a murder committed here. with this tenant, marsh, and a patrolman, getting into action so soon after the shot, a body couldn't possibly be moved out of the house--certainly, not without leaving some trace." "well?" "how do we know there was a murder?" "we don't know--positively," returned the chief. "but we're not going to take any chances. even if there wasn't an actual murder, something of a criminal nature was pulled off in that flat last night. what it was, we're putting up to you to find out. go to it, morgan! so long!" chapter iii investigation leaving the detective bureau, morgan stopped in a restaurant on randolph street for a quick lunch. from there he walked over to state street and took the motor bus for the scene of the singular event which it was now his duty to investigate. a half-hour later he dropped off the bus at lawrence avenue and sheridan road. a few steps brought him to the hillcrest apartments, where he found tierney waiting on the front steps for him. "the chief telephoned me that you would probably be here about this time," said tierney, after acknowledging morgan's greeting. "i was on the job last night, and did a little investigating this morning, so the chief thought you might want to talk things over with me." morgan nodded. "all right, let's go up. can we get into the flat?" "sure," answered tierney. "we put a temporary padlock on this morning, and i have the key." without further words the two men climbed the stairs to the apartment on the third floor. tierney unlocked the padlock and they went in. inside the entrance hall of the apartment, tierney turned to morgan. "i suppose the chief has put the case entirely in your hands, so it's up to you what you want to do first." "we had better go into the front room here," answered morgan, "and let me get a line on things. about all i know so far is that somebody thinks a murder has been committed." "you can't make much out of things as they are, that's a fact," assented tierney, as they moved into the front room. he dropped into an easy chair close at hand, and pushed his cap back on his head, while morgan went to one of the front windows and ran the shade to the top. seating himself where he could get the full benefit of the light from the window, he drew out the typewritten report and read it over carefully. "this is your report, isn't it, tierney?" he inquired, folding up the sheets again and replacing them in his pocket. "you bet; and i put into it every damned thing i know," asserted tierney. "and that's mighty little," he added. "this is the most mysterious case i ever saw." there was a pause while morgan drew a pipe from his pocket and filled and lighted it. then settling back in his chair, he looked at tierney. "got any theories?" he asked. "no," replied tierney. "i haven't any theories--but i've got a couple of suspicions." "well?" "one," continued tierney, "is this flat across the hall. murphy--that's the man on the beat who heard the shot and investigated--murphy noticed that in spite of all the racket we made breaking down the door last night, no one in that flat showed any interest. i tried to get in touch with them this morning. nothing doing. either they weren't home, or wouldn't answer the bell." "that looks bad," commented morgan. "you mentioned in your report that you talked with the janitor. did he drop anything about them that you didn't think worth while putting in the report?" "the janitor simply told me that a man and his daughter lived in the flat, and that he thought the man was away a good deal; so he supposed he must be a traveling man. they have always seemed to be quiet people. he has never even seen them have any company." "that's suspicious, too," declared morgan. "normal people usually have some company. is that all?" tierney nodded. "now," prompted morgan, "you said you had another suspicion." "you bet!" exclaimed tierney, straightening up in his chair. "that guy, marsh--underneath here." "'great minds'," laughed morgan. "i sort of focused on that man myself after reading your report just now." "well, here's the way i look at it," explained tierney. "when ordinary folks hear fighting and shooting in the middle of the night, they generally stick their heads under the covers and lie close. they don't put on bath robes and run out on the street to be the first to give a report. then the janitor tells me that he's seen this man around a lot in the daytime--'no visible means of support,' you might say. both murphy and i remember that marsh referred to his wife. the janitor says he's pretty sure that he never saw any woman around the flat. and when i asked marsh this morning to let me talk to his wife, he said she was not in." "you probably noticed in my report that it was this marsh who showed us the bloodstain under the chair. you know, we came out of the kitchen and caught that guy in the act of pulling a chair over the spot. he said he was replacing the chair where he found it. i've been wondering whether he wasn't actually covering up the spot himself. when we caught him in the act, maybe he just decided to bluff it out." "the department didn't make any mistake when they shifted you into the detective bureau, tierney," said morgan, laughing. "has the chief assigned you to any other case for my day off?" "no," replied tierney. "when the chief told me to come back and meet you here i figured he wanted me to stick to this case with you." "so i thought," agreed morgan. "but i want to be left alone here for awhile. you scout around and see if you can find out something more about this tenant across the hall. do you know his name?" "clark atwood, it says on the mail box downstairs." "all right, tierney. see what you can look up in this neighborhood. i'll get in touch with you later. by the way, you had better leave that key with me." tierney handed over the key to the padlock, and with a cheery "so long," started off. morgan, left to himself, began a careful inspection of the apartment. although assured that the apartment had been unoccupied, his first act was to discover, if possible, any signs of recent habitation. convinced by the blood spot that the principal part of whatever had happened had taken place in the front room, he decided to leave that room until the last. running all the shades to the top of the windows as he passed from the front to the rear of the apartment, morgan made the place as light as possible. he began his examination with the kitchen. the fastenings on the windows were closed, and the undisturbed condition of the dust indicated that they had not been touched for a long period. a careful inspection of the glass and woodwork showed no finger marks or any attempt to open the catches. the bolt on the back door was unfastened, but as the report stated that the police had found this bolt in place, it was obvious that it had simply been left open by the police. morgan carefully scrutinized the condition of the bolt. after pushing it back into place the difference in brightness of the protected and unprotected parts convinced him that the bolt had been closed for some time. he also noted that the key was missing from the lock. however, this fact had been referred to in the report, and it could make little difference if the bolt itself had been fastened. as a matter of fact, during his search of the pantry, he discovered the key on top of the ice box. a layer of dust indicated that the key had not been touched for a long time. his thorough investigation of the pantry revealed no evidence of recent use. the ice box was dry as a bone, with the musty smell of long disuse. a touch of the finger on various dishes and pieces of glassware showed that these also were covered with a film of dust. before leaving the kitchen, morgan glanced into the sink, to ascertain if, as often happens, the murderer had washed his hands there. there was a reddish stain about the outlet, but as morgan found this covered with dust he surmised that a long time had elapsed since any water had been run in the sink. this stain was presumably the rust which usually gathers in a long unused sink or basin. the small maid's room off the kitchen had certainly not been in use. only the bare mattress was on the bed, and morgan noticed that as his own feet left imprints in the dust on the floor, it was not likely that anyone else could have been in the room without leaving similar traces. next he thoroughly searched the dining room. as this room usually seems to be the favorite gathering point, both for the occupants of a house and unbidden prowlers, morgan's keen eyes examined every detail of the floor and furnishings, including the drawers of the sideboard. he immediately noticed that two of the chairs were standing close to the table, while two others were moved slightly back from the table as if people had been sitting in them. on the floor under one of these chairs he found a few spots of cigarette ashes. to morgan's quick mind this carried a mental picture. of course, the police who had been in the apartment the night before might have accidentally or intentionally moved the chairs, but he was quite sure that under the circumstances not one of them would have sat down to smoke a cigarette. at some time quite recently, therefore, somebody, probably two persons, had sat at this dining room table while conversing, or waiting for something. this was further confirmed when morgan, bending his knees and lowering his body so as to bring his eyes on a level with the table, studied the top in the reflected light. he saw that the dust on the table top had been disturbed in front of the two chairs. furthermore, he discovered that the person who had not been smoking had evidently rested a pair of clasped and sweaty hands on the table top, as two parallel, greasy marks, made by the sides of the hands, showed quite plainly. to morgan, clasped and sweaty hands indicated a possible state of nervousness. either this had been the victim or the chief plotter. the dining room revealed nothing further to morgan, but he felt that he had made some progress in establishing the fact that at least two people had quite recently been in this supposedly unoccupied apartment. passing through the entrance hall, morgan then examined the main bedroom, which opened off of it. the bed had been dismantled, as in the maid's room. an examination of the clothes closet, and the drawers of the dresser and a chiffonier, showed that the room was commonly occupied by a man and a woman. everything quite obviously belonged to the regular tenant. morgan could find nothing of a suspicious nature, although he had particularly looked for correspondence which might in some indefinite way connect this tenant with the happenings of the night before. the bathroom was visited next. outside of the usual toilet articles and harmless medical "first aids" in the cabinet, the room was bare. the final step was a close examination of the front room. here the blood spot stood out dark and forbidding in the light of the afternoon sun. beyond the fact that the shot had taken effect, it told nothing. morgan stood in thought with his eyes resting upon the brick fireplace. suddenly the descending sun threw its rays farther into the room and rested on a bright spot at the side of the fireplace. it looked odd to morgan and he approached it. what he found was a flattened bullet, which had been held in place by slightly embedding itself in the rough surface of the brick. as evidence it had small value outside of confirming the fact that a shot had been actually fired in this apartment. finding nothing else with a bearing on the case, morgan started to leave. at the doorway to the entrance hall, he stopped and turned to take one last look around the room in the hope that something might suggest itself. as he stood making this last survey, his eye caught a faint point of light under a cabinet in a corner. instantly he returned to the room, and stooping down, ran his hand under the cabinet. his fingers seized on a small object, which proved to be a gold cuff button. as he turned it over in his hand he found the initial "m" deeply engraved in the heavy gold. remembering that he had learned from the report in his pocket that the name of the tenant of this apartment was ames, this discovery immediately assumed great importance, so morgan carefully placed the cuff button in a vest pocket. encouraged by his find, morgan made another careful examination of the room. the flattened bullet and the cuff button, revealed by friendly rays of sunlight, seemed to be all that he could find. chapter iv the apartment across the hall after replacing the padlock and snapping it closed, morgan pressed the electric button of the apartment across the hall. footsteps sounded in immediate response, and the next moment the door was furtively opened. morgan, who by that time was leaning carelessly against the jamb, quietly moved one foot forward into the opening. although the light in the hallway was dim he could see that the woman who stood there was young and remarkably pretty. removing his hat, he asked politely, "are you the tenant here?" "yes," came in a soft but nervous voice. "may i come in and talk with you a few minutes?" inquired morgan. "what is it you want?" the girl inquired. morgan threw back his coat and disclosed his badge. "i am a city detective, and i would like a few words with you about this affair across the hall." "what affair is that?" asked the girl. morgan smiled. "didn't you know there was some trouble across the hall last night?" "no," she returned. "i retired early and have heard nothing about it." morgan was at a loss for a moment. the girl was not of the type that one would associate with persons of a criminal sort. her replies had been given in a tone of voice so candid and wondering that it hardly seemed possible she could be acting. whatever the situation, however, morgan wanted to get inside this apartment and study the girl more closely. "well, i'll tell you all about it," he said, gently, "if you'll let me come in for a moment or two." "i know nothing about it," she maintained, with a touch of irritation in her voice, and morgan's foot signaled to him that she was attempting to close the door. morgan never liked to be rough in his methods. he hesitated over forcing himself into the presence of this young woman, and yet he now had an impression that an interview with her was imperative. there was a slight pause, as he ran over in his mind some way to gain his entrance without force. "do you know mr. marsh downstairs?" he inquired, suddenly, his eyes keeping a keen watch on her face. "i do not know any of the tenants in the building." "that's strange," said morgan, thoughtfully. "i was just talking with mr. marsh, and he told me that you knew all about the trouble last night. he suggested that if i would come and see you i could get just the information i wanted." "i don't know this mr. marsh, and i can't understand why he should make such a statement." surprise was apparent in her voice. morgan was quite sure that her surprise was genuine. at the same time his remarks had just the effect he had hoped they would. it brought a new element into the matter and added to the girl's natural curiosity. she opened the door wider, and nodding toward the front room, said, "step in and tell me what you wish to know." the room into which morgan entered was a counterpart of the one across the hall, though as he rapidly observed the furnishings, he was impressed with the greater taste displayed and the homelike atmosphere. a piece of embroidery, on which she had evidently been working, lay on the arm of a chair near the window. conjecturing that she would resume her seat in this chair, morgan seated himself where he could keep his back to the window, while the girl whom he was about to question would directly face the full light. morgan's guess was correct. the girl went directly to the chair she had left to answer his ring, and taking up her embroidery, picked nervously at its edges, meanwhile watching morgan expectantly. surmising that a direct attempt to question her at once might defeat his purpose, morgan immediately broke into an account of the previous night's occurrence. as he brought out the various details of what was reported to have taken place, he slyly watched her face. at the end of his recital, he felt convinced that what he told the girl had previously been unknown to her. moreover, morgan became sensible of a growing feeling of interest and confidence in the girl. her sweetness seemed so genuine, her dark blue eyes so frank and honest in the straightforward way they met his. "it seems very strange that i heard none of the excitement," remarked the girl, when morgan had finished his story. "i had a rather busy day yesterday with my studies and retired early." morgan had decided upon his line of questioning while relating the incidents of the night before. "may i ask your name?" "certainly," she replied. "my name is atwood." morgan, having noticed the absence of a wedding ring, assumed that she was unmarried. therefore, he said, "is your mother at home, miss atwood?" a shade of sadness passed over her face. "my mother died some months ago," she replied. "i am sorry. i know what it is to have a good mother," sympathized morgan. then he inquired, "perhaps your father heard the disturbance?" "oh no," she replied. "my father is away." "he travels?" "yes; my father is a salesman." "for some chicago house, i suppose." "no; for a business house in st. louis. we formerly lived there." "st. louis is a pleasant city," commented morgan. "still, many people prefer chicago." "oh, i think i should prefer to live in st. louis, because i have a few friends there," she said. "but i am studying music, and when my mother died, father suggested that i live in chicago where i could attend a better musical college. then, too, father could get home more often as he travels in this vicinity." "i suppose your father travels for some well known st. louis house?" suggested morgan. "well, really, i don't know the name of his firm," returned the girl. "business has never held any interest for me." it struck morgan as strange that even a girl who did not take an interest in business should be ignorant of the name of the firm by whom her father was employed, yet he seemed to find many things that were contradictory in this girl. the chatty line of conversation he had taken was bringing out information in a manner highly satisfactory to morgan. he was about to make another comment, that might elicit further facts, when he was interrupted by a question which he had been expecting. "tell me," inquired miss atwood, a slight color coming to her cheeks, "what this man marsh said about me." morgan was pleased. this gave him an opening for some questioning which he had hesitated to take up before. he wanted to know just how much this girl knew about marsh. "don't you really know mr. marsh?" he began. "no," she replied. "i didn't even know there was such a person in the house." "well, that is certainly strange. i'm sure that he told me to talk to the young lady on the top floor. perhaps he meant some young lady who lived across the hall. still, there doesn't seem to have been anyone there since the trouble." miss atwood smiled. "he could not have meant anyone in that apartment, for i understand it is occupied only by an elderly couple, a mr. ames and his wife. i understood father to say that he had heard they were traveling in europe. i am sure no one has lived there since we have been in this apartment." "how long have you been here?" asked morgan. "let me see," said miss atwood, thoughtfully. "this is almost the end of october, and we have been here since the middle of july. that is a little over three months, isn't it?" "july," repeated morgan. "that isn't a renting season. you must rent this apartment furnished." "we do," she replied, promptly. "father was too busy to spend any time on moving, so we stored our things in st. louis and took this apartment." "real estate agents have been making lots of money these days. i hear a great many people have to pay them a bonus for finding apartments. i suppose they stuck you that way, too." "no," returned the girl. "i understand that father rented direct from the tenant. i believe the tenant was a friend of his, or someone he knew in a business way." the embroidery which had been lying in miss atwood's lap had gradually slipped forward and at this moment dropped to the floor. as she reached down to pick it up, morgan's alert eyes noted a purplish mark on her forearm. "you seem to have bruised your arm, miss atwood," he said, in a tone that was intended to express sympathy. "oh, did you notice that mark?" she exclaimed. "that has been puzzling me all day. i awoke suddenly last night with a feeling as if something had bitten me, but almost immediately went to sleep again. during the morning i noticed this mark and the swelling. i can't imagine what could have done it." "may i look at it?" asked morgan, as he rose and approached her. "perhaps i can suggest something." she extended her arm, and morgan, taking her hand, drew the arm close to him. he carefully studied the spot. the only time he had ever seen such marks before was on the arms of drug addicts who had not been particularly careful in the application of the hypodermic needle. "so you think it is a bite of some kind?" asked morgan, looking keenly at her. "i can't imagine what else it could be," she replied. morgan dropped her hand and looked out of the window for a moment. there was no doubt in his mind that the mark had been made by a hypodermic needle, yet it was the only mark of the kind that he could see on her arm, and therefore would hardly seem to indicate that the girl was a drug fiend. moreover, there had bean no indication of embarrassment or nervousness in her reference to the mark, as would undoubtedly have been the case had she been addicted to the use of a drug. morgan realized, too, that the fresh pink and white skin of this girl, and the bright eyes, could not be maintained if drugs were taken. the case was growing more puzzling every minute. had the use of a hypodermic needle on this girl anything to do with the supposed tragedy across the hall? after this discovery, morgan hesitated to ask further questions at this time, so he turned to the girl again and remarked, simply, "it is possible that some kind of spider bit you in the night. if you have any peroxide in the house, i would suggest that you bathe the spot with it. and now i must be going. if i have your permission, miss atwood, i would like to drop in again sometime to let you know about any further discoveries i may make on this case." "thank you," she returned. "i shall be interested." as he turned to say good-bye at the door, she added, apologetically, "i am sorry i had no information to give you." "oh, that's all right," morgan assured her, "i appreciate your courtesy in letting me have this little chat with you." but as he drew the door to after him, morgan smiled and said to himself, "poor little girl; you don't realize what a lot of information you have given me." chapter v peculiar facts when morgan reached the second floor on his way down, he paused a moment before marsh's door. so far as he had gone in this case, morgan was confronted with two factors; the connection of this man with the case, and the bearing which miss atwood and her father might have upon it. without doubt, some singular conditions surrounded the atwoods, but his knowledge of these was still too vague to give him even a basis for reasoning. on the other hand, the questionable circumstances surrounding the connection of this man marsh with the case, were very definite, indeed, and though morgan tried to avoid hasty conclusions, he could not keep back his growing suspicions of marsh. as he hesitated before marsh's door, morgan thought that it moved slightly. stepping closer and pushing the door gently with an outstretched hand, he found it tightly closed. yet, he had a feeling that the door had been softly closed after he had stopped on the landing. that decided morgan. the time was not opportune for an interview with this man. he wanted to obtain some additional facts before taking the step he was now convinced would have to be taken, and so went on down the stairs to carry his investigations further. leaving the house, morgan turned the corner of lawrence avenue and entered the alleyway in the rear of the hillcrest apartments. practically all chicago apartment houses have an outside rear stairway for the use of tradespeople. usually, this stairway is open so that anything which takes place can be observed from all nearby houses. in this instance the stairway was enclosed, with a door leading to the back porch of each apartment. a person could pass from the alley up to the third floor without being noticed, even by tenants in the building itself. morgan instantly noted that an automobile could stand in the alleyway close to the entrance; that a person could come down these stairs unobserved, step into the car and be quietly carried away, disappearing into the general traffic of the streets in probably not more than two minutes after leaving the apartment. here, thought morgan, was a possible solution of the sudden disappearance of the person who had been either murdered or wounded. it was a problem, of course, as to which door they had been brought through, and the solution of that problem would very likely bring him pretty close to the person or persons who had participated in the events of the night before. unquestionably, the rear door of the apartment where the trouble had taken place had not been used for this purpose, although it would seem the logical and quickest way to make an exit. on the other hand, for that very reason, the persons back of the supposed crime had been clever enough to avoid it, thus adding a mystifying element to what had taken place. in the light of present developments, two possible exits suggested themselves to morgan. these were the atwood and marsh apartments. the girl, however, claimed that she had slept through the night, and it hardly seemed possible that anyone could pass through her flat without arousing her. this, of course, meant taking for granted her story that she was alone in the apartment and had been in bed and sleeping. while morgan felt attracted toward the girl, and placed considerable confidence in her honesty, he did not allow these emotions to entirely dull his sense of suspicion. if things did not clear themselves shortly he would carry his investigations further along this line. in the meantime, his distrust centered on the marsh apartment. this man admitted being awake during the reported struggle, and there was no question about his being partly dressed and in action while some of the events were taking place. marsh could easily have passed a person or a body to a confederate through his back door, locked the door and then hurried into sheridan road to direct the attention of the police, or any other persons who had been aroused, to the front of the house, thus enabling his confederate to get quietly, safely and quickly away. this was only bare theory on morgan's part. he needed definite facts to either confirm this theory, or to prove that his judgment was at fault. the cuff button, with its initial "m," looked curiously like one of these facts, and, taken in connection with the other circumstances, pointed strongly toward marsh. he wanted to know more about marsh, and the girl had given him some basic facts which would enable him to enlarge his fund of information. the owner, or the real estate agent who managed the building, seemed to be the logical starting point for securing this information. to find out the names of these people must be his next step. luckily, at this moment the janitor of the apartment building appeared, rolling a barrel of ashes up from the basement. while it was quite obvious that such was the case, morgan opened the conversation by inquiring, "are you the janitor of this flat house?" "yes, sir," replied the man. "does the owner run this building, or has he placed an agent in charge?" "a real estate agent manages it," the janitor informed him. "parker cole--over on broadway." "thanks," said morgan, and returned down the alley to lawrence avenue where he turned west and walked over to broadway. a few minutes later he stood at the counter in the real estate office, and a man approached him. "is either mr. parker or mr. cole in?" "i am mr. cole," announced the man. "what can i do for you?" morgan opened his coat a minute to give cole a glimpse of his badge; then said, "i would like to talk confidentially with you for a few minutes." "step into my private office," directed cole, opening a gate as he spoke, and indicating a space partitioned off at the rear. "what is the trouble?" he inquired, when they were seated. "i came to see you in connection with the trouble in the hillcrest last night." "a most unfortunate affair!" exclaimed cole. "it is the first time anything of the kind ever occurred in any of the buildings under our management. it is most unfortunate," he repeated. "i have been assigned to the case," morgan informed him, "and i am gathering all the information possible. then i can formulate some theory upon which to work. just at this time i want a little information regarding your tenants in the building." "very fine people--very fine people, indeed," protested cole. "there couldn't be a breath of suspicion against any of them." "i'll be the judge of that," said morgan, sharply. "but really," cried cole, "you must not annoy our tenants. surely it was only a quarrel among burglars. one man probably wounded his pal and then, alarmed at the disturbance he had created, hurried him away." morgan smiled. this was a very ingenious and plausible solution of the mystery--at least in the real estate agent's eyes. however, morgan now sought facts, not amateur theories, and disregarding the real estate man's talk, he pushed his quest for information. "i have a report in my pocket which covers all that i want to know about most of your tenants; at least for the present. there are two families, however, about whom i want further information. the first is the atwood family, in the third floor south." "atwood--atwood," repeated cole, as if he did not place the name. then he called, "joe, bring me the rent book." morgan became alert. it was possible that a man like cole, with a large list of properties under his management, might be somewhat vague in his recollection of the names of a few of his tenants. this case was different. the atwoods, according to the girl's story, had sub-leased their apartment quite recently, presumably with the agent's sanction. the present excitement should naturally have recalled this matter to cole's mind--should even have concentrated his thoughts upon the names and characteristics of every tenant in this particular building. cole's unfamiliarity with the name of atwood, therefore, seemed peculiar. at this moment a boy entered with a large volume. laying it on cole's desk, the boy passed quietly out of the office. cole glanced at the index and then turned over certain pages in the book. "we have no atwood in that house," he declared, finally, looking up at morgan. "you must have made a mistake." before replying, morgan pulled out a small notebook and spread it open on his knee, ready for use. he also extracted a pencil from his vest pocket. glancing at the point to see that it was in working condition, he turned to cole with the question, "who does occupy the third floor south in that house?" "a family named crocker." "full name, please." "joseph crocker. he rented that apartment one year ago the first of this month," stated cole, after further reference to the book. morgan jotted this down in his notebook. "you haven't heard that mr. crocker sub-leased his flat?" inquired morgan. "no," replied cole, positively. "i would be sure to know about it, too. a transaction of that kind must be put through and reported in this office." "can you give me any further particulars about mr. crocker?" "well, of course, i could look up his references and the other papers, if you wish me to. but as i recall it, he came from st. louis and had excellent references from that city." "i won't bother you to look anything more up on that just now," said morgan. "i may be interested in the information later. i'll see what i can find out first." "how did you come to associate the name of atwood with that apartment?" inquired cole. "i thought that was the name mentioned in the report i have. it was probably a mistake of the man who first went through the building. they often make mistakes in names," morgan added, reassuringly, as it was not his desire to start cole on any investigation of his own at this time. "now, what can you tell me about the marsh family, second floor north?" "well, there's a party i can tell you more about. it made an impression upon me at the time we rented the apartment, because we had to make special arrangements." "yes," said morgan, encouragingly. "you see," continued cole, "owing to a death in the family, the people who occupied that apartment moved out in july, and i sublet the apartment for them from the first of august, to a mr. gordon marsh. mr. marsh, i understand, was driven off his ranch in mexico by the revolutionists. as he knew practically no one in the united states to whom he could refer, we finally compromised by his agreeing to pay his rent quarterly in advance." "how much of a family has he?" asked morgan. "only his wife," returned cole. "that was one reason we were willing to come to terms with him. we like small families; like mr. ames, who rents the apartment where this trouble occurred." morgan welcomed this mention of ames. it gave him an opening for further questions regarding this tenant. he was not overlooking the fact that the ames family might in some way be connected with the affair. "i suppose mr. ames and his wife are still away?" he inquired. "yes," returned cole. "we received his october rent through his london bankers, white, wyth, harding; and only a few days ago, a letter referring to some decorating to be done when he returns next month. by the way, why are you particularly interested in these families?" "just happen to be people we didn't get reports on at the building, that is all. our reports on a case of this kind have to be complete." "quite right--quite right," approved cole, his curiosity evidently satisfied. "mr. marsh and mr. ames are friends, are they not?" queried morgan, casually, as he noted down in his book what cole had recently told him. "not so far as i know. in fact, it hardly could be possible, inasmuch as mr. ames and his wife went abroad before mr. marsh arrived in chicago." chapter vi the cable from london after leaving the real estate office, morgan walked south on broadway to wilson avenue and entered the western union office. here he sent a short cable to london. leaving his address so that the reply could be forwarded to him, he went across the street and took an elevated train for home. after dinner morgan settled down in his favorite chair to await tierney, who had telephoned that he would be there in a little while. as he was filling his pipe for the second time, the bell rang. morgan opened the door and tierney bustled in. the cheerful smile, the snappy step, and the careless motion with which tierney shot his hat into a nearby chair, told morgan as plainly as words, that his partner brought worth while information. tierney pulled an easy chair up to the table, and morgan pushed the tobacco jar and an extra pipe over to him. tierney filled the pipe, lighted up, and settling back, grinned at morgan. "i may have exceeded orders, but i've sure got some dope on that guy, marsh. you told me to find out what i could about atwood. i visited various stores in the neighborhood which a family was likely to patronize. no one knew the name. after i had stopped in a cigar store, and found that his name was not in the telephone directory, i figured that there was nothing more i could do along that line until i'd talked things over with you. so i decided to hang around in sight of the house and watch developments." "at a quarter to three a young woman came out, walked down to lawrence avenue and stood on the corner, apparently waiting for a motor bus. as she did not look like anyone i had seen in the house, i gave her the once-over." "was she about medium height, slender, with blonde hair and dark blue eyes?" questioned morgan. "well, i didn't get close enough to gaze fondly into her eyes," said tierney, "but the rest of your description fits all right. do you know who she is?" "probably miss atwood," morgan explained, "daughter of the tenant in the flat across the hall. in the future it will do no harm to keep one eye on her, tierney." "i kept both eyes on her today, morgan, and that's the way i got the dope i did." morgan smiled appreciatively, and tierney went on. "as i was saying, i watched this girl as she waited for the bus. suddenly i glanced toward the house, and there was this guy, marsh, standing just inside the doorway. to me it looked as if he was trying to keep an eye on this girl, without her seeing him if she looked back. so i kept out of sight as far as i could and watched the two of them. sure enough, in about one minute along comes the bus and the girl gets in. would you believe it, morgan, that very minute marsh dashes across the street, nails an empty taxi and starts after the bus." "now, i ain't as quick as you, morgan, but i sure figured that my cue was to join the procession. luck was with me, for the minute i got this idea i spotted a checker taxi and rushed at it so hard the driver nearly fainted. 'follow that yellow ahead!' i yelled to the driver, and before he came to a full stop i had jumped in and we were off." "we trailed down sheridan road, through lincoln park, and on to michigan avenue--the girl in the bus, marsh in the yellow, and me in the checker. just after we passed adams street the yellow stopped at the curb and marsh got out. i stopped my cab quick, and as i saw that marsh was paying off his driver, i settled with mine and got ready for the next move." "marsh started down michigan avenue, and i could keep pretty close on account of the crowd. pretty soon i sighted this girl trotting along a little way ahead of us. now, there's a situation for you, morgan--marsh trailing the girl and me trailing marsh." at this point morgan's interest was shown by the fact that he sat forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees, and for the moment forgot to pull at his pipe. tierney continued. "the girl turns into a building at six hundred and something michigan avenue--i've got the exact number in my book. marsh strolls over to the curb, while i, taking advantage of his back being turned for the moment, shot into the building after her. she entered an elevator, and i strolled in, too. luckily, she stood near the door, so i could get into the back of the car and not be specially noticed. she got off at a musical school. as we had been the only two people in the elevator, i took a chance, and said to the man running it, 'some looker!'" "'yes,' he says, 'a fine looking girl. she comes here twice a week.'" "'well,' says i, 'that's a good thing for women--to learn music. how long do they teach them?'" "'you mean, how long does a lesson last?' he asked me." "'yes,' i told him." "'oh, about a half-hour,' he says. 'say! what floor do you want?' he shot at me as he reached the top." "'good lord!' i says, winking at him. 'that dame sure upset me. i want to go back two floors.'" "when he let me out i hustled over to the stairway, went down to the ground floor, and when marsh had his eyes turned away for a minute, i beat it out and up michigan." "now, morgan, here's where i was clever. that girl was good for a half-hour and so was marsh, if he was following her; as i was pretty sure he was. now you or i haven't seen all of the inside of marsh's apartment, have we? and yet we suspect this guy, and want to get something on him if we can." morgan nodded, and began to smile as he gathered what tierney was about to tell him. "well, morgan, i figured that a half-hour would give me all the time i needed, so i ran over to the elevated and went back to lawrence avenue. i slipped up the alleyway, back of the house, and climbed the rear stairs to marsh's flat. after thumping on the door several times i made sure no one was home, especially as the shades in the kitchen and the pantry were pulled down. so i pulled out my bunch of keys and had the luck to find one that opened the lock. i closed the door softly, and tiptoed through the kitchen and the dining room. would you believe it, morgan--there wasn't a stick of furniture in those rooms!" "you mean the place was empty?" asked morgan. "up to the entrance to the hallway it was absolutely bare, morgan. the living room is furnished, and so is the bedroom; and there were a few toilet articles in the bathroom. he has a pair of heavy drapes across the doorway to the dining room, so that anyone coming in would never guess the back part wasn't furnished. i looked things over pretty carefully in the few minutes i had, and i didn't find a single article that belonged to a woman. i tell you, morgan, that fellow's living there alone and only got half the flat furnished! take it from me, he's got something on. that flat's just a blind. if it was me, i'd lock him up tonight." "well, it's coming pretty soon, tierney," acceded morgan. "what you've found out today will help a lot." there was a few minutes pause as the two men smoked their pipes, and morgan analyzed the facts which tierney had given him. suddenly he leaned over and picked up the telephone from the tabouret. "what's doing?" exclaimed tierney. "we shouldn't leave that man marsh unwatched from now on," explained morgan. "i know it, morgan, and i've taken care of all that." "you mean the house is watched?" "sure," said tierney. "the minute i got out of the flat this afternoon i telephoned the captain of the precinct and told him just enough to get his co-operation. there's a man on the job now and he won't leave there, unless he follows marsh, until i relieve him in the morning." "there's one drawback to that," observed morgan, as he set the telephone back in place. "no one knows marsh except you." "there's a man knows him better than i do--murphy, the man on the beat. he spent quite a spell with marsh last night." "that's right," agreed morgan. "how did you fix it?" "the captain put another man on murphy's beat, and put murphy into plain-clothes for tonight. it worked all right, because murphy was a night man anyway." "you're all right, tierney," morgan complimented him. tierney grinned his appreciation. "now then, tierney," went on morgan, "you relieve murphy in the morning, and watch things until i can get on the job. after i relieve you, you get in touch with headquarters and have some fingerprint photos taken." "did you find finger prints?" exclaimed tierney, sitting up with a start. "no," explained morgan, "but i found the marks of the sides of somebody's hands on the dining room table in that flat. i want them prepared and photographed just as if they were fingerprints." "but you can't identify anybody by marks of that kind," remarked tierney, with an inquiring note in his voice. "probably not," morgan returned. "i haven't the slightest idea how i could make use of such a photo now. but i want to provide against anything that may turn up. the marks are there, and we might as well have a record of them." tierney opened his mouth to reply, but at that instant morgan held up a warning hand. in many of the older and smaller apartments, such as the one occupied by morgan, the door from the main hall opens directly into the living room. such was the arrangement here, and morgan slowly turned his head toward this door and listened intently. then he carefully arose from his chair, moved softly around the corner of the table, and slowly tiptoed toward the door. tierney had not heard a sound, yet he instantly became as alert as morgan. he stood ready for a quick move, if necessary, while his right hand rested on the butt of the revolver in his hip pocket. at that moment there was a quite audible sound outside the door. morgan leaped forward and threw the door open. with the sound of the opening door both men heard somebody break into a hasty descent of the stairs. morgan dashed through the door and down the stairs. tierney followed close behind him. before they reached the front door they heard the roar of an opened muffler and an accelerated engine, and by the time they reached the front steps there was nothing to be seen except the black shadow of an automobile without lights rapidly disappearing down sheffield avenue. "well, i'm damned!" growled tierney, as the car disappeared. morgan said nothing, but stood thoughtfully gazing down the street. "what do you make of it?" inquired tierney. "let's go up again," suggested morgan, without replying to the question. back in the living room, the men resumed their seats, and spoke in lowered voices. "it's hard to tell what it means," morgan at last replied. "that's the first time anything of the kind ever happened to me." "how did you get wise?" asked tierney. "i heard the door move several times," morgan explained. "at first i thought it was the wind, but the last time i heard it i was sure it had a different sound. it seemed to me that somebody had leaned against the door while trying to listen." "by god!" exclaimed tierney. "this is some case, morgan. are we spying on somebody, or is somebody spying on us? marsh trails a girl; i chase up marsh; and now i'm damned if i don't think somebody's chasing me, too." "it begins to look like a bigger case than i thought, tierney. an ordinary murderer usually gets out of town or lays low. quite likely somebody is afraid we will unearth more than a murder. you run along now. i want to be alone to think things over. on your way home stop off and look up murphy. find out whether or not marsh has left the house tonight. telephone me what you find out." "sure thing," answered tierney, and picking up his hat, hurried away. morgan sat down in his chair and began to refill his pipe. after lighting it, he settled back into his chair and meditated on the case. reviewing in his mind the various bits of fact, information and incident which he now had at hand, he endeavored to separate or combine them according to their direct bearing upon the case. in his earlier days morgan had learned that a criminal case was something like a dusty roadway. many tracks crossed and re-crossed one another, becoming just a bewildering mass to the untrained eye. in the present instance, the situation in the atwood apartment had queer aspects which seemed to connect it with the incident of the night before. the suspicious points were not so glaringly apparent, perhaps, as the circumstances which connected the man marsh, but they were there just the same. while the atwood situation attracted morgan, he was inclined to believe that he had actually uncovered some other situation; of a criminal nature, perhaps, but not associated with his present investigations. to one unfamiliar with crime, the incident of marsh following the girl might have seemed to form a connection, but morgan realized that if there was anything between the atwoods and marsh, the latter would hardly have been secretly following miss atwood. on the other hand, it was quite possible that a clever criminal, of the type he now suspected marsh to be, having successfully accomplished one job, might have another in mind, which he thought he could execute before forced to make his final getaway. instead of attributing this incident to a connection between the atwoods and marsh, morgan figured that it weighed somewhat in the atwoods' favor, while still further incriminating the man marsh. at this point in his reflections the telephone bell rang, and answering it, morgan heard tierney's voice. "i've just seen murphy," reported tierney. "he says that marsh came home about seven-thirty and has not been out since; unless he slipped out the back door. this doesn't seem likely as there is another man watching the rear. he don't know marsh, but he would find out before he let anyone go. murphy says he has seen a shadow pass the windows several times during the evening, and we are pretty sure that marsh is the only person in that flat." "all right," replied morgan. they exchanged good-byes, and morgan replaced the telephone on the tabouret. settling back into his chair once more, morgan came to the conclusion that one or more of marsh's confederates of the night before had simply been endeavoring to get information so as to warn marsh whether or not he was suspected. morgan knew that, as usual, he and tierney had talked in guarded voices, so he felt confident that little, if any, of their conversation had been overheard. it was the anxiety of the person on the other side of the door to try and catch their words which had led him to lean heavily against the door and so warn morgan of his presence. morgan felt fairly certain that he would find marsh at home the next day, and after that, if any reports could be conveyed to him, they would be of little use. piecing together, one by one, the various bits of evidence he had accumulated against marsh, convinced morgan that this was the man he wanted. the flattened bullet, the cigarette ashes, and the hand marks could not identify anyone. the cuff button, however, with its initial "m" was more direct in its accusation. it might be the principal hold on the suspect. morgan admitted that the evidence was purely circumstantial, and that there was really nothing in it to convict a man in a court of law, but there was enough evidence to take marsh up on suspicion, and past experience made him confident that once he had this man at headquarters, the usual grilling would extract enough information from him to lead them to sufficient evidence of a positive nature. there was, of course, still a doubt as to whether or not an actual crime had been committed. but something surely had happened, and morgan began to feel that the next day would throw considerable light on what it was. having reached these conclusions, and a determination to visit marsh the next day and take him into custody, morgan went to bed. at the first note from his alarm clock the next morning, morgan jumped promptly out of bed. after awakening his mother so that she could get his breakfast, he hastily dressed. just as he was swallowing the last of his coffee there came a prolonged ring at the bell. his mother went to the door, and returned with a western union envelope. "my final bit of evidence!" exclaimed morgan, as he hurriedly tore off the end of the envelope and read the cablegram within. it was brief and to the point, and read just as morgan had anticipated it would. marsh unknown to me. ames. chapter vii mr. marsh morgan had hardly expected such an early reply when he sent his inquiry to mr. ames regarding his acquaintance with marsh. it was possible, however, that mr. ames had made an early morning call on his london bankers, and had immediately dispatched his reply. morgan was glad that it had arrived at this opportune moment. with murphy to testify that marsh had claimed ames as a friend, and with this cablegram to prove the falsity of the claim, he had at least one unanswerable piece of evidence of a suspicious nature to warrant his proposed action against the man. bidding his mother good-bye, morgan hurried around to the elevated station. he purchased a package of cigarettes at the news stand, and climbed the steps two at a time to catch a train he heard approaching. a few minutes later he got off at the wilson avenue station, crossed wilson avenue to sheridan road, and turning north soon spotted tierney at the corner of lawrence avenue. "hello," morgan greeted him. "any news?" "no," replied tierney. "i relieved murphy at six o'clock this morning, and another man has taken up the watch in the alleyway. murphy saw nothing of marsh, and he said the light went out in his flat about : . the man who watched the alleyway didn't see a soul except the milkman. marsh came out a little while ago and i followed him. he had a quick breakfast in the waffle shop just below here, and i trailed him back again." "i guess i'll find my man in, all right," said morgan. "i'll go up now. you tell the man in the alleyway to keep his eyes open while i'm inside. in about ten minutes, if he doesn't hear anything from me, he can come up and wait outside marsh's door. we'll leave him there that long in case marsh should try to slip out the back way when he hears me at the door. if he doesn't hear from me in ten minutes he can be sure that i got in. he will then probably be more useful close at hand in the event that anything should slip up. after you tell him what to do, you can go ahead with the photographs." tierney nodded in acknowledgment of these instructions and started back to the alleyway. morgan entered the apartment house, climbed the stairs to marsh's door, and rang the bell. marsh immediately opened the door. it seemed to morgan as if marsh must have been standing there awaiting his ring, yet how could the man have suspected morgan's intention to call on him at this time? it looked strangely like the man had been on watch at the door. "good morning," said marsh. "good morning," returned morgan. "i want to have a little talk with you." marsh invited him in with a pleasant ring in his voice, and indicated the living room with a motion of his hand. morgan entered and sat down on a chair close to the entrance, laying his hat on the floor by the chair. marsh watched morgan sit down in this strategical location, and then, with a slight smile, strolled across and seated himself in a big chair near the fireplace. resting his elbows on the arms of the chair, and interlacing his fingers in front of him, he looked at morgan. "well?" he said. morgan unbuttoned his coat and exhibited his badge. "i am detective sergeant morgan of the chicago police department." "oh, yes--dave morgan." morgan looked at marsh sharply. "you've heard of me before, have you?" he said. "not until early tuesday morning," smiled marsh. "then i heard one of the policemen refer to the fact that this would be a job for dave morgan. evidently you have quite a reputation here in chicago, mr. morgan." "among crooks--yes," snapped morgan. the easy attitude of the other man was just a little puzzling. morgan, however, was inclined to attribute it to his confidence that they were not in a position to actually fasten any guilt upon him. he suspected that the man was playing a game, and this not only nettled him, but served to strengthen his suspicions. morgan went on. "i have been assigned to this murder case upstairs, mr. marsh. after considerable investigation i find it will be necessary to ask you a few questions." marsh nodded but said nothing. morgan sat silent for a moment, as if considering how to begin. then, without apparently looking at marsh, he suddenly said, "it's a long jump from mexico to chicago." marsh unclasped his fingers for a moment and looked hard at morgan. morgan caught what he believed to be a start, but gave no indication that it had made an impression upon him. "i was wondering," he continued, slowly, "what had brought you such a long way." "obviously, mr. morgan, if you know that much about me, you must also know that i came here on business." "when do you attend to your business, mr. marsh?" asked morgan, now looking him in the eye. "at various times of the day," replied marsh. "whenever i can get appointments with the people i am negotiating with. i don't quite understand the trend of these questions, but i might say that i was downtown on business the greater part of yesterday afternoon." "does standing on a michigan avenue curb constitute the principal part of your business, mr. marsh?" "well, i sometimes fill in my time like that until i am sure the people who are interested in my movements have gone on about their own business." it was morgan's turn to look disconcerted. evidently he had a clever man to deal with, and he began to wonder if his present step had not been too precipitate. he felt sure that it was going to be difficult to fasten anything on this man. he decided, however, that he had gone too far to draw back now, and he went on with his questions. "in the preliminary report which was given me," he said, "i noticed that you made a statement to the patrolman you called in that the noise in the flat above aroused both you and your wife." "yes," admitted marsh. "i believe i did say something like that." "but," added morgan, "we have not been able to get an interview with your wife." "such an interview would be quite useless. as a matter of fact, she knows no more, and probably not so much as i do about what took place." "you're probably right about that," smiled morgan, and there was a sarcastic ring in his voice. "just the same, i'd like to have a few words with her." "you know as well as i do, mr. morgan, that that would be impossible." morgan raised his eyebrows. "i don't get you," he said. "well, to be more explicit, then, you know that my wife does not live here." "here's a new game," thought morgan. there was no doubt that marsh was openly fencing with him. in fact, the man seemed to know every move which had been made. at last the super-criminal of literature seemed to have stepped into actual life. morgan was certain that some crime had been committed, and the circumstantial evidence against this man had been accumulating rapidly. yet, as he faced him and thought it over, he realized how intangible was their hold upon marsh. of course, when they got this man down to headquarters they might force him to give more explicit details regarding his past and present actions, but a man so clever as this had probably left little behind him that would convict him of anything; certainly not of his connection with whatever had taken place in the apartment above. the cuff button, even, seemed to be growing doubtful in value. these reflections on morgan's part flashed through his mind so quickly that there was only the slightest pause between marsh's last statement and the next question. "what would give you that impression?" asked morgan. "your man went through my apartment yesterday, and i'm sure he found no evidence of a lady occupying it with me." morgan found it difficult to conceal his astonishment, not only at the statement, but the man's intimate knowledge of things of which he was supposed to be in ignorance. then he remembered the clandestine listener at his door, and his doubts of a moment before took flight. "it is quite evident," declared morgan, "that you, or someone connected with you, have taken an unusual interest in the movements of the chicago police department. why?" "i have taken no special interest in what you have been doing," said marsh. "it was not difficult to note that almost from the time i called the attention of your man on the beat to the occurrence, your men have been regarding me with suspicion. i cannot possibly understand why this should be so, but you will admit that it is a fact, won't you?" morgan remained silent. "i could not help noticing," continued marsh, "that the man who had been conducting an investigation in this house was keeping watch across the street. happening to glance back after entering a taxicab yesterday, i observed this man entering another taxi, which followed mine downtown. it was obvious to the most ordinary intelligence that he was following me. after i reached the 'loop' district i was absolutely sure of it. then, when i returned and found footmarks in my apartment, it was quite evident that someone had been investigating." morgan was stunned. "footmarks!" he thought. "had tierney been so clumsy and careless as to enter the flat with muddy shoes?" something had to be done to cover an awkward pause, and give him a chance to gather his wits, so morgan took out the package of cigarettes. after helping himself to one, he tossed the package to marsh. morgan noted with satisfaction that the man took one before handing the package back. marsh smoked cigarettes! "why did you follow miss atwood?" morgan suddenly shot at him. marsh's face expressed surprise. "follow miss atwood!" he exclaimed. "that's what it looked like," asserted morgan. "well, that was a strange coincidence," commented marsh. morgan found it hard to determine whether this was a reply or an evasion. he decided, however, that matters had gone far enough, and that marsh must either prove himself innocent, or stay in jail until they could definitely fasten his guilt upon him. to bring matters to a head, he reached into his pocket for the cablegram. "you said that mr. ames, the man who rents the flat upstairs, was a friend of yours." "i believe i did," admitted marsh. "well, i have a cablegram here from mr. ames," stated morgan, as he brought out the paper. "read it." marsh leaned forward, took the cablegram, read it gravely, and returned it to morgan. "you have certainly got me tied up," he said. "tight as a drum!" agreed morgan. "the game's up, marsh. you're coming with me to headquarters." "i'm afraid you have sort of spilled the beans, morgan," laughed marsh, rising. morgan, however, was used to the last minute plays of cornered criminals. leaning back in his chair, and smiling encouragingly, his hands, without seeming purpose, were slipped into the side pockets of his coat. the right hand quickly gripped a revolver in readiness. "yes," continued marsh, "i had hoped to work quietly, but this incident has upset my plans. yet, after all, perhaps we can work together with greater success." "now we come to the 'divvy' proposition," thought morgan. he remained expectantly silent, however, and his face still wore its encouraging smile. marsh came closer and the end of the concealed revolver barrel moved upward just a trifle. the next moment the smile on morgan's face faded out and his eyes filled with an astonished stare. marsh had thrown back his coat, revealing the badge of the united states secret service! chapter viii a definite clue "you can take your hand off that gun now," suggested marsh, as he smiled at morgan and went back to his chair. "i'll tell you my part of the story, and perhaps we'll find in the end that two heads are better than one." "you have made a big but perhaps a natural mistake. if you doubt my word in anything i am about to tell you, it will only be necessary for you to consult the secret service branch in the federal building, to confirm my status in this case." "without any intention of trying to kid you, morgan, i want to say this--you've done some quick and clever work in approximately twenty-four hours. i realized from the first that things had framed themselves in a peculiar way against me. yet, i will say frankly, that i did not expect a local policeman to put the facts together so quickly." "i am only human, marsh," broke in morgan, "and your appreciation sounds good to me. but let's get down to the story." "quite right," agreed marsh. "it begins two years ago. at that time the government discovered that counterfeit five-dollar bills were appearing in the east. they put me on the case and i traced them from city to city. suddenly the output seemed to stop. for a time i was at loose ends, and then i had word that they were appearing again in st. louis. i made a quick jump to that city. counterfeit five-dollar bills are comparatively easy to pass. a larger bill may attract attention, but five dollars is a commonly used unit. for that reason few people could remember and describe the person who had tendered the bill. but to make a long story short, i finally brought their source close to a man named atwood, by finding out that his daughter jane occasionally paid for things with this particular series of counterfeit five-dollar notes." "i located this man's home, where he lived with his wife and daughter. neighbors believed him to be a traveling man as he was away a great deal. i never got a look at the man, because in some way he evidently got wind that we were watching him and stayed away from the house. from neighbors, however, i learned that he was tall, well built, dark haired and wore a small mustache. not exactly a definite description, but one which might help in connection with other things. finally, i got a new clue from detroit, which seemed to indicate that i would find the man there. it came to nothing, however, and when i returned to st. louis i found that atwood's wife had died in the meantime--that he had stored his furniture, and his daughter was living in an hotel. i figured that there was nothing to do but keep a close watch on her from that time on, and eventually get in touch with atwood; then, through him, locate the other members of the gang. while there was no direct evidence that such was the case, we know from experience that in a counterfeiting case there are almost always two or more persons engaged in the work." "one night this girl gave me the slip, and it took me nearly two weeks to trace her to chicago. keeping watch on places where these bills occasionally appeared, i recognized her one day, and then located her in this apartment building. now experience had shown that this case was really a game of patience. so far, little had been accomplished by hanging around the streets and watching the girl. a vacant apartment in this very building gave me an unusual opportunity." "you know, morgan, there are few crimes that the government looks on with such severity as counterfeiting. to apprehend a counterfeiter they will go to any lengths and spend any amount of money. so i received permission to rent this apartment. it gave me the advantage of not only being right in the building constantly, without attracting special attention, but as i was on the floor below the suspects, i had an excellent opportunity to keep an eye on all who passed up and down the stairs. another fortunate circumstance was the fact that the apartment over me was unoccupied. there could be no question as to where people passing up and down the stairs were going." "government men, as you know, morgan, usually work with the utmost secrecy. our own local men were not even supposed to know i was here unless the time came when i should need help. it was not logical, therefore, for me to disclose my identity or give any hint of it to the real estate firm that rented me the apartment. that was why i posed as a ranch owner from mexico, here in chicago for the purpose of interesting certain financial interests in my property. that left out the entangling subject of references. naturally, i did not want to waste money on the complete furnishing of an apartment which might be vacated at any moment, so i simply furnished up that part of it which might come under the eye of a stranger. and certainly these two rooms afforded me all the comfort that i required." "but marsh," interrupted morgan. "why did you make those breaks about your wife, and knowing ames upstairs?" "a man in your line of work, morgan, ought to understand the wife idea, now that you know some of the facts. a supposedly married man passes quite unnoticed, but just give the ladies a hint that a bachelor is in the house and immediately everyone focuses attention upon him. he is a poor, lonesome man, to be pitied, and every woman in the house would have lain awake nights figuring how she could introduce me to a marriageable young woman. so i invented mrs. marsh as a protection." "i'll admit that my claim of friendship with ames didn't work out well in this instance. however, it was an idea conceived in a hurry, and in the ordinary course of events would have really attracted little, if any, attention. you realize that i was in this house to watch certain people without disclosing my identity in any way. i knew positively that the flat over me was closed and empty. then i was awakened suddenly in the night by a most suspicious disturbance. naturally, i connected it immediately with the people i was watching. if i took an active interest in this trouble it might force my hand, because a moment's consideration will show you that the connection was only a guess on my part, and might not be a fact. my first thought, therefore, was to get the local police on the job as quickly as possible and still keep in touch with the incident myself." "you may ask why i didn't telephone the police department, instead of running into the street. when i looked at my watch i saw that it was two o'clock, and i knew from observation that a patrolman was likely to be within a block or two of the house at that hour. on the other hand, if i telephoned, it might be twenty minutes before your men arrived, and you know, morgan, that a lot can happen in twenty minutes." "after your man had telephoned for help he was disinclined to have me butt into the matter any further. yet, you can see how imperative it was for me to be on the job as well as your men. the first thought, and the most logical excuse, which came to my mind, was to tell the patrolman that the tenant of the flat was a personal friend of mine. this made it seem perfectly natural for me to follow up his interests in the matter. as to keeping track of your movements, it was only natural that i would want to keep in touch with your progress in the case as much as possible." "one question, marsh," said morgan. "how in thunder could you see my partner's footsteps, as you said you did, in your apartment?" marsh laughed. "through a very simple precaution that i have taken ever since i moved in here--a little talcum powder sprinkled over the dining room floor. now, morgan, i have laid my cards on the table. you can see the close connection that probably exists between the atwood counterfeiting case and whatever took place in the flat over us. if you have found out anything, outside of what you supposed to be my connection with the case, i would like to have the information. "so that you can see how close the connection between the two cases really is, i will tell you that after your men left tuesday morning, i did a little further investigating on my own account, and found what i believed to be a definite clue to the atwoods' connection with the trouble." "what was that?" asked morgan. "a small smear of blood on the doorknob of the atwood apartment!" the fact that marsh, who had been surrounded by such suspicious circumstances that morgan had been enabled to build up one of his quickest cases, had now turned out to be an operative of the federal government, was one of the most astounding things with which morgan had ever met. it was obvious that for once in his life he had followed persistently on a blind trail, and now found himself only a little better off than when he started. naturally, his professional pride was hurt, but the candid way in which marsh had, to use his own words, laid his cards on the table, appealed to morgan. he felt that this government man was both broad-minded and efficient. he realized that there was surely more to gain by accepting marsh's proposition, and working with him, than there would be if each worked alone, and very probably at cross purposes. the story which marsh had told him, the surprising clue he had just offered, and the facts in his own possession, showed conclusively the close connection between the affair of the empty apartment and the atwood counterfeiting case. locating the murderer would undoubtedly bring the counterfeiters to light, and in the same way, locating the counterfeiters would probably disclose the perpetrator of this now unquestioned crime. morgan covered up these deliberations by getting out his pipe and tobacco pouch and lighting up. "now i can talk," he said, as he leaned back in his chair. "i may have a few facts that you don't know, marsh, and now that i know the whole situation i can see that they will probably be of some value to you. or in any event, of value to both of us in the general working out of the case. for i want to say that i am satisfied with your suggestion about our working together." "i called on this miss atwood yesterday. while some of the information which she gave me simply ties up with and confirms your own story, there was one thing i discovered that may help us. of course, in lining up my evidence, i separated the strong points against you from certain suspicious circumstances connected with the atwoods. that girl impressed me so favorably that i could not definitely connect her with the trouble upstairs. instead, i was inclined to believe that i had uncovered something else." "during my talk with the girl i noticed a peculiar mark on her arm. i brought the conversation around to that mark, and she told me that some time during the night of the crime she had been awakened by a sharp sting in the arm, but had almost immediately gone to sleep again. noticing the mark in the morning, she was under the impression, so she said, that it was a bite, from some kind of insect--i suggested a spider. but the truth was, marsh, that mark was made by a hypodermic needle!" "in my experience i have come into contact with lots of dope users. i know just how they act, talk and look--and that girl is not a dope fiend. in my opinion there are only two solutions to that mark on the girl's arm. either she has not slept well of late, and decided to use something to help her, or else somebody jabbed her without her knowledge. the first explanation is hardly likely, because sleeplessness is treated in other ways. now that you tell me this man atwood is a criminal, and that you found a bloodstain on the doorknob, i am convinced that someone gave her an injection of morphine so that this job could be pulled without her knowledge. you probably know as well as i do, that the small purple mark, accompanied by the swelling, which i noticed on her arm, would result only from the hasty and careless use of the hypodermic needle." "what you tell me, morgan," said marsh, "confirms what i have thought for some time. that is, that jane atwood is only the innocent tool of her father, and the gang behind him. perhaps not even that. she exhibits none of the instincts or earmarks of the criminal woman, and no woman with easy money at her command would spend the hours and hard work which she does in the study of music. confidentially, morgan, i like the girl, and what i have just told you is one of the reasons why i have never attempted to arrest her and force a confession. i felt that all i could really do was to keep her under surveillance until such time as i could catch one of the real criminals getting in touch with her. the father and his gang have either simply been using her to a limited extent to pass their counterfeit notes, or else he has included a few with money which he gave her. possibly he has maintained her in a home to have a background of respectability to which he could retire in emergencies. letting her use counterfeit notes may have been just one of the slips of which every criminal is guilty. a really clever man is also clever enough to know that it doesn't pay to be a criminal. no matter how long the rope, there is always an end to it." "well," said morgan, "there's no question that as matters now stand, that girl is our only working point. i have already called on her, and disclosed my identity as a detective, so as far as i am concerned there is little that can be done in that direction. you, as a tenant in this house, however, could cultivate her acquaintance without arousing any real suspicions on her part." "i have been watching for an opportunity to strike up an acquaintance for a long time," replied marsh, "but no such opportunity has as yet presented itself. you can rest assured, however, that i am ready when it does." just then marsh sat up and listened, as footsteps sounded over their heads. "that's all right, marsh," smiled morgan. "those are my men taking fingerprint photographs. that was the next point i was going to tell you about--my discoveries in that apartment." "you found fingerprints?" cried marsh. "no, just the marks of the sides of two hands. apparently not of much use--but then you never can tell." morgan suddenly jumped to his feet. "good lord!" he exclaimed, "that reminds me. i forgot that i had a man sitting outside on the stairs. he'll be wondering what has happened." with that morgan went to the door and told the plain-clothes man, who had been waiting outside, that everything was going smoothly and he could go back to the station. returning to his chair, morgan took up the subject of the clues he had discovered in the apartment. after recounting his discovery of the cuff button, he added, "and that was one of the most damning pieces of evidence which i had against you, marsh--the letter--"m" on that cuff button." "that would not have gone very far," laughed marsh, "because i've never worn an initialed cuff button in my life. in fact, morgan, it could have been only a clue--not evidence--for it would have been simple, when the loss was discovered, to also lose the duplicate. that cuff button may or may not be a clue. of course, the tenant's initials do not coincide with the initial on that button, but it might have been dropped by a servant or a friend. as a matter of fact, that button might have been lying under the cabinet for some time before ames went to europe. however, it's something worth having and remembering, for one never can tell when even a little thing like that may give some lead that would prove worth while." "how would you analyze that flattened bullet?" asked morgan. "the shot was fired at close range," marsh replied. "it may have passed clear through the person fired at. that bullet is worth remembering, however, just like the cuff button. some day it may fit in with and explain other evidence." "there is one more point," added morgan, "that may or may not have a bearing on this case. last night, while my partner tierney and myself were conferring on this case at my house, somebody tried to listen outside my door. i was pretty sure this was so from the sounds i heard; and when i went to the door, somebody dashed down the stairs and escaped in a motor car. i'm ashamed to say it, now, but at the time i suspected it was one of your confederates." "you've been mixed up in a good many cases, morgan, and probably have some half-finished affairs in the back of your head right now. i would say that such an occurrence could be connected with any one of these. on the other hand, this case is very fresh, and you have been active in working it up. some person may be trying to find out just how close you are getting to the trail, so as to take precautions, if necessary." at that moment there was a scream in the hall outside marsh's door. both men sprang to their feet and marsh leaped to the door. chapter ix the last letter at the same moment that marsh opened the door, tierney and the man from headquarters, who had been taking the photographs, came bounding down the stairs from the third floor. they all saw the body of a woman lying motionless on the landing. "who is it?" cried morgan, over marsh's shoulder. "jane atwood!" was the sharp reply. with that marsh stooped and took the unconscious girl up in his arms, the unusual tenderness and care of his movements being plainly apparent. carrying her into his apartment, while the others followed, marsh laid her gently on a davenport in the living room. "she must have had a shock of some kind and fainted," exclaimed morgan. "no," returned marsh, as he softly smoothed back the hair from her forehead, disclosing a bruise that was now rapidly discoloring and swelling. "somebody knocked her insensible." then added, "you sent your man away too soon, morgan." "my god!" burst out morgan. "what nerve! to think of pulling anything like this in a house full of detectives." "we have a tough customer this time," declared marsh. "ordinary methods won't go. watch her while i get some water." marsh went to the bathroom for a towel and some cold water. in the meantime morgan turned sharply to tierney. "from now on, while we work on this case, your job is to stand outside of every door i enter." tierney grinned. to some men it might have seemed that they were being thrust into the background. to tierney, however, the work immediately presented possibilities that stirred his fighting irish blood. without a word he went out into the public hall and closed the door behind him. marsh returned, and began to bathe the girl's forehead and the bruise with the cold water. while he worked over her, the photographer approached morgan and held out an envelope. "after your friend here picked the girl up," he explained, "i noticed this lying near her." morgan took the envelope. after a hasty glance he extended it to marsh. "a letter to this girl with a st. louis postmark!" he gasped. "good!" exclaimed marsh, without stopping his work to revive the girl. "just what i have been watching for. open it." morgan understood. turning to the photographer, he handed back the envelope. "slip into the kitchen, steam this open and make a quick copy." then, noticing the case on the floor beside the man, he added, "finished your work upstairs?" the man nodded. "then make a photograph of this letter at the same time. the handwriting may prove useful." taking the letter and picking up his case, the man went back to the kitchen. morgan turned to marsh. "how is she coming on?" he inquired. there was a slight flutter of the eyelids as he spoke and marsh called his attention to it. "she will be all right in a moment," he said. presently jane atwood's eyes opened slowly, and she gazed in a bewildered and uncomprehending way at the two men bending anxiously over her. marsh continued to bathe her forehead and gradually she seemed to realize her position. she struggled slowly into a sitting position on the davenport while the two men stood back, awaiting her first words. contrary to the usual idea of feminine return to consciousness, she did not inquire where she was. instead she startled the two men by asking, "did you get him?" "get who?" counter questioned marsh, taking the lead. "the man who was outside the door," was the reply. marsh and morgan exchanged quick glances. to them it was a confirmation that the listener of the night before was still seeking information about the case in hand. moreover, here might be a clue to his identity, or at least a description that would prove helpful, so marsh seated himself on the davenport at her side, while morgan went to a chair across the room. both men knew instinctively that this would put the girl more at her ease than if they continued to stand over her like inquisitors. marsh continued the conversation. "we know nothing about what happened," he said. "we heard a scream. when we opened the door you were lying there. no one was around except two policemen who came down from the third floor at that moment, having also heard your cry." after this simple statement of the situation, marsh paused, waiting for the girl to go on. he felt that in her dazed and weakened condition questions would still further bewilder her, might even cause a revulsion that would delay or prevent their getting information that would prove of inestimable value. the girl paused, as if to collect her thoughts, and passed her hand before her eyes with a motion similar to sweeping aside a curtain. then she spoke. "i went to the hairdresser's in the block below. returning, i stopped to take a letter out of the mail box and then started up the stairs to my apartment." at this point she passed her hand over her hair and smiled as she realized its disheveled appearance now. "as i turned up the flight to this floor, i saw a man crouched down before the door of this apartment. he did not hear me until i reached the top of the stairs. then he jumped up, and seeing me, tried to push by. remembering the burglary, or whatever it was, upstairs, i knew i should try to stop him. so i seized his coat and we started to struggle. instantly i saw him draw back his arm, then i felt the blow. i remember nothing of what happened from that moment until i awoke just now on this davenport." marsh sat up and clenched his hands. "if i knew what the fellow looked like i would thrash him the next time i saw him," he threatened, hoping thus to draw out the description he wanted. "oh, i can describe him--at least in a general way. he was short, not much over five feet, and quite thin. his face had a peaked look. while we struggled his hat fell off and i saw that he was almost bald. his nose was large, and taken with his thin face and rather large bright eyes, it seems to me now that he looked just like an eagle." "had you ever seen him before?" morgan asked. "never," she answered, and the positive note in her voice could not be mistaken. "i will send your description to all the stations," said morgan. "we will try to get that fellow." morgan went to the telephone and called the detective bureau. he gave the necessary directions, and as he returned to his chair, remarked, "in an hour or two this won't be a safe town for that fellow." "you are the detective who came to see me!" exclaimed the girl. "perhaps this is the man you are looking for." "perhaps," agreed morgan. "i can tell better after i get my hands on him." "oh, my!" cried the girl, and began to search about the davenport. the two men suspected she was looking for the letter, and they were relieved to see the photographer appear in the doorway at that moment. "have you lost something?" inquired marsh. "yes, the letter i took out of the mail box." "here it is, miss," said the photographer, stepping forward and presenting the letter to her. "i picked it up in the hall where you dropped it." she took it and thanked him. "i'm so glad you found it," she added. "it is from my father, and i have not heard from him in a long time. i feel better now and will go home." she rose slowly with the words. noting her weakness, marsh stepped to her side and slipped his arm under hers. "let me help you up the stairs," he said, gently. "thank you," she returned, simply, realizing her need of help. "i'll wait until you come back, marsh," said morgan. the girl started. "are you mr. marsh?" she exclaimed. then, as marsh nodded, she added, "why, you are the man who sent this detective up to see me." marsh glanced quickly at morgan, who, behind the girl's back, dropped one eyelid slowly and significantly. "well, you seemed the most likely person to have information, being right on the same floor," marsh said, smiling. there could be no question that this was a natural explanation, and the girl seemed satisfied. with a nod and a smile to morgan and the photographer, she allowed marsh to assist her out of the door and up the stairs to her apartment. tierney rose from the step where he had been sitting, to let her pass, and she favored him with one of her pretty smiles as he did so. tierney then climbed after them to the next landing and stood watching. marsh waited until the door closed after her. then, with a catch in his breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, he went back to his apartment. tierney gave him a peculiar look as he passed. the photographer had gone, but morgan held out the copy which he had made of the letter as soon as marsh entered, with the remark, "now, what's the game?" marsh took it and read: my dear daughter: i have returned from the last trip i shall ever make. i have never told you, not wishing to cause you worry, but my health has been gradually failing for many years. i can no longer attend to my duties on the road and have had to give up my position. the doctor gives me but a few months to live, so rather than be a burden to you i have decided to end the thing at once. when this letter reaches you, the mississippi will be carrying my body to the sea, where i hope that it will be lost to the world forever. knowing that my time was approaching, i long ago arranged for your future. if you will identify yourself to the national trust company, chicago, you will find that you have been amply provided for. as we do not lease the apartment direct from the owner, you had better move out at once and go to an hotel. no one can hold you responsible. good luck and success in your music. god bless you, and good-bye. your devoted father. "what's the game?" repeated morgan, when he saw that marsh had finished reading the letter. "a convenient disappearance, that is all," returned marsh. "things were beginning to get too hot for him. no doubt he thought you were getting closer than you really were. poor girl," he added. "she will take it as gospel truth, and we dare not tell her otherwise--not now, anyway." "one thing is certain in my mind now," asserted morgan. "there was a murder upstairs. they planned to put some person who was becoming a menace, quietly out of the way. but you spoiled it!" "no, i did not spoil it," said marsh. "the shot did that. i have felt for some time that that shot was a mistake--a slipup somewhere." "i've got to go; it is two o'clock," exclaimed morgan as he looked at his watch. "where shall we hold future conferences! i do not want to be seen coming here too often. it might lead to suspicions of you, and i think we can accomplish more if your connection with the case is not made clear." "how about your house?" inquired marsh. "knowing that you are now suspicious, and with tierney on the doorstep, they will probably keep away from there in the future." "well, let it stand at that for the present," agreed morgan. "telephone me when you want to come. my number is in the telephone book." with that the two men's hands met in a strong grip as if to seal their future partnership. morgan opened the door and then started back with a cry. tierney lay stretched out across the landing, apparently asleep. but morgan knew the man better. chapter x the stolen suitcase the placing of tierney on guard in the hall had been an impulsive act on morgan's part. it was more to put an idea into immediate execution than to actually have a protecting outpost at this time, for the very nature of his experience would have told morgan that after the mysterious attack upon jane atwood there would be little possibility of a similar occurrence the same day. the instant he saw tierney lying in the hall, however, he realized that the man had been the victim of a somewhat similar attack, and the mere thought that such a thing was possible stunned him into inaction for a moment. the next minute both he and marsh were kneeling at tierney's side and endeavoring to arouse him. morgan removed tierney's cap and passed his hand around over the man's head until he found a slight lump, a little back of the right ear. "knocked out with a black-jack!" he cried. "how could a man get that close to tierney without being heard!" "the carpet in these halls and on the stairs is well padded," explained marsh. "i have noticed on a number of occasions that people passing up and down these stairs make very little noise unless a foot happens to strike the woodwork. and you can be sure of one thing, morgan, this man must have been pretty close at hand. he got into action without having to do much climbing." "or descending," added morgan, suddenly, looking at marsh. "if he came down the stairs, morgan, then the girl has certainly been pulling the wool over our eyes." morgan shook his head doubtfully. "well, i'll acknowledge that it takes a pretty wise detective to understand a woman." at this moment, tierney showed signs of coming back to life. his eyes opened and looked at them with a dazed stare. almost instantly this changed to a savage glare. his two arms shot up, seized the men leaning over him and pulled them down. like most people who have been knocked unconscious, tierney had no idea of the intervening lapse of time. before becoming unconscious he had probably realized that he was attacked, and he was now taking up the fight where he had left off. "hold on, tierney--this is morgan--morgan--do you understand? and this is marsh with me!" the two men held tierney down until he had a chance to collect his thoughts. then he smiled sheepishly as he looked from one to the other. "what the--!" he began; then paused. they jerked him to his feet and set him down on the stair. there he sat for a moment, rubbing the sore spot on his head, of which he now began to be conscious. "guess i'd better resign," he said, dolefully, coming to a full realization of the situation. "a detective ain't much use after he begins to need a bodyguard." "cut the nonsense, tierney," admonished morgan. "tell us what happened." "that's what i'd like to know," growled tierney. "well then," suggested morgan, "tell us what happened up to the point where you don't know anything." "let's see," reflected tierney. "when you sent me out into the hall, the first thing i did was to go part way up this flight of stairs and make sure that all was clear above. then i sat down exactly where i am sitting now, but close to the stair rail. i figured that if anybody came up the stairs i could see him before he spotted me. i heard a couple of people go out downstairs, but everything was quiet up here. i kept my eye on your friend here while he took the girl upstairs. after he went in i settled back in the same place again. finally i felt like a smoke. there didn't seem much chance of anybody coming back again, so i figured i might as well have a smoke and i got out my pipe. while i was lighting up, something hit me. you know the rest better than i do." "but," expostulated morgan, "you're no green hand, tierney. how could anybody sneak up behind you without your hearing them?" tierney looked foolish for a moment, then brightened up. "morgan," he said, "i've got the dope. that old pipe of mine was wheezing like a sick horse when i began to pull on it. that's what gave the fellow his chance. i'll admit it, morgan--i should have known better than to light it in the first place." "all right, tierney, you've learned your lesson. but i'm afraid you let something good slip by you." "it is my opinion," marsh broke in, "that he has let the most important actor in the drama get away. the man must have been pretty desperate to take such a chance, and i doubt if anyone but the leading character would have been so anxious to get away quickly and unseen. now then, let us go up to the atwood apartment. i will assume the role of protector to miss atwood while you two, whom she knows to be detectives, can search the flat." at this, tierney stood up on the stairs and looked suspiciously at marsh. then, as morgan agreed to the idea, tierney turned toward him and exclaimed, "say, you gone crazy?" morgan gazed at him in astonishment. marsh laughed. "tierney is still suspicious," he said. morgan's face lit up with understanding. going over to tierney, he whispered in his ear. "well, i'm damned!" tierney mumbled. the three men then climbed the stairs to the atwood apartment, and morgan's hand was already on the push button of the electric bell when there was an exclamation from marsh. "stop!" he cried. "look here." they instantly saw what he meant. the wood door was standing open about two inches, and there was sufficient light in the entrance hall of the apartment to show that at least no one was looking out. "remember, i'm in the background on this," marsh whispered to morgan. "you two take, the lead--but be cautious." morgan pulled out his revolver and tierney followed his example. then morgan gave the door a quick push and stood back. it swung back against the wall with a resounding thud, but outside of that sound everything remained silent. the three men then moved warily into the doorway, with tierney and morgan in the lead. while marsh remained in the entrance hall, tierney stepped into the living room and morgan crept cautiously through the portieres into the dining room. so silently did these two men move that marsh heard, nothing until, a moment later, he saw morgan step back through the portieres. the doors of both the bedroom and the bathroom stood open and morgan, without saying anything to marsh, investigated these two rooms. then he returned to the entrance hall and spoke to marsh, who had already been joined by tierney. "not a soul in the flat but the girl," whispered morgan. "she's in a chair in the dining room, and apparently unconscious again. there's an odor of chloroform in the dining room!" marsh sprang through the dining room portieres, followed by the others. he found jane atwood in a rocking chair near one of the windows. she was apparently unconscious, but there were convulsive movements of her body. marsh sniffed the aromatic odor and nodded. "i don't think they gave her much," he said. "she's just barely unconscious. i'll try to revive her while you two look things over more carefully." morgan turned to tierney. "you take another look at the front," he directed. "look through all the drawers and closets, but be careful not to leave anything upset." tierney promptly started on his work of investigation. morgan turned back into the kitchen. he had previously noticed that the maid's room was upset and he wanted to examine this room again. the bed was made up, but as the linen was fresh and unwrinkled it seemed certain that no one had occupied it recently. the chief cause of the disorder seemed to have been a hasty examination of the closet. a roll of blankets and some other articles that had evidently been on the shelf of the closet had been pulled down and scattered over the bedroom floor. a couple of suits, and other articles of men's attire, were hung on the hooks, apparently undisturbed. morgan saw that a speedy search had been made for something. whether or not the object had been found it was impossible to say. going back into the kitchen, and trying the rear door, he discovered that, though closed, it was unlocked. he locked it, and returning to the dining room, found that marsh had succeeded in reviving the girl. tierney was also there, and the two men were chatting with her. "you seem to be having a good deal of trouble today," said morgan, as he neared her. she smiled wanly at him. "i can't understand it at all. burglars must be extremely bold in chicago." "do you think it was a burglar?" asked morgan. "what else could it be?" she returned. "i am sure that i have no enemies anywhere, and i haven't even any friends in chicago." "are you keeping anything of special value in the house?" inquired morgan. "only what you can see about you," she replied "and these rings, which have not been touched." "you are sure you didn't have anything of value concealed in the maid's room?" "no, that's the room my father uses when he comes home from his trips." "well, perhaps he had something of value there." "i'm quite sure he did not," she said, positively. "how do you feel now, miss atwood?" asked marsh, catching the drift of the questioning. "just a little bewildered," she replied, "and slightly nauseated, but i think i shall be all right presently." "do you feel equal to looking over that room now?" marsh inquired. "i think so," she said, and with marsh's assistance, she arose from her chair. morgan led the way and the girl, leaning on marsh's arm, followed. "you see," said morgan, when they had reached the maid's room, "somebody has pulled everything off the shelf. is there anything missing as far as you know?" miss atwood looked over the articles on the floor, glanced at the empty shelf, and at the bottom of the closet. then she turned to morgan. "my father had a suitcase on that shelf," she said. "i do not see it there now." "oh," murmured morgan. "was it an empty suitcase?" "i really couldn't tell you. i never examined it, as it was always pretty well hidden under a lot of other things." "i see," said morgan. "the burglar evidently stole only the suitcase, thinking perhaps there was something of value in it. we'd better go now," he added, turning to the others. "miss atwood will want to lie down and rest after her exciting day." when they reached the front door, morgan turned to her. "do you expect your father home soon, miss atwood?" he inquired. "oh," she exclaimed, "i haven't read my letter yet. you see, i had just reached the dining room when that burglar attacked me." "you need not worry about any further disturbances or attacks, miss atwood," morgan assured her. "there will be a policeman at the front and back of this house inside of an hour, and they will stay here until we clear up this case." "and remember that i live close at hand, on the floor below, miss atwood," reminded marsh. "if there is anything i can do to help you at any time, don't fail to call upon me." "thank you," she replied, and closed the door as the men went down the stairs. chapter xi the trail grows clearer "i want to use your telephone for a minute," morgan said to marsh, as they went down the stairs. "i want to have men put on duty here as soon as possible, and i think it would be well to send out that description you have of atwood. we might catch him at one of the railway stations, trying to leave the city." marsh unlocked the door of his apartment and morgan immediately went to the telephone. he gave the detective bureau a description of atwood, added that the man would probably be carrying a suitcase, and suggested that all outgoing trains be watched. then he got the captain of the precinct on the telephone, and after explaining the attacks that had taken place, was assured that two men would be placed on duty to watch the house within a few minutes. "good lord, i'm starving to death!" cried tierney, as morgan left the telephone. "what time is it, anyway?" morgan glanced at his watch. "three-thirty," he replied. "now you speak of it, tierney, i feel kind of hungry, myself. how about you, marsh?" "it was on my mind to suggest a little luncheon," returned marsh. "suppose we run down to sally's waffle shop. it's only a block south, and it would be a quiet place to talk things over while we are eating. it is a good place to eat, too. i've had nearly all of my meals there since i took this apartment." the others agreeing, the three men then walked down to the little restaurant. as it was an off hour they were able to get a table in a secluded corner where their conversation could not be overheard. "i think this lunch should be on me," said morgan, as he looked at marsh with a twinkle in his eye. "no," objected marsh, "i should hardly call you a loser. your work has really disclosed a lot." "anyway, headquarters will think you're doing something, morgan," broke in tierney. "all those descriptions you shot over the 'phone today looked as if you were getting the dope on somebody." "i suggest," said marsh, "that as you fellows have been my guests most of the day, you now be my guests for luncheon. order what you like. you can get anything here from waffles to a full meal." "a big, fat, juicy steak for mine!" cried. tierney. "yes, you're an invalid, aren't you!" scoffed morgan. tierney rubbed the bump on his head and grinned. they gave their orders to the waitress, and while waiting, morgan explained marsh's participation in the work in reply to an anxious reminder from tierney. the startling shattering of the net, which they believed they had drawn around marsh, for once stunned tierney into silence. when their hunger had been partly satisfied, morgan reminded marsh that they had not yet analysed the peculiar situation discovered in the atwood apartment. "i hurried you fellows out so we could talk over that suitcase," morgan explained. "of course, i've got some ideas of my own, but i'd like to know what you think, marsh." "well," replied marsh, "if you and tierney will tell me exactly what you discovered, i'll tell you what i think." "my part's easy to tell," said tierney. "i didn't find anything suspicious. i spent most of the time turning over a lot of pink silk and lace things that almost made me blush. there were no letters or photographs, and as far as i could see, none of the things had been disturbed until i turned them over myself." "and i," said morgan, "found the mess that you saw in the maid's room. i also discovered that the back door was unlocked." "i had a theory," explained, marsh, "and what you say about the back door clinches it. now, suppose you were a crook, and had committed a crime that, through careless management, had brought the police right next door to your headquarters; the place you had hoped to reserve for emergencies, as a matter of fact. suppose you had reason to believe that they would begin to suspect you. you have long had a plan ready to throw the police off the scent, if anything should ever happen, by pretending to make away with yourself. you put the first step of this plan into execution by sending a letter stating that you are now as good as dead. then you suddenly remember that at your refuge you have left some important evidence; something that, if discovered, might offset your well-laid plans. what would you do? you'd try to get that evidence, wouldn't you?" "that is precisely what happened. atwood, accompanied by one of his men, who was to stand guard, returned to his apartment to secure that almost forgotten evidence. now, the man he left on guard heard some familiar voices, or perhaps a name he recognized. he overlooked his duty for the moment and tried to listen. he was discovered. naturally, his first thought was of himself, and he made his escape. up in his apartment, atwood, who had secured what he sought, is ready to go, but is delayed by this disturbance in the hall. he doesn't know exactly, what it is, so he sticks close. then he thinks of making his escape down the back stairs, but unfortunately some of his feminine neighbors are gossiping on the stairs below. he could not go down that way without attracting attention that might prove awkward later. suddenly he hears the door of his apartment open, and some person enter. he watches, and discovers that his daughter has come home, alone. now, if she should see him, his well-laid plan is ruined. its greatest success lies in her honest conviction that he is really dead. he is trapped; front, rear and on the premises. he is desperate. something must be done quickly. in a favorable moment he springs upon the girl from behind and renders her unconscious with chloroform. he finds the back stairs still closed to him, and in his haste forgets to lock the door as he closes it. he finds a man keeping guard on the front stairs. he decides quickly that he can deal better with this man than the women of the back. he watches and waits, leaving the door open for a quick retreat. his opportunity comes when this man's attention is directed to the lighting of a pipe. in a flash he is down the stairs, knocks the man unconscious, and goes out the front door. the next minute he is lost in the crowds on the street and is free." "that, gentlemen, is my explanation of what happened in the house today. of course, it is largely theory, but i believe it fits the case uncommonly well." "i'll say you're there!" cried tierney. "yes," morgan agreed. "you talk as if you had been a spectator of the whole occurrence. i doubt if a clearer explanation could be made, and i think you came pretty near the truth when you said a little while ago that we actually had uncovered something today. there is still a mystery of some kind, but thanks to you, we are now in a position to take some definite steps toward solving it." "still, there is one illogical point in your surmise. the letter from st. louis arrived sometime this morning. if atwood was in chicago tuesday morning, how did he get that letter off, so quickly?" "the trouble with an analysis based chiefly on speculation, morgan, is that many points may seem illogical and unexplained. we can only rely definitely upon the outstanding features. however, i never adopt any explanation unless it has a basis in possibility. you remember that a while ago i told you i thought that shot was a mistake--that it was never intended a shot should be fired. whoever was engaged in that occurrence knew that the shot would lead to a police investigation, and once the police start, there is no telling where the matter may end. to head them off quickly, is it not possible that someone left immediately for st. louis to post that letter?" morgan nodded. "it's straining a point, but it's quite possible, marsh. at least, we have no better explanation." they had finished their meal, and after marsh settled the bill, parted on the sidewalk; marsh to return to his apartment and await developments there, while morgan and tierney undertook some investigations which morgan had in mind. on his return to the house, marsh noted with satisfaction that a policeman in uniform was already on duty. however, he wanted to make sure that the girl was all right, so instead of going directly to his apartment, he continued on up the stairs to the atwood apartment and rang the bell. after a slight pause, miss atwood opened the door. her eyes were red with weeping, and she held her handkerchief so as to partly conceal her face. "i called to see if everything was all right," explained marsh. "why, what has happened?" he knew perfectly well the cause of the girl's trouble, and he had to struggle hard to assume an air of ignorance. it tore his heart to see this girl, for whom he felt a growing affection, in such distress, knowing that all the time he possessed the knowledge to sweep away her grief. and yet would it? was it not probable that a girl like her would feel even greater grief at the knowledge that her father was a hunted criminal instead of merely dead? she presented a most pitiable figure standing there, absolutely alone in the world. she had gone through experiences that day which would have made the average woman collapse, and to cap it all she had received the final blow in the news of her father's death. marsh's heart went out to her: he longed to take her into his arms and ask her to allow him to henceforward be her protector. it was hard to hold himself in check, yet he knew that it was no time for this disclosure of his own feelings. instead, he stepped quietly through the door and sat down in the living room, where the girl joined him. she wept silently for a few moments, while marsh sat and waited. at last she spoke. "my father is dead, mr. marsh." "what a shock!" he exclaimed. "i am so sorry. how did it happen?" "you know i received a letter from him this morning. it said that his health had failed, that he could no longer work, and that by the time the letter reached me he world have committed suicide." marsh's life had been devoted to running down criminals. he had had very little to do with women except those of the criminal type. he was at a loss, therefore, for words to comfort this delicate girl. he was further embarrassed by the knowledge of facts which he dared not divulge. everything he said sounded crude and rough in his ears, but somehow his words seemed to have a soothing effect on the girl and eventually her weeping ceased. "she's a wonder!" thought marsh. "the bravest little woman i ever knew." then addressing her, he said, "miss atwood, after all that has happened, it is not possible for you to stay here alone tonight. you should go to an hotel, where you will feel protected and secure, and at least know that, even though they are not your friends, you have people all about you." he hesitated a moment, then added, "i hope you will receive my offer in the spirit in which it is intended. if you are in any way financially embarrassed at the moment, i would be glad to take care of your hotel expenses until you can straighten out your affairs." "thank you, mr. marsh," she returned. "i appreciate both your offer and the spirit in which you make it, but i am well provided with funds. father was always generous with me, and even in his last letter he said that he had left me well provided for." "then pack up a bag at once, miss atwood, and let me escort you to some hotel. i suggest the monmouth. it is only a couple of blocks away and i know it to be a nice, quiet family hotel where the people would be congenial. in this time of trouble you would find it a comfort to have a few women friends. i think you have made a mistake in devoting so much time to your musical studies, while neglecting social opportunities." the girl considered a moment, then, springing up, said, "i will follow your suggestion. it would be dreadful to stay here alone tonight. in fact, now that i have no one to make a home for, it would probably be better for me to stay permanently at an hotel." she went to her room and prepared to leave the house. she soon reappeared with a bag, which marsh took from her. a few minutes later they parted at the desk of the monmouth hotel, and marsh returned to his apartment. it was strange how lonely the place seemed, 'now that he knew the girl was no longer under the same roof with him. chapter xii missing two days had passed without any word from morgan, and marsh himself had made little progress on the case, for a large part of those two days had been taken up in assisting jane atwood to pack her personal things and remove them to her new home in the hotel. they had been pleasant days for marsh, because he had derived considerable happiness from the little services he had been able to render the girl, and also because it was the first time in all the months he had been watching over her that he was actually in her company. during this time marsh had made one discovery of a peculiar nature, but its working out appeared to have no particular effect on the developments of the case. the morning after he escorted jane atwood to the hotel, she had returned to the apartment to begin her packing. while assisting in this, marsh had suggested that she notify the man from whom her father had rented the apartment, so that he could take steps to secure another tenant. he was amazed to learn that she knew nothing whatever about the matter, not even the name of the man from whom they rented. so during the morning, marsh called at the office of the agent of the building and explained the situation. the agent was surprised, saying that he had always supposed a mr. crocker, whose name appeared on the lease, occupied the apartment himself. the man's name not appearing in the telephone directory, the agent had suggested that he would write to the man's former st. louis address. marsh thought this a good idea, and owing to the odd situation which had developed, left his telephone number, suggesting that the agent let him know what he heard in the matter. the next afternoon, the real estate agent telephoned him that a telegram had just arrived from the man in st. louis, stating that he had never rented any such apartment in chicago, had never signed any lease, and did not know anything about the matter. to marsh, the situation was obvious. in renting the apartment atwood had used the name of a well known st. louis man so as to have good references and close the deal quietly without in any way bringing his own name and personality into the matter. there was nothing in this information to help the case in any way, yet it created a strange situation. here was an apartment full of furniture that rightfully belonged to the girl, and yet he could in no way convince her of that fact without also disclosing the other circumstances connected with the case. all that they could do was to walk out and close the door behind them, leaving the problem to the real estate agent to solve. this they did on friday afternoon, and so far as marsh was concerned, the atwood apartment was of no further interest, for it was obvious, now that atwood was supposed to be dead, no one connected with him would be likely to ever again visit the apartment. he decided, however, to remain in his own apartment for the present. the lease he had signed had still nearly a year to run. he was comfortable, and free to come and go as he pleased, without anyone noticing his movements. then there was no telling how long he would have to remain in chicago, for he felt that the solution of this case still rested somewhere within the city limits. at the present moment he was facing a blank wall, but any day or hour might furnish a new clue that would set things moving again. in fact, he was inclined to feel that when he again heard from morgan, the detective would probably have valuable information for him. it was saturday morning, and marsh, on his way back from breakfast at the little waffle shop, purchased a copy of the tribune and went back to his apartment to look over the day's news. no sooner had he opened the paper than this headline met his eyes: prominent broker missing marsh dropped the paper on his knees and thought for a moment. ever since tuesday morning, when the trouble had occurred, he had carefully scanned the papers for reports of any missing people who might in any way be connected with this occurrence. here at last was an announcement that looked promising. he began to read the article. richard townsend merton, the well known la salle street broker, has been missing far ten days, it was learned yesterday. gilbert hunt, the general manager of the merton business, notified the police that mr. merton had not appeared at his office, his clubs, or his hotel for some days. a telegraphed inquiry to his wife, who resides with an invalid son in arizona, brought the reply that mr. merton had not been there. the manager is inclined to believe that mr. merton has either wandered away during a lapse of memory, or may have met with an accident. the article then continued with the usual outline of what the police were doing, and a description of the broker's life and habits. marsh learned from this that merton had closed his country home in hubbard woods when his wife moved to arizona with their son. he had lived for the past two years at a downtown hotel, and spent most of his evenings at his clubs. after reading the entire article carefully, marsh cut out the accompanying photographs of merton and the absent wife and son. here was something worth investigating, he thought, for he remembered the cuff button with the initial "m," which morgan had discovered. for upwards of an hour marsh sat in deep deliberation, figuring how he could get in close touch with the situation without in any way disclosing his official connection or real interest in the matter. at last he decided to follow a plan which he had used successfully in connection with two previous cases. he looked up the address of the merton offices, and putting on his coat and hat, took the sheridan road motor bus downtown. marsh located the merton offices on the fifteenth floor of the la salle trust building, and paused a moment inside the door to look the place over. he found himself in a large room which contained several stenographers and clerks. to his left was a grill work with a window marked, "cashier," and beyond this, several men who were evidently bookkeepers. in front of him was a railing, behind which sat a girl at a telephone switchboard. at the other side of the room, floors opened into what were evidently three private offices. on the first door he saw the name, mr. merton; on the second, mr. hunt. the third door was blank. approaching the girl, marsh inquired if mr. hunt was in. "yes," she replied, looking him over. "have you a card?" marsh handed her a card and she went into mr. hunt's office. in a moment she returned and said, "please step in." marsh entered hunt's office and closed the door behind him. it was the usual private office, with a large flat top desk in the center. this was so arranged that hunt's back was to the light, which fell full upon any visitor's face. some files, a bookcase, and a small table littered with papers, stood against the wall. hunt motioned to a chair and said, "sit down, please." marsh's card lay before him on the desk. he picked it up and read: gordon marsh private investigator then looking at marsh as he laid the card down, he said, "what can i do for you?" "as you see by my card," replied marsh, "my business consists of conducting special private investigations. i read in the morning paper that mr. merton is missing, and i came in to see if you would care to use my services." "i have placed the entire matter in the hands of the police," returned hunt. "you probably know, as well as i do, mr. hunt, that that is the next thing to burying the matter. they will be very busy for a couple of days and then forget it." "that is about what i thought, mr. marsh," admitted hunt. "but isn't it important, for business reasons, that you ascertain definitely, and as quickly as possible, just what has happened to mr. merton?" marsh asked. "to a certain extent, yes. but mr. merton has left the business entirely in my hands for some time, and things will continue satisfactorily in his absence." "then i presume you wouldn't care to have me conduct a private investigation on your behalf, mr. hunt?" "well, i'll tell you, mr. marsh," said hunt. "until you presented your card to me this morning, the thought of doing anything beside notifying the police had not occurred to me. let me think for a minute." with that, hunt swung his chair around so that his back was toward marsh, and gazed thoughtfully out of the window for a few minutes. "in your work," he said at length, swinging around toward marsh once more, "you probably come into more or less close contact with the police. i mean by that, that you would work with them more or less on a case of this kind." "certainly," replied marsh. "i follow up every likely clue, including everything which may be unearthed by the police." "after thinking it over, it may be that we can come to some arrangement, mr. marsh," said hunt. "what are your terms?" "my charges are $ . a day, and expenses," said marsh. "whew!" whistled hunt, "that's pretty steep. i could hire all the private detectives i wanted for ten dollars a day." "but i'm not a regular detective," protested marsh. "i'm an investigator." "you make a distinction, do you?" smiled hunt. "absolutely," asserted marsh. "i merely dig up the facts and turn them over to you for any action you see fit. my investigative work could hardly be classed with the ordinary work of the detective." hunt clasped his hands before him on the desk. after a moment's thought, he said, "all right, marsh, i'm going to engage you. see what you can discover, and report to me whenever you think you are making progress. incidentally, keep your eye on the police and see what they are doing. as long as you are working on this job for me, it will be curious to see just how effective our police really are. now, i suppose you want to ask some questions." "yes," said marsh, "one or two; although as a rule i prefer to start with my mind as free as possible. mr. merton has been living at the lasalle hotel, i understand?" "yes." "how long has he been living there?" "two years." "i suppose i can find out something of his habits there." "i think i get your drift, marsh," said hunt, with a smile. "i can assure you from my personal knowledge, that mr. merton has led a very quiet and most exemplary life. practically all his evenings have been passed at the university and chicago athletic clubs, and i believe that occasionally he dropped into the hamilton club, of which he is a member." "why did his wife go to arizona?" inquired marsh. "the boy has weak lungs and the doctors said his life could be saved only by several years' residence in the arizona climate. mrs. merton worships the boy and insisted upon going with him. they have been there two years." "when do you expect them back?" asked marsh. "i understand the boy is not much better. it might be years before they return, unless the boy should die." marsh thought a moment, then said, "you mentioned before that the business could go on without mr. merton. i presume he has given you power of attorney?" "yes," said hunt. "in case of his death, mr. hunt, who would be his executors?" "i cannot see that that has any bearing on the case." "perhaps not," said marsh, "but i am following a line of thought." "well," returned hunt, "if it's of any use to you, i may say that i will be the sole executor." "it was a very wise move on your part to employ me in this matter, mr. hunt, in view of that fact." "how so?" inquired hunt. "because to the outsider it might appear that you had some personal interest in mr. merton's disappearance. you know, sometimes the police are stupidly suspicious." hunt sat up with a start. "you have given me food for thought, marsh," he said. "i hadn't looked at the matter in that light before." "well," returned marsh, "you can now see that my investigations and reports will be of the utmost value to you. furthermore, as you have already suggested, i can keep my ear to the ground where the police are concerned, and keep you advised of what is going on." "mr. marsh," said hunt, rising. "i am very glad you came in to see me. you can count upon my keeping you on this job until everything is settled." "one more question," said marsh, also rising. "i noticed a mention of mr. merton's country house. has anyone looked to see if mr. merton could by any chance have gone there because of illness, or for some other reason?" "i know positively he is not there," hunt replied. "i keep a caretaker on the premises, and occasionally look over the place myself to make sure that everything is all right. the caretaker assures me that mr. merton has not been near the place since he closed the house two years ago." "one thing more, mr. hunt, before i go. people sometimes question my right to investigate. will you give me a line stating that i am authorized to represent you in this matter?" "certainly." hunt sat down at his desk and hastily penned a few lines on a sheet of letter paper, which he then handed to marsh. marsh carefully folded the paper, placed it in his pocket-book, and bidding hunt good day, went out. chapter xiii startling disclosures "why is it that business men, who pride themselves on their astuteness, almost invariably slip up somewhere?" thought marsh, as he left the la salle trust building and walked north on la salle street. this thought was occasioned by the fact that hunt had neglected to ask marsh for his address and telephone number. it might be, of course, that the man had taken it for granted that his name and address would be readily found in the telephone directory. though this explanation passed through his mind, he was more inclined to believe that hunt's intense interest in the matter, or possibly a newly aroused fear, created by marsh's reference to the peculiar attitude in which he was placed, had driven the subject of details, out of hunt's mind. marsh had come downtown with the intention of giving his present address, but as the interview progressed, a feeling grew upon him that it might be just as well, at this time, to give some downtown business address. the fact that no inquiry had been made on this point relieved him of the necessity of giving a fictitious address on the spur of the moment. his next step, however, must be the securing of such an address, for it was beyond question that during his next interview with hunt this information would have to be given. marsh glanced over his shoulder at the great clock in the board of trade building, which keeps guard over la salle street. it was just twelve o'clock, and he reasoned that the people he contemplated questioning would probably be going to lunch. he decided to spend the next hour, therefore, in securing some sort of office address. by this time he had reached madison street, and turning east, looked over the buildings as he passed along, with the idea of selecting one in which a temporary office might be secured. at the corner of madison street and wabash avenue, he stopped and looked around him. on one corner was the building of a great department store. on the other three corners, big office buildings towered above him. at this corner also here was one of the madison street stations of the elevated railroad system. certainly, it was a most logical location for a man in his supposed line of work, so he entered one of the buildings, approached the starter in front of the elevators, and inquired if he knew anyone who would rent desk room. the starter furnished him with the names and room numbers of two places where he might inquire. the first of these which he visited proved satisfactory. he arranged with the young woman in charge to receive all mail and telephone calls for him and forward these to his regular address. making a note of the telephone number, he paid two month's rent in advance so as to get the matter off his mind, and returned to the street. the details of this arrangement had taken but a short time, so marsh went up to the men's grill maintained by a nearby department store, intending to eat a leisurely luncheon in one of the secluded booths. as he sat studying the menu, a small finger suddenly began to direct his attention to certain items, while a soft voice whispered in his ear, "how do you do, mr. marsh?" in work such as his, startling things were apt to occur at any moment, so marsh gave no outward indication of his surprise. "how do you do," he returned, without looking up, but his mind was working rapidly to place the voice. "what are you doing here?" the voice asked. "you know better than to ask that question, miss allen." marsh now glanced up with a smile. the waitress stood up, and to anyone across the room it would have appeared as if they were merely discussing his order, which she was writing on a pad. "if you are still engaged in counterfeiting work," she said, "i may be able to give you a valuable tip." "all right," said marsh, "bring me one of those oyster pies and a cup of coffee. we'll have a chat when you come back." in a few minutes she was back with his order and talked rapidly in a guarded voice as she placed the silver on the table and arranged his dishes. "about this time yesterday i had four men at this table and caught snatches of their conversation. i put the facts together about like this: there is a house in the suburbs, near chicago, where a counterfeiting plant has been in operation. in some way the attention of the police has been attracted, and the whole outfit is to be cleaned out as soon as they think they can get away safely. i have no idea regarding the location, but if you are looking anything up this may be a hint for you." "thanks, miss allen. it is a hint." without further words, she hurried away to attend to another table. marsh knew that the girl who had just given him this information was a government operative, like himself. he would have liked to learn more, if possible, especially descriptions of the men, but he did not know the nature of the work she was engaged in, and feared that any further contact between them might be unwise. for a moment he thought of slipping her his telephone number, but the cautiousness bred by years of experience warned him that telephones, like walls, sometimes have ears. however, he realized that she had told him something worth while. it was unlikely that there was more than one counterfeiting band in chicago at this time. she had given him a clue, which, like the cuff button, might tie up at any moment with some other developments. moreover, he now knew that his men were planning to get away and that something must be done in a hurry. after finishing his luncheon he wrote his newly acquired downtown address on a slip of paper, wrapped it in a bill, and then signaled to the girl that he desired his check. he handed her the bill carelessly, and said in a low voice, without looking up, "something inside for you." she returned in a moment with his change, and as she laid it on the table, said simply, "i understand." marsh then started out on his search for information regarding merton. while marsh was confident that he would get, the most important part of his information at the hotel where merton had lived, he decided to work up to that point rather than start there. one reason for this decision lay in the fact that night employees of the hotel could probably give him more valuable information regarding merton's movements than those on duty during the day. he was only a block from michigan avenue, where the clubs at which merton spent most of his time were located. at these places he secured little information that would further his quest. merton had impressed the employees of the clubs simply as a quiet man who had dropped in to read his newspaper or book, or have quiet chats with other members with whom he was acquainted. occasionally he was known to engage in a game of billiards or cards. it was hardly the life of a man who could have such close associations with a gang of counterfeiters as to draw upon himself an act of revenge or the necessity of removing him as a matter of protection. so far as marsh could discover, merton had never presented a questionable bill to the clubs. in fact, so far as anyone connected with them could recollect, all payments of any character had been made by check. marsh had pursued inquiries along this line, because, while almost anyone is liable at one time or another, to be in possession of counterfeit money, such a happening in merton's case might have possessed unusual significance. it was marsh's desire to ascertain, so far as possible, if there had been any connection of even a remote character, between merton and the counterfeiters. unless some such connection were established, it would be hard to believe that merton had been the sheridan road victim. yet the coincidences of this disappearance, the evidences of a crime, and the cuff button initialed "m," possessed too strong a significance to be entirely disregarded. at the third club marsh secured practically no information. merton had been an infrequent visitor and had made little or no impression upon the employees. walking north on dearborn street and across madison street, on his way from this club to merton's hotel, marsh thought quickly. if he could not at this time establish a connection, then at least he would try to ascertain the nature of the bait which had been held out to take this man of quiet habits to the north side at two o'clock in the morning. on reaching the hotel he found that it was still too early to interview the people he wished to see, so he sat down in one of the big chair in the lobby to pass the time studying the aspects of the case. even when his mind was busy, marsh's eyes were on the alert, and faces met under the most trivial circumstances, photographed themselves upon his memory. his eyes rested casually upon a man who sat opposite him, looking over an evening paper. gradually marsh began to feel that the face was familiar. with this realization came the recollection that the man had seated himself very quickly after marsh had selected his chair. perhaps his recognition of the face was something that came out of the past, but marsh always endeavored to connect every noticeable incident with the problem of the moment. it was not long, therefore, before he had placed the man. on coming out of the office building where he had made his temporary address arrangements, he had passed this man standing near the door and also remembered seeing the same man in the grill room where he had lunched. the fact that the man was now seated near him in the hotel lobby was more than a coincidence. marsh's eyes roved about the lobby with apparently careless interest, and not even the man across from him could have guessed that he had noted anything or become more watchful than before. however, he was planning action. if this man was watching him there could be but one reason--his connection with the present case. if he was connected with this case then he was evidently one of the men they wanted. marsh intended to be sure. to change the situation from watched to watcher would involve some quick and clever work. marsh pondered. as the bell boy passed marsh called to him, slipping a coin into the boy's hand, he said, "i had an appointment here with a mr. morgan. see if you can locate him." as the boy started off, calling the name, marsh watched the man opposite out of the corner of his eye. the man threw down his newspaper, stretched and yawned, while his eyes wandered about the lobby. his movements were of a very casual sort, but to marsh's watchful eye it was noticeable that his glances were actually following the bell boy seeking morgan. marsh was now convinced that his actions were under surveillance, and he next planned how to throw the man off. as he sat intent on this problem, he was startled to heap the bell boy say, "here's the gentleman, sir," and looking up, marsh saw morgan standing in front of him. the training of both men forbade any indication of the astonishment both felt, but looking into the other's eyes, each read the question there. marsh jumped up, and holding out his hand, exclaimed boisterously, "where have you been hiding yourself? i'd about given you up." "i'm sorry i am late," apologized morgan, in an equally loud voice, taking the cue. he pulled an adjoining chair close to marsh and sat down. "now," said marsh, in a low voice, "it is probably needless to tell you not to make your observation too obvious, but i want to call your attention to the man sitting opposite." morgan nodded. "he has been following me all the afternoon," continued marsh, in the same guarded voice. "as long as i sit here i surmise that he will stay where he is. that will give you time to slip out, pick up one of your men, and get him on the job. i suspect it will be worth while getting a line on him." "that's easy," returned morgan. "i'll have him locked up inside of the next ten minutes." "no," said marsh, "that would be taking too big a chance." "on. the contrary," said morgan, "it would be taking no chance at all. that man has been wanted for a year for putting over a confidence game. i won't mention any names because lips sometimes tell stories to watchful eyes. you just sit here and you'll see something in a few minutes." with that, morgan went out. a few minutes later a man strolled through the lobby and approached the stranger. he leaned over and whispered to him and the two went out together. marsh was congratulating himself that when this man got to headquarters he might be made to talk to some effect, when morgan and another man, whom marsh easily recognized as a detective, approached. "where in blazes did your man go?" exclaimed morgan. marsh stared for a moment. "why i thought your man got him," he said. "somebody came in and quietly took him out." "good-night!" exclaimed morgan. "somebody must have tipped him off." he turned to the man with him. "no use hanging around now. our bird's flown." as the man left them morgan sat down again beside marsh. "how the deuce did you know i was here?" he asked. "i didn't," returned marsh. "i had that bell boy page you to test the man across from me. i never had such a surprise in my life as when you turned up. what were you doing here?" he added. "the chief asked me to look into this merton case. what were you doing here?" "the same thing," replied marsh. "looking up merton?" "yes." "well, that's funny. what for?" "because i strongly suspect he is the murdered man in our case." morgan gasped. chapter xiv the night call as morgan recovered from his astonishment, marsh anticipated some leading questions. he headed these off at this time, by saying, "in this case, conditions seem to be somewhat reversed; for up to this time we have found practically no one who could be put under surveillance, yet we have every evidence that we are being carefully watched by others. several incidents have occurred, including the present little drama which convinces us of that fact. there is no question that we should again compare notes as soon as possible, but this is a dangerous place to discuss the case. i came here to question certain people. as they will not be on duty until later there is nothing i can do along that line for a little while. in the meantime, we ought to look over merton's rooms upstairs. i could not make an attempt to do this, because i do not possess the proper authority without explaining my real connections. you, however, as a city detective engaged on the case, will have no difficulty in making arrangements to inspect his room." "that is just what i dropped in to do," replied morgan. "then go ahead and make your arrangements," said marsh, "and when you are ready, let me go up with you. if we meet anyone, remember that i am working under the special authorization of mr. hunt, and you and i have just become acquainted." morgan went to the hotel office. in a few minutes he returned with a bell boy and nodded to marsh. guided by the bell boy, they took an elevator and ascended to merton's rooms, which they found consisted of a sitting room, bedroom and bath. obeying instructions, the bell boy at once retired and closed the door after him. they first inspected the bedroom, giving special attention to the dresser. this contained nothing save the usual supply of clothing, which served no other purpose than to indicate the wealth and conservative taste of the owner. marsh particularly sought some jewelry that might help to identify the cuff button as the property of the lost man. he found nothing, however, and considered it probable that whatever jewelry merton owned was on his person. from the bedroom the two men went to the sitting room, which they hoped would hold greater possibilities, for a desk stood in one corner near a window. a framed photograph of merton's wife and son, standing on top of the desk, of course had no significance. they then began a search of the drawers and the interior of the desk. "probably you have noticed," said marsh, after a moment, "the disordered condition of this desk." "now that you speak of it," agreed morgan, "i think it is pretty well mussed up." "i should say," commented marsh, "that either merton is very careless, or else we are not the first people to examine this desk." "probably the desk has been gone over, marsh," acceded morgan. "but you must remember that merton has been known to be missing for several days and hotel employees, even under ordinary circumstances, are apt to be curious. the point is worth remembering, but i doubt if it is of any importance." one by one, they examined various letters and papers. a few touched on business subjects, but the majority were of a personal nature. most of these were from merton's wife; the others from business men whose well known names placed them beyond suspicion. in one corner of the desk morgan picked up a sheet containing some notations regarding bond purchases. beneath this he found a black, leather-covered notebook of a size that would conveniently fit into a vest pocket. one glance into this and morgan gave an exclamation. "see here!" he cried, calling marsh's attention to the book. "this notebook has been kept in cipher. these combinations of letters and figures mean absolutely nothing as they stand." the two men slowly turned the pages, but as morgan had stated, the matter which the book contained conveyed nothing to them. "that looks as if merton had something to conceal, marsh." "on the face of it--yes," returned marsh. "but just glance at this sheet which covered the notebook. from its subject matter i should be inclined to believe that it represented merton's handwriting." morgan nodded and marsh went on. "now, when you come to look at this notebook, even a hasty glance shows a difference in the handwriting. in. fact, now that my attention has been drawn to it, there is really a marked difference." "well?" queried morgan. "offhand," returned marsh, "i would say, that somebody has been keeping a secret record. that person sat at this desk making additional notes. in a moment of forgetfulness, or perhaps the necessity of hasty concealment, the notebook was placed under this sheet and later overlooked. there is a possibility that this notebook was left by the person who preceded us at this desk." morgan took the notebook and examined it carefully for a few minutes. "in my work," he said, "i have several times run up against ciphers of various kinds. this is unlike anything i ever saw before, and looks as if it would be mighty hard to unravel." marsh again took the book and after carefully examining it, said, "i don't pretend to be a cipher expert. in fact, i never waste time on it. we have men both here and at washington who can read this sort of stuff backward. i'll send this book to them and we'll soon get a key to the cipher." at this moment, both men became silent and alert. someone was slipping a key into the lock of the door. marsh quickly dropped the notebook into the side pocket of his coat. a moment later the door swung open and gilbert hunt entered. he stopped with a start of surprise, but quickly recovered himself. "you gentlemen gave me a shock!" he exclaimed. "i didn't expect to find anyone here. already on the job, mr. marsh?" he added. "yes," returned marsh, easily. "i never lose any time, and this room naturally should be looked over." "and this gentleman with you?" questioned hunt. "detective sergeant morgan--mr. hunt," introduced marsh. "morgan is conducting the police investigation." then he added, with a wink at hunt. "we met downstairs and i thought we might as well look things over at the same time." "i see," said hunt, smiling. "have you discovered anything?" "nothing to which i can attach any great importance at this time," replied marsh. "i thought i would come up and look things over," explained hunt, as he strolled over to the desk and ran his fingers through the papers. the two men watched him with keen attention. "seems to be nothing here outside of personal correspondence," said hunt, turning around. "yes," morgan answered, "those letters appear to be of a very ordinary character. as far as i can see, there is nothing there that would help us." "i presume you are working along other lines also?" inquired hunt. "surely," said morgan. "we have several men on the case now." "and what have you found, mr. marsh?" inquired hunt. "nothing that gives me a lead so far. i will report to you as soon as anything comes to light." "better come to my home some evening," hunt suggested. "we can talk in greater privacy than at the office. you will find my address in the telephone directory. by the way, i believe you neglected to give me your address this morning, and i do not find your name in the telephone book." "that's right," exclaimed marsh. "i believe i did neglect to do that." marsh went over to the desk, tore off the corner of a sheet of paper, and wrote down his new address and telephone number. "here it is," he said, handing the paper to hunt. "my name would not be in the telephone book as my work necessitates frequent changes of address. one month i am liable to be in california and the next in europe. for the present, however, you will be able to get word to me at the address i have given you. naturally, i will seldom be there, but you can always leave word for me to get in touch with you." then marsh turned to morgan. "we'd better be moving along," he said. "yes," agreed morgan, "there's nothing more to be gained here." after exchanging a few commonplace words with hunt, the two detectives went out, leaving hunt in the room. downstairs, in the lobby, marsh said, "i strongly suspect that hunt wanted to be left alone in that room. that's why i hurried you away. the sooner he gets through up there, the quicker he will leave the hotel. i don't want him around while i am looking up the rest of my information. now, you watch the madison street entrance, while i stand across the street on la salle. when he leaves, the one that sees him will let the other know." the two men then separated and took up their watch. hunt must have made a careful examination of merton's rooms, because it was not until a half hour later that morgan rejoined marsh and informed him that he had seen hunt enter his automobile on madison street and drive away. "morgan," said marsh. "i want to have a talk with you after i get through here. suppose i come to your apartment tonight?" "fine!" agreed morgan. "i have some information to give you. i'll run up to headquarters now, make a report, and go right home. you will find me there whenever you are ready." "and here is a suggestion, morgan. when either of us calls on the other, the signal will be three knocks on the door instead of pushing the electric bell. i have a suspicion that answering a bell these days will have to be conducted with caution." "perhaps you are right," said morgan. "i'll remember." morgan then walked on up la salle street, while marsh crossed over and entered the hotel once more. there was now only one person who might give him a really definite lead--the night telephone operator--and he went straight to her switchboard. marsh knew that this young woman was probably overfed with smooth talk, so he counted upon getting better results by going straight to the point. "good evening," he said. "you are the night operator here, are you not?" the young woman, who was arranging things before her in a way that indicated she had but recently come on duty, replied in the affirmative. "do you remember mr. merton, who has been reported missing?" asked marsh. "i should say i do," exclaimed the girl. "an awfully nice man. he appreciated good service. every saturday night he gave me a box of candy." "read this," said marsh, handing her his authorization from hunt. "oh, i hope you do find out something," said the girl, as she returned the paper to marsh. "i'd just hate to think anything serious had happened to mr. merton." "all right," answered marsh, "then you'll be willing to help me?" "what can i do?" she inquired. "mr. merton's kindness to you made an impression upon you, did it not?" marsh asked. the girl nodded. "then you would naturally recollect anything of an unusual nature which might have taken place during the last few days, would you not?" "yes... i think so," returned the girl, somewhat guardedly. "a telephone call late at night?" suggested marsh. the girl was busy with her switchboard for a time. then she leaned back and looked at marsh. "see here," she said, "i'd do most anything to help find that man, but i can't take a chance on losing my job." marsh now knew that he was going to get important information if he handled the matter diplomatically. "remember," he explained, confidentially, "i am not a regular detective. i have nothing to do with the city police department. there will be no publicity attached to anything i learn. i am merely looking up confidential information for mr. hunt, who, as you know, has charge of mr. merton's business." the girl was again busy at the switchboard, and when at last there came a pause, she looked carefully around to see that no one else was within ear shot. then she leaned toward marsh. "he got a telephone message at twelve o'clock on monday night," she whispered. "you mean last monday?" questioned marsh. he recollected that merton had been reported missing for ten days. the girl nodded. "of course, at that hour," suggested marsh, "you were not very busy and would therefore be likely to listen in on the wire." "the very idea!" she exclaimed, indignantly. "look here," said marsh. "if i can rescue merton from the predicament he is probably in, someone will be handsomely rewarded. is it not a safe bet that the person who gives me the correct information to put me on the right track, will be pretty well taken care of?" the girl sat in thoughtful silence. "and if mr. merton should happen to be dead, mrs. merton would be very grateful, indeed, to anyone who had helped her learn the truth," marsh added. again the girl looked cautiously about. the hint of an ample reward was having its effect. "if i lose my job..." she warned, and then again leaned toward marsh. "i listened in, all right. it was a man who said his name was nolan. from what i heard i think he used to be a chauffeur for mr. merton. he said he was in an awful hole, that he was unjustly accused of theft, and that they were about to lock him up. he asked mr. merton if he could do anything to keep him out of this disgrace. mr. merton said he would try and asked where he was. nolan said he was being detained in the apartment of a man named ames, at some place on sheridan road--i forget the exact number." "did mr. merton go there then, do you know?" "i couldn't tell you that. he simply said, 'all right,' and hung up the receiver." "you have given me just the information i needed," said marsh. "your job is in no danger if you let this matter rest just between us two. if anyone else should question you, you don't know anything. and above all, forget about me. you get the idea?" "you bet!" replied the girl, as she turned again to her switchboard. marsh left the hotel, well satisfied with his progress. it was now fairly well established that richard townsend merton was the victim of clark atwood. chapter xv "dead men tell no tales" up to this time the case had seemed one of the most mysterious with which marsh had ever had to deal. now, however, while elements of mystery still remained, he had certain definite clues upon which to work. the little notebook in his pocket might prove to be a key that would unlock the final barrier. the most important thing before him now, therefore, was to secure a solution to the cipher. it was of too important a nature to trust to the mails so marsh decided to put it directly into official hands. he glanced at his watch. it was after six, and being saturday, it was likely that these men had left their offices in the federal building. at the same time, this was a very busy branch of the government and it was just possible that someone might be lingering late. marsh decided to take a chance. it had been clearly impressed upon him by this time that he was no longer free to come and go unnoticed. at this very moment there might be a pair of eyes somewhere in that hurrying throng on la salle street ready to follow his every move. however much they might suspect him, his exact status in the case was probably still a puzzle to them. he did not believe it safe as yet to betray his connection with the government. the problem then was to reach the federal building without being followed. marsh called a taxi, and loudly giving an address on the south side, was whirled away. taking out a bill, he laid it on the seat. in a couple of blocks the taxi was held up for a moment by traffic and marsh stepped hastily out and softly closed the door. he dashed up the street, turned down an alleyway, and half way down the block turned again through another alley that brought him to a different street. in these dark, deserted byways he could have instantly detected any attempt to follow him. a few minutes later he entered the federal building, quite sure that any possible pursuers had been thrown off the trail. he found a hard working official still in his office, and showing his credentials and explaining the object of his visit, marsh turned over the notebook. then he slipped out of the federal building, and went to a nearby restaurant to get his dinner. after dinner he proceeded by devious routes to keep his appointment with morgan. climbing to morgan's apartment, marsh gave three raps, the signal agreed upon. tierney opened the door, but after an exchange of greetings, put on his cap and passed out into the hall to stand guard. "both of us must have important information," said morgan. "which of us, shall tell it first?" "let me hear your story first," returned marsh. "all right," agreed morgan. "here goes. my chief information lies in the fact that we now have two men who are undoubtedly connected with atwood. both of these men are known to the police, and once we get our eyes on them they will probably lead us to the men we want. it is only a question of hours, perhaps, because every man on the force now has their descriptions and will keep his eyes open. the first of these is wagner, the man you saw in the hotel lobby. the other is the man who attacked miss atwood. with her description in mind, tierney and i looked over the photographs at headquarters. we picked out a man known as 'baldy' newman as best answering the description. i took a copy of the photograph to miss atwood at her hotel, and while she was not sure, she said it was enough like the man she saw to be the same person. now, this 'baldy' newman is a well known west side gunman, and we know his usual hangouts. he's a little bit of a shrimp, but an expert with his gun, and therefore a dangerous customer to handle, so tierney and i were mighty vigilant. we found, however, that for nearly two years he has shown up only twice at his old hangouts. that time ties up in a significant way with your story, marsh. the last time was early on monday night, when he showed a roll of money and boasted that he was going to pull off a real job that night. we got this from the bartender, who was mighty sore at 'baldy.' it seems that our friend had slipped a five dollar bill off his roll to pay for drinks for the crowd, and the bartender still has this bill as a souvenir. it was a counterfeit. of course, there's enough in all that to positively tie 'baldy' up with our case, even if miss atwood had not been fairly confident of her identification." "now," continued morgan. "here's some stuff i brought for you. sooner or later i believe you can make use of it." morgan handed some photographs to marsh, which he explained as marsh looked them over. "the first," he said, "is a photograph of 'baldy' newman. he's a good man for you to keep your eye out for, because if he ever shot first it would be all day with you. the second photograph is of wagner. you have already seen him, but this picture will fix him more firmly in your mind. the next photograph is the one our man made of atwood's letter. of course, the letter doesn't tell us much, but the handwriting may. that last photograph is of the hand marks on the dining room table in the ames apartment. ordinarily, marks of that kind would tell very little. our finger print expert, however, called my attention to the fact that there is a scar on the right hand. of course, a scar in that position might be found on many hands, but if you look carefully at that photograph you will see that the scar forms a sort of acute angle. it is, therefore, not an ordinary scar. the man whose hand we find it on is pretty sure to be one of the men who was in the ames apartment that night." "high class crooks like atwood, while they work alone, are often hard to get, but sooner or later they grow ambitious. they want to be the brains of an organization. then they call in second-rate crooks like 'baldy' and wagner, to do the dirty work. these men are never so clever, and some day, through them, the police get their hands on the man higher up. i think, marsh, that in this case that is what we are going to do." "you have done well, morgan," praised marsh. "i believe on the whole that, while i have secured some valuable information, your work has really brought us the nearest to the man we want." "that was pretty sharp of you to tie up merton with the case," commented morgan. "of course, when you mentioned it to me i saw its possibilities. before that i was thrown off the track by the fact that merton was reported to have been missing for ten days, whereas this supposed crime occurred at two o'clock last tuesday morning. why do you suppose that fellow hunt threw us off like that?" "probably he did not do it intentionally," answered marsh. "hunt is running the business for merton, and very likely saw little of him outside of the once. it may have been ten days since merton had appeared at his office, although only a few days since he was missing from the hotel." "what made you suspect it in the first place?" inquired morgan. "i'll tell you the whole story," said marsh. "naturally, i was watching the papers for missing people. when i saw that announcement this morning, and remembered the 'm' on the cuff button, it began to look like a possibility. at any rate, it was worth looking up. to get at the real facts, i knew that i would have to be on the inside, so i presented myself to hunt this morning as a private investigator who was anxious to get the job of looking up merton in the interest of his office. i think i got closer to hunt than any policeman ever would. in fact, i was furnished with inside information that may or may not be significant. this man hunt holds a power of attorney from merton, and merton's will names him as sole executor, of course, to a criminal investigator that sounds bad on its face. on the other hand, if hunt possessed such power with merton there could be no object in his wanting to get him out of the way. certainly, a man in hunt's position would not have had dealings with a crook like atwood. furthermore, if hunt did want to make away with merton, he would more likely do it himself than take the risk of employing others, and so place himself in a position to be blackmailed later. carrying the thought still further, would a clever man like atwood take a chance of upsetting his own plans by hiring himself out to hunt as a common thug?" "i am positive that atwood either killed or kidnapped merton, for i have discovered, through the telephone girl at the hotel, that merton received a telephone call at twelve o'clock monday night, summoning him out. that telephone call was supposed to come from the ames apartment. at two o'clock tuesday morning the shot was fired in that apartment and merton has not been seen since. we know definitely that atwood occupies the apartment across the hall, but at this time i cannot see any possible connection between the two men. hunt is evidently nervous, because it is my opinion that he used undue influence over merton, and this disappearance has placed him in a peculiar position. i particularly called this phase of the case to his attention this morning, and subtly suggested that my work would be of value to him in preventing suspicion on the part of the police. that feature was plainly what made him decide to employ me, and i am relying upon it to eventually get further valuable information." "the little book, with notes in cipher, which we discovered in merton's room, is somewhat of a puzzle to me just now. it may contain information that will be helpful, or it may prove just a memoranda of business deals. we must not overlook the fact that a man in merton's line of work, and the men with whom he did business, have many big plans which must be kept secret until they are launched. that book may have contained data along such lines, and merton may have simply been referring to it when suddenly called out. you will recall that we found a memorandum regarding business transactions covering the book." "but," protested morgan, "there must have been some connection between merton and atwood or else atwood would not have taken such a dangerous step against him. even you will admit that atwood was not an ordinary crook. doubtless, then, every step he took was the result of a definite plan." "quite true," agreed marsh, "but there was never a plan yet that didn't have possibilities of failure. you remember what i have said before; that i believed that shot to have been a mistake. if the shot was a mistake, could not other mistakes have also crept in? get atwood and i believe that many things will be cleared up." "now there is one thing more," went on marsh. "i cannot tell you where i got the tip, and the information is only general. still it helps. there are at least four men in the gang we seek, and their headquarters is in some suburban house near chicago. the most important point, however, is this: they know positively that we are after them, and have made arrangements to get out at the first opportunity. that means we must work fast." morgan was sitting in his favorite chair by the table. marsh was seated at the front of the room with his back to the window. at this moment the window glass above his head cracked, a dull thud sounded on the wall across the room, and bits of paper and plaster dropped to the floor. instantly marsh slipped down in his chair, so that his head came below its back, while morgan's hand shot out and snapped off the electric lamp on the table, throwing the room into darkness. aside from the slight cracking of the window glass, and the dull crash as the missile struck the plastered wall, there had been no other sound. morgan left his chair and felt his way through the darkened room. opening the hall door he cautiously peered out. tierney, with his hands in his trouser pockets, was leaning with his back against the wall. he glanced up quickly as the door opened. "everything all right, tierney?" inquired morgan. "sure thing." "haven't seen or heard anybody?" "nope." morgan closed the door and moved back into the room. "'dead men tell no tales'," said marsh, lightly. "was it that, or just a warning?" questioned morgan. "people do not go to all that trouble just to deliver a warning, morgan. they wanted to get me." "why you?" protested morgan. "i was here, too." "they couldn't possibly have seen you where you sat, morgan. on the other hand, my head, sticking above the back of this chair, and showing against the lamp-light, made an excellent target." marsh now rose and examined the window. "a nice, clean hole," he commented, "and not more than two inches above my head. a mighty good marksman, with a high-powered rifle, evidently." "rifle!" exclaimed morgan. "we didn't hear a sound!" "come here," marsh called. morgan joined him at the window. "from here you can see the grand stand in the ball park. the upper tiers are on a line with this window." "but," objected morgan, "that is too far away for any man to get a good sight; and remember, we heard no shot." "don't forget," marsh reminded him, "that we live in scientific times. with a telescopic sight, and a maxim silencer on his rifle, a good marksman could steady it on the back of one of those seats and pick us off at twice the distance without a sound." "it is very discouraging," groaned morgan. "to think that we may be picked off before we've even began to get near our man." "on the contrary," returned marsh, "it is very encouraging. when a criminal gets as desperate as that you are not very far away from him." marsh then pulled down the shades and instructed morgan to light the lamp once more. "seems kind of dangerous, under the circumstances," remonstrated morgan. "on the contrary, the man who fired that shot is probably miles away by this time. he is doubtless laughing to think of fat policemen crawling around over the benches up there right now." "they would have been," admitted morgan, "if i had been alone. as it was, i left it to you to do what you thought best." "i have a special reason, however, for lighting the lamp and pulling down the shades," explained marsh. "it is just possible that another member of the gang is watching out there for me to leave. pulling down the shades and lighting up will lead him to think i am still here. in the meantime, i am about to slip down your back stairs." "where are you going to stay tonight?" inquired morgan. "home, of course." "i admire your nerve!" exclaimed morgan. "sleeping up in that place all alone, with these fellows hot on your trail." marsh laughed. "seems to me they're pretty close to your house, too, morgan. aren't you going to sleep at home?" "yes," said morgan, grinning, "but somehow or other that big, half-furnished place of yours seems more dismal and open to the enemy than my little home here with a police station only a couple of blocks away." "you forget that i have two policemen on guard up there. they've not been ordered off yet. if i were to let my imagination scare me to death, morgan, i would have been out of the government service long ago. this experience is no worse than some of the things i went through during the war." "now, before i go, there are two matters i should like you and tierney to look up for me. first, locate a man named nolan, who was formerly mr. merton's chauffeur. find out what he has been doing for the last week or two; particularly where he was last monday night. nolan is the man who is supposed to have telephoned merton." "then try to get a line on gilbert hunt; how long he has been with merton, and things of that sort. i will look for you at my apartment monday evening. if anything important should happen in the meantime, try to get me on the telephone. now, i'm going." as they passed through the apartment, morgan said, "i'm sorry you didn't meet my mother. she never interrupts conferences, and has gone to bed by this time." "there will be many other opportunities, i hope," returned marsh. by this time they had reached the back door, and after a silent handshake, marsh slipped quietly down the rear stairs, then through the alley to addison street, where he boarded an elevated train and went home. he was re-assured by the careful way in which the officer on duty in front of his house scrutinized him as he passed, and went upstairs and straight to bed. it had been a busy day and marsh had many half-formed plans for the morrow. chapter xvi the closed country house sunday morning was gray and dark, with low-hanging clouds and a frosty snap in the air that gave the city its first touch of real autumn weather. returning from breakfast, marsh lit the gas logs in his fireplace and sat down before their cheery blaze to smoke and think. step by step he analyzed and strove to connect the developments of the last few days. the case was strange in many ways. with numerous clues, suspicions circumstances and half-identified people on every hand, there was no one feature upon which definite action could be taken. atwood was the most elusive criminal he had ever pursued. never at any time had the man become an actual personality. like a will-o'-the-wisp, he was ever in sight, yet just beyond reach. while the detectives struggled along tangled paths that led nowhere, atwood's long arm continually reached out to strike back. as he thought along these lines, an explanation slowly took form in marsh's mind. in some of its features it seemed weird and unreal. this, perhaps, was due to the fact that the few definite pieces of information in his possession had to be largely supported and connected by theories and deductions. strange as the explanation might seem, it nevertheless gave birth to a well-defined plan of action. in this way the morning slipped by and marsh was surprised, on looking at his watch, to find that it was nearly noon. he went to his telephone, called the monmouth hotel, and asked to speak to miss atwood. when the girl answered the telephone, marsh inquired if she would care to have dinner with him. the invitation was accepted with quite evident pleasure on the girl's part, and marsh soon left to keep his appointment with her. on his way to the hotel, marsh stepped into a cigar store, looked up gilbert hunt's telephone number, and made an appointment for the evening. marsh took this precaution of telephoning hunt from a pay station because a telephone call is easily traced, and he had not yet decided to advise hunt of his real address. jane atwood joined marsh in the lobby of the hotel, and the friendliness of her greeting made him glad of his decision to take her on the trip he had planned for the afternoon. they had dinner at the edgewater beach hotel. it was the girl's first visit to this show-place of the north side, and marsh was delighted with her animated interest in everything about her. in fact, he found it hard to believe that this girl, whose bright chatter, sunny smile and sparkling eyes now held him fascinated, had so recently been through such trying experiences. marsh felt that it was a natural reaction brought about by this diversion, and he long afterward remembered it as one of the happiest hours in a life that had been replete with professional adventure, but barren in the companionship of women of her sort. as they sat sipping their coffee, marsh said, "i imagine you have seen very little of chicago, miss atwood?" "yes," she admitted. "one takes less interest in things when sight-seeing trips must be made alone. you know, i have not seemed to make any friends in chicago." "when i can spare the time, i want to take you around a little. i am sure that you would enjoy the art museum, for art is akin to music and from what you have told me i know that you are deeply interested in that." "yes," she replied, "music has always been my chief companion. the dreams that other girls confide in chums, i have told to my piano." marsh lit a cigarette and smoked for a moment in silence. "how would you like to take a little trip with me out to one of the north shore suburbs this afternoon?" he inquired. "i should enjoy it very much," she said. "well," marsh went on, "there is a house out at hubbard woods that i want to look over this afternoon for a friend. this is just the day for a stroll along the autumn-leafed roads. i thought perhaps you would like to go with me." marsh aided her with her wraps and they walked across to the elevated railroad. at evanston, a few miles north of the city, they changed to the suburban electric line. the girl took a lively interest in the pretty suburban towns through which they passed, and it seemed to marsh as if they had but just boarded the train when the conductor called out their station and they alighted. the place was well named. a lonely little station set down in the midst of thick woods, and a road that wound slightly downhill and away among the trees were all that met the eye. they strolled down this road, passing occasional homes. these were usually well back from the road and almost concealed among the trees. in fact, in some places the house itself was not visible, the only indication of a residence being an ornamental gateway, or sometimes just a simple driveway disappearing into the woods. fallen leaves rustled about their feet, but much of the foliage remained on the trees. some of this was still green, setting off the masses of autumn colors that ranged from a sombre brown to vivid reds and many shades of yellow. "and a great city only a few miles away," mused marsh, giving voice to both their thoughts. "it is beautiful," admitted the girl, "but so lonely and quiet. somehow, one, feels so far, far away from everything. perhaps the gloomy day affects me, but it seems as if the air were full of some solemn mystery." at this point marsh saw a young couple, strolling on the other side of the road. he surmised that they were local residents, and excusing himself to miss atwood, crossed over and inquired of the man if he knew where the merton estate was located. "yes," was the reply. "just keep on south along sheridan road. it won't take you five minutes to get there. the place is on the left hand side of the road. you can't miss it; a gateway with gray stone posts, and there are two big pines inside the entrance to the driveway." thanking him, marsh rejoined miss atwood. "i wanted to find out how to locate the place i was looking for," he explained. "you will pardon my leaving you alone, but it seemed unnecessary to make you cross the street." "oh, i didn't mind," she replied. marsh's real reason, however, in thus leaving miss atwood, was to prevent her hearing mention of the name of merton. unquestionably, the girl had read of the case in the papers, and after her own recent experiences might feel a certain timidity in approaching the missing broker's home; especially after her recent mention of how the surroundings affected her. a slight turn in the road brought them to the driveway which the young man had described. there was no mistaking the two great pines that stood like sentinels at either side, just back of the imposing stone gateway. one of these trees was evidently dead, for it was gaunt and bare, in marked contrast to its companion; and as they paused a moment before the entrance, the wind broke off a rotting branch, which fell at her feet. the gates of iron grill work were standing open, and they turned in and started up the driveway, which was covered with crushed gray stone. the house was farther from the road than marsh had expected, for it was several minutes before they reached it. as he stood before the great pile of stone and wood, with its drawn shades and general appearance of desertion, marsh thought of the long, winding road through the woods behind them and half regretted that he had brought miss atwood with him. his desire had been to attract as little attention as possible in his inspection of the house. one man scouting around this lonely place would have been a suspicious object. on the other hand, it had seemed to him that a man and woman, out for an afternoon stroll, might exhibit an interest in a large country-house without attracting suspicious attention. but now, as he stood there in the gray autumn light, with the wind sighing through the trees about them and a fine snow beginning to drift down, the place seemed to take on an uncanny atmosphere that, even though nothing worse could happen, would have a depressing effect on the girl. it was too late to back out, however. it would be hard to explain a sudden retreat to the girl, and there was no time to be lost in trying to get the information which he sought. marsh glanced at his companion. she was looking around with evident interest, and he was glad to note that as yet she exhibited no signs of nervousness. "i understand there is a caretaker here. will you come up with me while i ring the bell?" the girl assented, and they climbed the wide steps over which the autumn leaves were thickly scattered. whether or not the bell rang, marsh could not tell, but certainly no sound came to them. he decided to knock and struck the door with the knuckles of his clenched hand. at the first blow, the door moved and swung inward. a large hall stretched dimly before them. at one side, marsh saw a stairway and at the other a high curtained doorway, which probably led to the drawing room. at the back of the hall seemed to be another smaller doorway, but marsh could not be sure in the dim light. he was in a quandary. so far as he could see, the house was deserted. possibly the caretaker was spending his sunday afternoon with friends, and the door had been closed carelessly so that the latch had not caught. had marsh been alone he would have welcomed this opportunity to carefully inspect the house. the girl now blocked such an attempt, for it was obviously unwise, for many reasons, to ask her to accompany him into the house; and he could not consider the idea of leaving her alone, even for a few minutes. there was no alternative but to postpone his visit until the next day. marsh stepped through the doorway, pulled the door closed, and tried the knob to see that the door had latched securely. as he turned away, he glanced toward the shrubbery that bordered the adjoining woods. although he turned instantly to the girl, and started to assist her down the steps, marsh's quick eyes had noted a man crouching half-concealed in the shrubbery. as they retraced their steps down the driveway, marsh kept a firm grasp on the automatic in his pocket while his eyes, without apparent interest, continually watched the trees and shrubbery on either side. they reached the main road without incident and turned north toward the station. not a word had been spoken as they passed along the driveway, for marsh had been too intent upon keeping a keen watch to think of words, and the depressing atmosphere of the place had evidently begun to affect miss atwood. in fact, marsh thought that she seemed to brighten as soon as they passed through the gateway. "are you in the real estate business, mr. marsh?" she asked. "no," he replied. "what made you think that?" "you never told me what your business was," she answered, "and your coming out here to look at that house today gave me the idea that you might be interested in real estate." "no," he said, "i am not interested in real estate," then added, evasively, but not quite untruthfully, "i am planning, however, to go into some sort of business in chicago." the fact was that since meeting this girl, marsh had began to take an entirely different view of life. he looked back upon his wanderings and realized the emptiness of the passing years. it seemed to him now that a man could ask for nothing more than to settle down to some regular employment in such a wonderful city, and go home every night to find this girl waiting for him. marsh stepped off the motor bus at oak street to keep his appointment with hunt. he reflected that he had never seen a street so representative of chicago and its rapid growth. at his back was the great new drake hotel and the whole neighborhood was one of wealth and fashion. yet, as he passed along the street, he noticed tiny frame or brick dwellings nestling shoulder to shoulder with obviously wealthy homes, and here and there the dark, towering structures of old and new apartment buildings. he found hunt's apartment in one of the new buildings and paused for a moment on the curb to look it over. though handsome architecturally and modern in every respect, there was a peculiar sombreness about the building, and the bright lamps that gleamed at the entrance but served to exaggerate the dim interior of the hallway. not realizing exactly why he did so, but probably responding to an instinct for caution, marsh strolled back and forth before entering the building. he noted the two dark and narrow alleyways on either side. one of these, reached through a dim, deep recess in the front wall, was evidently the tradesmen's entrance. marsh then entered the vestibule and pushed the bell under hunt's name. this was immediately answered by the clicking of the electric door opener. hunt's man-servant stood at the apartment door, and after closing it behind him, ushered marsh down a short hall and into the living room. marsh's quick eye took in the luxuriousness of the furnishings--and something more. he surmised that hunt was a bachelor. hunt advanced to meet him with extended hand. "good evening, mr. marsh," hunt greeted him, affably. "i hope you bring me some important information." "i think it will at least be interesting," returned marsh, as he handed his hat and coat to hunt's man. a log fire blazed in a large open fireplace. before this was a deeply upholstered davenport plentifully supplied with extra cushions, and at either side of the fireplace were large lounging chairs. hunt called marsh's attention to these and told him to make himself comfortable. as hunt seated himself on the davenport, marsh decided to take one of the chairs near the fire. this gave him the advantage of having the firelight on hunt's face while his own was more or less in the shadow, for the heavily shaded lamps about the room furnished only a soft glow that made details indistinct. hunt clasped his hands and leaning forward rested his elbows on his knees. "tell me what you found in merton's rooms yesterday," he said. "i found absolutely nothing of importance," replied marsh. it might be splitting hairs, he thought, but it was morgan who had actually discovered the notebook. "i looked carefully through his dresser," he want on, "and also examined all the papers in the desk." "and you found nothing of importance, mr. marsh?" "nothing," replied march, putting as strong a note of positiveness into his voice as possible, for he now began to suspect to whom the notebook had belonged. "the desk contained only personal and a little business correspondence. morgan and i examined all the signatures. if you looked that correspondence over, as i presume you did, you will acknowledge that no suspicion could be directed at the men whose names appeared there." hunt nodded in an absent-minded way and again asked, "perhaps this man morgan found something?" "i would have known if he had," said marsh, again evasively. "i entered the room with him, and as you know, we left together." hunt now seemed satisfied that marsh had no special information to give him about the contents of merton's rooms: "well, tell me just what you have discovered," he said, settling back into a corner of the davenport. "for one thing," marsh began, "i know that mr. merton is dead." he leisurely took out his cigarette case, carefully selected a cigarette, and touch a match to it. it was evident, that this act on marsh's part was intended to give hunt time in which to think and pass some comment if he cared to. the man remained silent. "all right, my friend," thought marsh. "we'll tell you a little more; just enough to make you think--and perhaps act." then he continued aloud, "i work along somewhat different lines than those followed by the police. for example, i frequently get better results by sitting down quietly in my room, laying certain obvious circumstances before me, and, through what you might call a method of addition, derive an answer to my problem." "quite interesting," murmured hunt. "and that is the way i have worked out this problem." "tell me the details," said hunt. "while you reported to the police that mr. merton had been missing for ten days, i discovered by inquiries at his hotel that he was in his room as late as last monday night. in fact, he was seen to leave the hotel at midnight." "so i have heard," hunt broke in hastily. "at the time i notified the police i had not seen mr. merton at the office for about ten days." marsh nodded, and inquired, "i suppose you follow the papers carefully every day?" "naturally," was the reply. "then," said marsh, "you probably read about the murder on sheridan road last tuesday morning--the sheridan road mystery, the papers called it." "yes, i read about that affair." "didn't it make you think?" asked marsh. "i don't understand." "i'll explain," said marsh. "mr. merton left his hotel at midnight monday. two hours later a man was murdered in the sheridan road apartment. mr. merton has not been seen since." "well?" queried hunt. "i've just been wondering--that's all," answered marsh, throwing the remains of his cigarette into the fire place. there was a slight pause as he selected another from his case and lit it. "mr. marsh," said hunt, "you're driving at something. what is it?" "just this,". answered marsh, leaning forward and looking hunt in the eye. "you hold a power of attorney from mr. merton. you are to be sole executor of his estate. mrs. merton may not return for years. that's an easy way to get a business, mr. hunt." hunt adjusted a couple of pillows and settled back again. "do i gather from your remarks, mr. marsh, that you mean to imply something?" "no," returned marsh, "i am just stating an obvious situation." hunt now leaned toward marsh. "have the police arrived at the same conclusions?" "have you ever noticed," countered marsh, "that what the police know usually appears in the papers?" "you mean by that that the police have not formed the same connection which you have?" "i inferred as much," returned marsh. "are you thinking of bringing your theories to their attention?" asked hunt, as he again settled himself back against the cushions. "that depends." "on what?" inquired hunt. "yourself." hunt remained silent for a moment, then said, "do i understand that you are making me a proposition?" "i'm not laying myself open to a charge of blackmail, mr. hunt." "no," jeered hunt, "i see you're a clever rogue. i might have guessed as much when you offered to investigate this matter for me." "a man must make a living," returned marsh. "this is a cheap way to do it." "i haven't had your opportunities," snapped marsh. "damn you!" cried hunt, leaping to his feet and shaking his fist in marsh's face. "i'll hand you over to the police." "and lose a good lieutenant, mr. hunt?" "you're a dirty blackguard, marsh," stormed hunt. "you've worked your way into my confidence and now attempt to use your knowledge to hold me up. i admit that you've got me by the throat. a man placed in the position which you have made only too clear to me has only one way out. of course, i could clear myself, but the stigma and suspicion would remain. all right, what's your price?" marsh stared in puzzled silence for a moment, as hunt glared down at him. in some ways the outcome of the conversation was not exactly what he had expected. "mr. hunt," he said, rising, "i'm in this thing for bigger game than a few hundred dollars." "i told you to name your price," replied hunt. "as i told you before," returned marsh, "i'm not laying myself open to a charge of blackmail. you think the matter over for a day or two; and in the meantime i'll take my coat and hat." hunt hesitated for a moment, then struck a bell which stood on a small table by the davenport. a moment later his man appeared with marsh's coat and hat and assisted him to put on his coat. "good night, mr. hunt," said marsh, smiling, and holding out his hand. "good night," said hunt, shortly, turning away and ignoring the proffered hand. the servant opened the door and marsh; passed out. he hurried over to rush street and into the telephone booth in a nearby drug store. he talked for a few minutes over the telephone and then took a street car for home. a half hour later an observant person might have noticed a man lingering in the shadows of oak street. chapter xvii what the caretaker saw. early monday morning marsh started for hubbard woods, to carry out his investigations regarding the merton house these investigations must be conducted along different lines from those he had contemplated on sunday, for his last interview with hunt had considerably changed his position in the matter. hunt now regarded him with suspicion, and it might be considered probable that he had even gone so far as to warn the caretaker he had said was in charge, against admitting marsh. marsh intended to have another look at the place, but only a surreptitious one from the cover of the woods. his chief object now was to discover if neighbors knew anything about the place. as he came down the road he recognized the turn, which the day before had brought him directly in front of the gate, so he stepped to the side of the road, and approached the turn with caution, for he did not want anyone who might be coming from the house to find him near it at this time. as marsh walked slowly around the bend in the road he saw the rear of a closed car just disappearing between the gateposts. only the guarded way in which he had approached had prevented the occupants of the car from seeing him. marsh hurried to the shelter of one of the big stone gateposts and peered around it in time to note that the car was a large, black one of the limousine type. the next minute it was lost to view around a curve in the driveway, and marsh paused for a moment to reflect. this might be hunt's car bringing him up for one of the visits which he had said he was accustomed to make. on the other hand, it seemed too early an hour for a man of hunt's habits. moreover, marsh had reason to believe that hunt's car would be followed; and certainly there was no one else in sight now. marsh decided that the matter was worth investigating, and turned into the concealing shadow of the woods. he made his way with difficulty through the tangled underbrush, in what he believed to be the general direction of the house. his guess was correct, for the house was before him when he emerged, a few minutes later, from the woods. he was protected from the sight of anyone in the house by a screen of heavy shrubbery, which divided the lawn from the woods. he found that in his unguided advance through the woods, he had approached the house to the south, so that he saw not only the house itself, but also had a good view of the garage at the back. the car had evidently just been run into the garage, for a man was closing the doors, while another stood nearby. a moment later, the two men approached the house and passed out of sight. marsh presumed that they had used the back door, which was out of his line of vision. while the distance was too great for him to see the men's features distinctly, he knew that neither of them was hunt, for he was now sufficiently familiar with hunt's figure to have easily recognized it. to have seen one man or woman around the premises would not have surprised marsh, as he was prepared to find a caretaker in charge. that two men should drive up in an expensive automobile, however, store it in the garage, and enter the house, as if perfectly at home, was a peculiar incident. caretakers do not usually have automobiles; certainly not expensive limousines. if the family had been away for a few days, it would be natural for the chauffeur, or some of the servants, to use the car. but this house had been closed for two years, and marsh was under the impression that merton had not been using a private car. if he had been using a car it was hardly likely that he would have let his old chauffeur go. the telephone conversation, which the girl at the hotel had overheard, between merton and the supposed nolan, indicated that merton had more than a casual regard for his ex-chauffeur, or the man would not have appealed to him. marsh's suspicions being now definitely aroused, he decided not to take a chance by showing himself in the open. this might very probably be "the house in the suburbs," and he was not prepared to battle alone with four or more desperate men. though he lingered for some time in his place of concealment, there were no further signs of life, so marsh, deciding that he was wasting valuable time, crept cautiously into the woods and worked his way back through the undergrowth to the main road. the next step was to find a close neighbor. having twice approached the house from the north, marsh knew that there was no residence near it on that side. he turned south, therefore, and after going only a few hundred feet, approached a gateway that was similar in many respects to that at the entrance to the driveway of the merton home. it lacked the tall, distinctive pines, however, and a short distance inside the gate he could see a cozy little gardener's cottage, or lodge. marsh was well pleased at this discovery, for he had hoped to locate something of the kind. servants are more easily, questioned, more talkative, and usually in the possession of a larger amount of neighborhood gossip, than their employers. he approached the door and knocked. "come in," called a feminine voice, unquestionably swedish in its accent. marsh opened the door and found himself in a room that appeared to be kitchen, sitting and dining room. a small, round table was set for two, and a woman stood near the stove, preparing lunch or a midday dinner. marsh had not realized how quickly the morning was passing. the woman's occupation reminded him that he was hungry, and also gave him a sudden inspiration. he would offer to buy his lunch here, for people always grow more friendly and communicative over a meal. "you want my husband? he bane come in a minute," the woman said, when she saw marsh. "no," marsh replied, "i wasn't looking for your husband. i've been walking around the neighborhood, and thought perhaps i could get lunch here. i'll pay you well for your trouble." the woman smiled broadly. "dere bane enough one more. yust set down--one, two minute." marsh laid his hat and coat on an old-fashioned couch that stood against the wall, and was about to sit down beside them, when the door opened again and a stocky man entered. his tanned face was expressionless, and the eyes looked dully at marsh. a lock of light brown hair drooped over his forehead from under a cap, which he wore well back on his head. the cap seemed to be a fixture, for it was not removed while marsh remained, and the detective had the humorous thought that it might also serve as a nightcap. "aye give dis yentleman lunch," explained the woman. the man grunted, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and sat down at the table. "not very talkative," thought marsh. then the woman told him to sit down at the place she had prepared for him. she heaped the three plates with a stew-like mixture. marsh did not recognize it, but he liked the flavor. with this, and the fresh home-made bread, a cup of strong coffee, and urged on by a healthy appetite, which his morning in the frosty country air had made keener, he enjoyed his lunch. to these people eating was just a part of their day's work, and beyond the satisfying of a natural appetite, evidently produced no special feeling of enjoyment. contrary to his expectations, therefore, marsh did not find an opportunity to open a conversation. one or two remarks were greeted merely with grunts, so he decided to wait until the business of eating had been completed. the man's food disappeared rapidly, including a second helping, and marsh was pleased to see him at last take out an old cob pipe and fill it with an evil-looking, strong-smelling tobacco from a dirty paper package. marsh lit a cigarette, chiefly as a matter of protection. "have you lived here long?" inquired marsh, addressing the man. "tree year," answered the woman. the man rolled his eyes in her direction. "i'm thinking of buying a place around here," continued marsh. "this house next door seems to be a nice place." he nodded his head in the direction of the merton home. the man and his wife exchanged glances. she laughed, but the man's face looked as solemn as its expressionless lines would permit. "et bane bad place," he muttered. "nels--he bane crazy!" snapped the woman. "crazy widt de moonshane!" "moonshine!" repeated marsh. "hootch," she explained. "ole's hootch." marsh laughed, and nels grinned, his features for the first time showing an awakened interest. marsh thought quickly. the woman was evidently the "boss," but she would not talk about something in which she had no faith. on the other hand, the man undoubtedly had some knowledge of things which marsh desired to know. he decided to side with the man. "you don't approve of hootch?" marsh asked her. "no--no!" she exclaimed vehemently. "but it makes a strong man work harder--keeps up his health." marsh glanced at nels, who showed appreciation of this defense of home-made strong drink by grinning at marsh. the secret service man decided they would soon be friends, and quietly slipping his hand into his pocket, began to detach a bill. the woman snorted in protest. "et make nels see t'ings. no goodt for him," she said, sharply. then she rose and began clearing the table. while her back was turned, marsh quickly slipped a bill over to nels, winked hard at him, and nodded toward the door. dull as the man seemed, he apparently understood marsh's suggestion. he winked back and grinned, but as the woman returned to the table his face instantly resumed its blank expression. "well," said marsh, rising. "i must be going." he drew out some bills and presented one to the woman. "i thank you for the lunch. it was fine. you are a good cook." when taking his leave, marsh put special emphasis on his parting with nels. after closing the door behind him, however, he strolled in a very leisurely way toward the gate, and instead of keeping on along the road he leaned against the outside of one of the posts where he was not visible from the cottage. he had not waited long when footsteps sounded on the crushed stone of the driveway and nels appeared. marsh beckoned to him and they walked down the roadway until out of sight of the gate. "nels," said marsh, stopping and facing the swede, "you don't think i ought to buy that house next door, eh?" nels shrugged his shoulders. "dat bane your bes'ness," he said. "but i don't want to buy a place that has a bad name. will you tell me what you think is the matter with it?" nels glanced about him, and standing a little closer to marsh, said in a lowered, voice, "aye tenk bad men live dere." "but," protested marsh, "i thought the house was closed, and had only a caretaker, or someone like that?" "no caretaker," answered nels. "tree--four--five men. house look close, but men inside." then he added, shaking his head, "fonny-fonny." "how do you know all this, nels?" "aye watch. aye see you yesterday, with yong lady." marsh smiled. this was evidently the man he had seen crouching in the bushes, and who had caused him to hurry miss atwood away from the house. "yes," said marsh, "i was going to look over the house, but there seemed to be nobody home." "men inside," answered nels, giving marsh a shock. "tell me all about it, nels," said marsh, patting the man on the shoulder, "and i'll give you some more money." "house close two year. since den aye see fonny men--most in night time. big, black car--no light. house stay close--all dark--fonny--so aye watch." "is that all?" inquired marsh. "aye tell my wife--she say aye drink too much hootch," grinned nels. "so aye don't tell her about deh oder night." "what night was that?" "aye tenk las' monday night. aye go see ole. he have some new stuff--goodt--goodt. aye stay late--don't see well com'n' home. aye tenk aye turn in my own gate and walk--walk--walk--but no home. aye hear auto com'n'--get out of de road. et pass me--stop." nels lowered his voice to a whisper. "aye bane nowhere near home--in front bad place. men turn on lights--carry dead man in house!" "how did you know he was dead?" exclaimed marsh. "he all loose--so," and nels endeavored to illustrate by allowing his body to droop limply. "then what?" "car put in gar-rage--all quiet. aye get scared. aye see clear now--aye run like hell!" "that's all you know, is it, nels?" asked marsh. "all now--but aye watch." "you're a good man, nels--real smart," said marsh. "here's some more money for you. maybe i'll come to see you again." "you bane fine man," grinned nels, as he pocketed the additional bill. "good-bye, nels," said marsh, "better not tell anybody about our talk. your wife might hear about it." nels winked knowingly and they parted, marsh going directly to the station of the electric line and returning to chicago. as he approached his apartment, marsh saw a heavily built man lounging on the steps and chatting with the policeman on duty. marsh paid no attention to this man, merely nodding to the policeman as he passed, and climbed the stairs to his apartment. but after he had unlocked the door he stood in the hall instead of entering. presently the man came up the stairs and they entered the apartment together. as soon as the door closed the man said, "i've got that dope for you." he pulled out a long envelope and handed it to marsh. "thanks," said marsh as he took the envelope. "things are shaping themselves fine." "anything i can do?" asked the man. "nothing now," answered marsh, "but you had better have several men where we can reach them in a hurry. how is oak street?" "no change," was the reply. "hasn't left the house all day." with that the man opened the door and left. marsh opened the envelope. it contained the black leather notebook, a letter, and some typewritten sheets. he sat down and read the letter. the solution of the cipher code used in the notebook submitted, was comparatively simple and we were able to work it out here. this code was evidently not intended for the transmission of secret messages; it was very probably used exclusively to make notations in this book with the sole idea of maintaining privacy for these memoranda. due to the simplicity of the code, it could be easily memorized and therefore used for making hurried notes for quick reference. to the inexpert person the combination of letters and figures gave a bewildering appearance to the notes, but it did not actually make the cipher any more intricate. you can readily make up your own key to this cipher by writing out the letters of the alphabet from a to z. under these letters you again write the letters of the alphabet, placing the letter a under the letter z and working backward. by this arrangement, a would stand for z and z for a. below this you again write out the letters of the alphabet, and under these, beginning at z and working backward, write the numbers to , which brings you to the letter q. from p to j you write the figures to and from i to a you write the figures to . the person using this cipher probably memorized these two arrangements. in writing a word of say six letters, he would use four letters and two figures. to anyone glancing at his notes in a casual way, the system looked intricate, but to him these notes could be read almost as easily as if written in plain english. attached to the letter were several pages containing the decoded notations from the book. after carefully reading these, marsh folded the sheets and started to place them in his pocket. then he paused, glancing about the room thoughtfully. a moment later he smoothed the sheets out flat and lifting up the corner of the rug, slipped them under it well toward the center. walking back and forth over the spot several times, he seemed satisfied. then he turned up one of the chairs, placed the notebook inside of the bottom lining, and putting on his hat and coat, went out. chapter xviii the enemy shows his hand after returning from supper, marsh sat down to look over the evening paper. the merton case, which had replaced the sheridan road mystery in editorial esteem, was now retired to an inner page. he read the usual short notice that the police expected to have the guilty parties in custody within the next twenty-four hours, accompanied by an announcement of some of their plans so that the people sought could have timely warning of what to expect. then he turned to other news of the day and the time slipped by. about nine o'clock marsh raised his head and listened. he had distinctly heard two sharp reports, like pistol shots. motors continued to hum past on sheridan road, and he could detect none of the unusual sounds which accompany a disturbance of any kind. as a result of having hundreds of cars pass his windows daily he was used to the crack of bursting motor tires, or the back-fire in mufflers. marsh's trained ear had seemed to catch something different in the two reports, but perhaps it was only imagination. he resumed his reading. three soft knocks sounded on the hall door. it was the usual signal, and morgan was expected. marsh laid down the paper, and going to the door, threw it open. instantly a small figure leaped into the entrance hall and stood facing him with its back to the living room door. a big army automatic held in a long, thin hand, covered marsh menacingly. "shut the door--quick!" snarled the visitor. marsh towered above the diminutive figure, and he thought with satisfaction that with his bare hands he could crush it like an eggshell. but it has been said that the invention of the pistol made all men equal. certainly at this moment the automatic in the small man's steady hand more than offset marsh's physical superiority. so, though he smiled in contempt, he also diplomatically gave the door a sharp push and it slammed closed. "now, we'll go in and have a little talk," his visitor informed marsh, and slowly backed into the living room. marsh followed. a hasty glance showed the man the location of the big davenport. backing to this, he sat down, looking smaller than ever, and motioned marsh to a chair across the room. while marsh seated himself the little man turned down his coat collar and pulled his cap up from his face. marsh immediately recognized "baldy" newman. "now," said newman, "you and me is goin' to have an important conference on serious matters." marsh did not reply. he seemed quite at his ease, and not at all interested. nevertheless, both his eyes and his brain were actively taking stock of the situation; watching for some slip that might enable him to change their relative positions. newman was leaning comfortably back on the davenport, his legs crossed and his feet a long way from the floor. marsh surmised that there would be some delay in getting the latter into action again. the automatic, however, was still ready. held firmly in one hand, the weight of the barrel was supported in the palm of the other, the back of which rested on newman's knee. marsh realized that when he looked at this gun he was staring directly into its muzzle. obviously, this was a time for watchful waiting only. "we can't figure where you fit into this here game," newman began. "you ain't a bull; you don't work; and you don't steal." marsh laughed at this quaint appraisal of him. "well, what are you tryin' to pull off?" questioned newman, his bright, piercing eyes studying marsh's face. "you have me at a disadvantage," returned marsh. "i do not know what game you refer to in the first place. in the second, i cannot see why the pursuit of my private business should interest you." "come on--come on!" remonstrated newman. "i ain't got any time to waste kiddin' around with you." "get down to the point then," advised marsh. "all right, i will," said newman. "we don't mind these bulls. they're bone-heads. i can run circles around any one of them. but you're gettin' too damned close, and we want to know what you're after." "thanks for the tip," replied marsh. "if i were really interested in you, the information you have just given me would be of great value." newman eyed marsh suspiciously for a moment. "don't worry," he said. "you're not goin' to bother us much. we've arranged to take care of you, if you won't listen to reason. if you're crooked, just lay off for awhile, that's all, and we'll see you get what's right later. if you really are a bull, or are helpin' these other bulls, then i'm warnin' you to back out gracefully before it's too late. i came here with a flag of truce to give you a chance, and you can save yourself a lot of trouble by bein' on the square with me." bargaining with a known crook was not to marsh's taste. if they were in the dark as to his intentions and his status, let them remain so. he guessed now that the gun in newman's hands would not be used except as a last resort to avoid personal capture. the man's idea was to have his say, and then go as quietly as he had come, if possible. marsh's tense watching relaxed somewhat. there was no immediate danger, and the future could adjust itself. he would like to get this fellow now, but if not, then he would get him later. "it is none of your business what work i am engaged in," said marsh. "moreover, you can tell your gang for me to go straight to hell. now, take my advice and get out quick before you lose the opportunity." newman's lips parted in a vicious grin. "you've got nerve, i'll say that for you," he commented. "but you don't know what a hole you're in. we've got more than one string to our bow. if you won't listen to one kind of reason, perhaps you'll listen to another. now, you're stuck on jane atwood." marsh sprang to his feet with an oath. "leave that girl out of this," he cried, "or i'll beat you to a pulp!" "steady, mister, steady!" exclaimed newman. "you ain't bullet proof. handlin' a gun is part of my business, and you won't get two feet from that chair if you make a false move. sit down and listen to me." reason quickly replaced the unthinking rage of the moment, and marsh sat down as the other directed. but his mind was made up to one thing--newman would not leave that room now except as a prisoner or a dead man. "that's the idea," said newman. "you're helpless as a babe, and you might as well acknowledge it. now, listen to this. you're crazy about jane atwood, or all signs fail. in fact, you probably hope to marry her. she's a classy, refined girl, with a big purpose in life. what's more, she's got peculiar notions of what's right and what's wrong. if she knew her father was a crook, and that he died to escape you, where do you think you'd get off? she'd never have anything, more to do with you, that girl wouldn't. she'd devote her life to somethin' or other to make up for her father's slip--that's what she'd do." newman paused, and marsh ground his teeth and waited. "now, my man," continued newman, "another false move on your part and the facts will be given to that girl, with absolute convincin' proof. there'll be no way of talkin' her out of it. you'll be through--that's all!" while newman talked, he had gradually leaned forward, deeply absorbed in the driving home of this final threat. the muzzle of the automatic had also slowly turned until a bullet would now strike several feet to the right. marsh had carefully watched for this approaching opportunity and now he acted. like a flash, he jumped to his feet, swinging his right arm upward and forward as if hurling something at newman. instinct was stronger than training. the man's arms were quickly raised to ward off the expected missile. then, realizing that marsh was upon him, he endeavored to escape, but the powerful hands had already closed on him. he was swung upward into the air, while bullets from the automatic crashed into the walls, the ceiling and the floor, as he tried to direct its fire at his opponent. for the matter of a second, newman was poised in midair. then marsh, swept by a fierce and uncontrollable rage, dashed the helpless bundle across the room and it struck with a smashing thud. chapter xix kidnapped marsh slowly regained control of himself as he stood staring at the crumpled figure. striding across the room, he bent over newman. the man was breathing heavily, and his eyes had a dazed glare. although he was not unconscious in the full sense of the word, it seemed probable that it would be some time before newman could start any more trouble. marsh decided, however, that it would be safer to provide against future possibilities, so he drew newman's hands together and snapped on a pair of handcuffs. suddenly marsh realized that his doorbell was ringing furiously. this time he took no chances, and his automatic was in his hand ready for instant use when he opened the door. he found morgan and tierney in the hall. "for god's sake, what's the matter?" cried morgan. by this time marsh had recovered his calm and easy manner. "i had a visitor," he said, smiling, and slipping his automatic back into his pocket. "come in." the two men passed through to the living room and marsh closed the door and followed. "where did he go?" asked morgan, as marsh entered the room. "there it is," said marsh, contemptuously, nodding toward newman. morgan and tierney hurried to the man and straightened him out on his back. newman was still too dazed to do more than roll his eyes at them. "'baldy' newman!" exclaimed morgan, looking up at marsh. "how did you get him?" marsh briefly explained the incident. "and what beats me," he concluded, "is how he got by the policeman at the door." "by a well-laid plan, marsh. we were talking about it to the patrolman when the shooting began. that was the first we realized what the scheme had been." "what was it?" inquired marsh. "i thought i heard a couple of shots sometime ago, but as nothing seemed to happen afterward, i concluded it was just somebody's tire." "you heard shots, all right," returned morgan. "it seems that an auto stopped on lawrence avenue in front of the alleyway. someone in the car fired two shots at the policeman on guard there. he immediately started for the car, and the man in front, who had also heard the shots, joined him. naturally the car was out of sight before they had run half a block, and so they returned to their posts. they didn't even get the number of the license, although i suppose it would have been of little use if they had. when you look those things up you generally find that the car has been stolen from some respectable citizen." "tierney and i arrived just after the patrolmen got back to the building, and the man in front told us about it. i was puzzled over just what the game was until we heard the shooting up here. then i guessed that they had only drawn off the policemen so as to let someone get in, so tierney and i beat it up the stairs as fast as we could. when you took so long to answer the door, we thought you were gone, sure." "well, the little rat did have me wondering for a few minutes," admitted marsh. "if he had really come to kill me i think he could have got me, all right. but the fact was, he just came to warn me, and intended to use his gun only as a last resort. under such circumstances, if you can only keep them talking long enough, they get careless. you can see what happened to 'baldy' because he stayed too long." "he'll have a long stay somewhere else now," commented tierney, cheerfully. "and we'll make him talk same more before we get through with him," declared morgan. "there is one thing i want to ask of you, morgan," said marsh. "get him out of here as quietly as you can, and don't let the news get into the papers. we don't want the people who sent him to know exactly what has happened. just let them wonder for a day or two." "i get your point," answered morgan. he then went to the telephone and called the patrol wagon, impressing upon the man at the other end of the wire, the need for secrecy, and instructing him to have the patrol drive up the alley back of the house. "now," said morgan, as he turned from the telephone, "i suppose you want to hear about the information i was to get for you." "yes," replied marsh. "were you able to get it?" "all that's worth knowing," returned morgan. "i turned tierney loose on this man nolan, and looked up hunt myself. you can dismiss nolan from the case at once. he has a job as chauffeur with a big business man in milwaukee, and hasn't been in chicago for a month. at one o'clock last tuesday morning he was bringing this man and his wife home from an affair at the man's club. someone simply impersonated nolan." "now, about hunt. i found that he started to work for merton as his confidential secretary about five years ago. merton apparently thought a good deal of him, and gradually put more and more of his business into his hands. about a year ago, he made hunt his general manager, and hunt has practically been running the entire business ever since. people in the financial district seem to consider hunt a fine fellow. what he was doing before he went with merton i have been unable to find out in such a short time." "i cannot say that this information helps us out very much," said marsh. "your news about nolan simply confirms the idea i already had--that the nolan message was a trick. i dug up some information today which looks like the best clue we have had so far. i think that by tomorrow afternoon we'll close in on the men we want. telephone me at twelve o'clock tomorrow, morgan, and i will tell you just what to do." at this moment they heard pounding on marsh's back door. "i guess that's the wagon, tierney," said morgan. "let them in." tierney went back through the flat and returned immediately with two policemen, who gathered up "baldy" newman and his gun and carried them quietly out and down the rear stairs. "i'd like to tell the world," said morgan, "that the west side's most famous gunman has been captured with a man's bare hands. but we'll keep it quiet if you insist on it, marsh." "after tomorrow, morgan, you will have more than 'baldy' newman to your credit. until then, our success depends on secrecy. now, remember, telephone me at twelve sharp tomorrow." with that, the men parted for the night and marsh, after making sure that all his doors and windows were securely fastened, went to bed. but twelve o'clock on tuesday passed without marsh receiving his expected message, for the very good reason that morgan and tierney could not get to a telephone. these two men spent the greater part of the morning in the financial district in a futile attempt to get further information regarding hunt. about eleven o'clock morgan suggested that they go to the north side and get their lunch so that after telephoning marsh they would be close at hand in case he wanted them quickly. they took the elevated to wilson avenue, and after leaving the train, turned east toward broadway. at the corner stood a big, black limousine. the door was open and the chauffeur turned to them and said, "say friends, will you help me get this guy out of the car? he's too drunk to move." morgan saw that a man was lying back in a corner with his eyes shut, and nodding to tierney, went over to the car. "i've been driving him for two hours," said the chauffeur, "and i don't think there's any chance of getting my money. i want to throw him out. he's too heavy for me to lift. you two guys look husky, and like good fellows, so i thought maybe you'd lift him out for me." as this sort of thing frequently came to the attention of the detectives, they did not suspect anything out of the ordinary when they climbed into the car and started to pull the man out of the seat. suddenly the chauffeur slammed the door and sprang to the wheel. the man in the seat, who but a moment before had apparently been in a drunken stupor, now sat up, and drawing his right arm from behind his back, covered the two detectives with an automatic. "sit down," he commanded, "and be quiet." in the meantime, the car was moving swiftly across wilson avenue. turning north on sheridan road, its speed increased to a terrific pace. morgan noticed this and hoped that it would attract the attention of the motorcycle police, but they met none of these men and the car soon left the city limits and passed through evanston. from here on, the road was quiet and they passed only an occasional car. the man with the automatic now instructed them to hand over their revolvers. after he had these in his possession, he felt morgan and tierney over carefully to see that they had no other concealed weapon. then, keeping them covered with the automatic, he reached out and drew down all the shades in the car so that they sat in a semi-darkness and were unable to see where they were going. morgan judged that they had been riding about an hour when the car suddenly stopped. the door was opened and a man stuck his head in. the man was wagner. "turned the tables on you, didn't we?" he jeered. then he stepped back and they saw that he also held an automatic in his hand. "come on," he said, "step lively. you're welcome to our happy home." tierney began to swear, but morgan jabbed him with his elbow. it would be like committing suicide to show any fight now. "these bulls ought to travel in regiments for self-protection," taunted the man who had been with them in the car. but morgan noticed, as he stepped out of the car, that the chauffeur had left his seat and was also standing ready with an automatic. these men might have their little joke, but they were taking no chances. the three men escorted morgan and tierney up the steps and into the house. wagner then directed them to precede him up the stairs. they passed down a long hall and into a big room. "make yourselves comfortable," sneered wagner. "and i might as well tell you that you can make all the noise you want, because the nearest house is so far away they couldn't hear a fog horn. just try to be nice, good little boys, and maybe we'll let you go sometime." he backed out of the door and they heard him turn the key. chapter xx the fallen pine that marsh escaped a similar fate later in the afternoon was due solely to his individual way of arming himself. for some years marsh had carried a small automatic pistol, which unobtrusively rested in the side pocket of his coat. when he was outside in weather that required an overcoat, the automatic was temporarily transferred to the overcoat pocket. marsh did this because a gun was seldom needed except in emergencies. at such times a movement toward the hip pocket, where men usually carry their revolvers, frequently gave the other man an opportunity to act first. marsh had even carried his precautions in this line a little further, for the automatic was always placed in the left-hand pocket. a movement of the left hand does not receive the same suspicious attention from a criminal. in fact, as he had several times discovered, it was possible to distract the attention by a movement of the right hand while quickly drawing the gun with the left, and at close quarters a gun in the left hand was just as effective as in the right. when no word had come from morgan by one o'clock, marsh decided to look the detective up. he called morgan's home on the telephone, then the detective bureau, and two nearby precinct stations that morgan might have been likely to drop into while waiting to telephone him. morgan's mother said he had left early, and the detective bureau informed marsh that they had not heard from morgan again after receiving a report from him early in the day. the stations did not remember having seen the detective for a long time. at each place marsh left his name, and a message for morgan to ring up at once if he came in. marsh was now in a quandary. he remembered that he had not asked morgan to look anything up that morning and therefore knew of no place where he might endeavor to obtain a trace of him. the case had now reached a point where immediate action was necessary, yet he could not act alone. of course, he could have called upon the secret service division at the federal building, but he had special reasons for wanting morgan's and tierney's assistance at this time rather than that of secret service men. after long consideration, therefore, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do except stay by his telephone and wait. it never occurred to marsh that anything of a serious nature could have happened to the detectives on the crowded city streets. the only plausible explanation of the delay might be that morgan and tierney had discovered some new clue which they thought of sufficient importance to follow up before keeping their appointment with him. marsh accepted this explanation readily, because he realized that there were still many loose ends to the case that would permit of new developments at any moment. when four o'clock came, however, and there was still no word from morgan, marsh decided that something must have happened to the two men. he had had ample evidence of the desperate and daring character of their opponents. to raise a hue and cry in the police department would utterly defeat his plans. whatever he did must be carried out quietly. so far as he knew, at this time, there were only two possible sources of information--one, the house on oak street; the other, the closed house at hubbard woods. first he would get a report from the man on watch at oak street. if nothing had occurred there, he would then carry out his proposed raid on the hubbard woods house with some of his own men. having reached this decision marsh put on his coat and hat and went down to the corner of lawrence avenue to wait for a bus. a stream of motor cars swept steadily by and when one of these turned into the curb and stopped, marsh paid little attention to it. he was astounded, therefore, when a man opened the door, and addressing him, said, "step in and be quick about it!" marsh gave the man a sharp glance, then noticing that one of the man's arms was extended toward him, he dropped his eyes and saw that the coat sleeve was pulled down over the hand, while the barrel of an automatic projected about an inch from the sleeve. marsh looked about him quickly. the policeman in front of his house was too far away to be of any assistance, if, in fact, his attention could be attracted at all. in the other direction, the nearest people were two women, one of whom was pushing a baby carriage. he then saw that another man had descended from the driver's seat and was approaching him. marsh stepped back and his right hand shot toward his right hip pocket. not that he had any intention of drawing a gun while so carefully covered by the other man, but he had a thought. "easy, easy!" cried the man. "you haven't a chance in the world! do you want to get bumped off right now?" marsh murmured something inaudible and withdrew his hand. the man with the gun signaled to his companion. this man came up and felt around marsh's hip pockets. "aw, he's kiddin'," the fellow exclaimed. "he ain't got any gun at all." marsh's thought had been correct. "all right," said the man with the gun, smiling. "let's go." it had flashed through marsh's mind that what was now happening to him might have also happened to morgan and tierney. if such was the case it was more than likely that these men would take him to the same place, and that was just the information he wanted. as for getting him into that place, that was a different matter. to carry out his quickly formed plan, it was necessary for marsh to sit with his left side away from this man, who would probably join him in the car, so without further hesitation he climbed into the car and settled back in the far corner of the seat. the man followed and sat down at marsh's right, pulling the door to after him. the other man climbed back to his seat at the wheel and started the car. they went down sheridan road, and turning through the next street, made the circuit of the block, returning again to sheridan road and moving swiftly north. after a time the man turned to marsh, and said, "if you take things easy you'll get out of this with a whole skin, but if you start anything--good night!" marsh smiled but said nothing. "oh, i know you're a cool customer," the man appraised, "but if you think you're going to put anything over on us this time, you've made a bum guess." "it's hardly likely," replied marsh, "that an unarmed man would try any tricks while you sit there with that automatic. the fact is, however, that you fellows are giving yourselves a lot of trouble for nothing." "what do you mean?" snapped the man. "i mean that i have already offered you my services. all you had to do was to tip me the word." the man looked at marsh suspiciously for a moment. "do you mean that?" he said. "i see no reason why you should doubt my word." "all right," returned the man. "hand over those papers you've got and i'll drop you out at the next street." "what papers do you mean?" queried marsh. "there you go--stalling again. no use; the boss said to bring you up, and i guess he knows best." "i don't know where you get that idea about any papers," said marsh. "i can show you quickly enough that the only papers i have on me are of a personal nature and of no use to anyone else." "maybe so--maybe so. but after we get you under lock and key, we know damn well where we can find them." thus the argument continued at intervals until they were far up into the north shore suburbs. darkness had fallen and the interior of the car was absolutely black except when they passed an occasional street light or an automobile. as marsh had told morgan, if you can only make them talk long enough, they grow careless. passing under the last street light, marsh had observed that the automatic was no longer leveled in his direction. the car was of the limousine type, with a glass partition shutting off the driver so that unless he happened to look around he would not know what was going on within the car. marsh figured that now darkness had fallen, the driver's attention would be directed entirely to the road ahead, for street lights along the suburban section of sheridan road were few and far between. "it's getting warm in here," said marsh. he raised his right hand and pushed his hat back on his head. at the same time his left hand withdrew the automatic from his coat pocket and the next instant it was pressed into the ribs of the man beside him. "one move and you're through!" breathed marsh in his ear. "give me that gun!" his right arm came down with the hand closing over the man's automatic. the man started to swear, but stopped suddenly as marsh warned, "shut up. this matter is in my hands now, and i mean business!" marsh slipped the man's automatic into his own pocket, and then brought out a pair of light, steel handcuffs which he immediately snapped on his prisoner's wrists. "when i get ready," marsh informed him, "i'm going to step out of this car, and i want you to sit perfectly still until i am gone. if you want to know how good a shot i am, just make a move." marsh settled back into his corner and the car rolled on. at last, just as they made a sharp turn, marsh caught a different sound from the wheels, and he knew they had passed into a driveway. with a last warning to the man, marsh quietly opened the door on his side and stepped out of the car. in the distance he could hear his late captor's manacled hands beating on the glass of the front windows to attract the driver's attention. there was no time to lose, for they would be after him in a minute. marsh sped down the driveway, but before he reached the entrance gate he could hear the hum of the pursuing car, and as he sprang through the gate the car was only a few yards away. then a most surprising thing happened. weakened by its rotting fibres and the never-ending battle with the winds, the dead pine, which stood beside the gate, swayed and cracked. the next minute it fell crashing across the driveway in a cloud of dying splinters and dust, effectually blocking pursuit by motor. marsh dashed across the roadway and concealed himself in the underbrush. the falling pine had identified the place to marsh as quickly as if the men had told him its name. he was facing the entrance to the house in hubbard woods. the driver of the pursuing car had switched on the powerful headlights to aid him in locating the fugitive. these lights warned him of the fallen pine blocking the road. marsh could hear the grinding of the emergency brake; and the hum of the motor died away as the man "killed" his engine in his effort to make a quick stop. so swiftly had the car been moving, however, that it struck the log with a tremendous impact which echoed through the still woods. the front wheels scattered far and wide, and the body of the car climbed up and rested on the pine log. the two men, although probably well shaken up by the accident, jumped hastily from the car and rushed into the roadway. the headlights were shining directly on marsh and for a moment he thought the men might discover him among the bushes. standing in the glare, however, they were partially blinded and the manacled man, realizing this, turned to the other. "shut off those damn lights. he'll take a pot-shot at us before we can see him." the driver leaped back to the car, shut off the lights, and then returned to his companion. "not much danger," he said. "the guy's probably making a quick getaway." "hell!" the manacled man exclaimed, "the boss'll skin us alive." "the boss be damned!" exclaimed the other. "this guy'll have the bulls on us if we don't get him, and the boss won't be ready for the getaway until thursday." "we've got to get him!" declared the manacled man. "he can't run all the way to chicago. i figure he made for either the electric line or the railroad station. you beat it up there quick and see if you can get him." "all right," agreed the driver. "and you run down the road." "where do you get that stuff?" exclaimed the other, holding up his manacled hands. "i'm no good with these bracelets on. it's all up to you now. you're wasting time. beat it!" the driver started up the road at a run and marsh listened to the rapid beat of his footfalls until they disappeared in the distance. then he cautiously crept out of the bushes and approached the other man. it was so dark that marsh could barely make out the man's form as it was outlined against the gray of one of the gateposts. consequently, the man did not discover him until marsh's hand was on his arm. "that you, wagner?" he gasped. marsh laughed. "don't make me talk," he said. "i'm all out of breath making that getaway your friend spoke of." "hell!" the other man groaned, expressively. "it sure is--for you," replied marsh. "now, just lie down in the road while i tie your feet." the man turned to run, probably hoping to escape in the darkness. marsh's hand still gripped his arm and with a quick movement of his foot, marsh threw the man down; then unbuckled the belt around the fellow's waist and proceeded to secure his feet with it. as marsh rose to a standing position a voice close at hand, said, "that'll be all for you. throw up your hands!" marsh did not move. "i said, put up your hands," repeated the voice. "they are up," replied marsh, counting on the darkness. "don't kid me!" the speaker suddenly, flashed an electric pocket lamp on marsh. by its gleam marsh saw the sparkle of a revolver and wisely put his hands over his head. the man was standing in front of thick shrubbery. at this moment, marsh saw, by the dim glow of the pocket lamp, two hands slip from the shrubbery and close about the man's throat. the lamp and the revolver fell to the ground as the man instinctively raised his own hands to break the hold. but in the darkness marsh heard his body drop with a wheezing sigh. chapter xxi the chimney that wouldn't draw marsh stood for a moment in puzzled thought. then he heard a cheerful voice say, "aye bane got him all right," and he recognized his rescuer. "hold him for a minute," ordered marsh, and he leaped over the pine to the car, returning immediately with one of the robes. with nels' assistance marsh wound the robe about the upper part of the man's body, fastening his arms to his side as effectively as if he had been placed in a straightjacket. then he took the man's belt and secured his feet in the same way he had tied up those of the other man. marsh next took the men's handkerchiefs and two of his own. stuffing one into each man's mouth, and tying another around his head, marsh effectually gagged them into silence. "now," he said to nels, "we'll lay these two fellows out of sight in the underbrush." when this was accomplished he instructed nels to follow him, and they cautiously approached the house. as they crossed the lawn, marsh heard rapid footsteps ahead, followed by the opening of the house door. he immediately dashed in pursuit. in the hall he paused to listen for sounds that would indicate the direction the man had taken. he heard the clicking of a telephone receiver hook and a voice calling, "hello! hello!" leaping through an arched and curtained doorway at his left, marsh discovered a dim light in a connecting room, and darted to the doorway, drawing his automatic and transferring it to his right hand as he ran. he found himself in the library of the house, and in one corner he saw the driver of the car with a telephone in his hands. "drop that phone!" called marsh, leveling his automatic. ignoring marsh's command, the man hastily gave a number to the operator. it was quite clear what was happening. this man, returning from his fruitless quest at the station, had witnessed the capture of his companions. he was now endeavoring to warn some person; probably the principal, who was the man marsh particularly wanted. there was no time for argument, so marsh fired. the man dropped the telephone and stumbled forward in a heap on the floor. marsh dashed across the room and replaced the receiver on its hook, hoping that the connection had not been made in time for the man at the other end of the wire to hear the shot. though the man had fallen, marsh knew that he had nothing worse than a flesh wound in the arm, because he was sure of his aim. he tied the man's hand with a handkerchief, and his feet with his belt, and left him on the floor. turning quickly to nels, who had followed him into the room, and now stood watching, he handed the swede the captured automatic, saying, "do you know how to use it?" "ya, aye know;" was the smiling reply. "all right," said marsh. "i'm going to search the house. follow me and keep your eyes open." marsh hurried back through the front room to the hall, with the swede at his heels, and he heard the man murmuring, as he went, "you bane fine man." as they climbed the stairs, feeling their way in the dark, they heard a distant hammering. it came from the back of the house, and marsh and nels speeded down the hall. the hammering ceased as they approached the door at the end of the hall. a thin strip of light showed beneath it and marsh heard familiar voices. "i tell you somebody's come after us," said one. "oh, hell! the man said nobody could hear a foghorn here," replied the other. "what's the use?" marsh found the key in the lock, and turning it, threw the door open. there stood morgan and tierney in the wreckage of what had once manifestly been a beautifully furnished bedroom. a black opening, through which a strong draft came when the door was opened, showed where once had been a shuttered window. the remains of chairs littered the floor, parts of the bed were scattered around the room, and in the center of the floor was a pile of felt that had once been the stuffing for the mattress. "my god!" cried marsh, "what has happened?" the two men's faces lighted up at sight of him, and tierney shouted, "what did i tell you, morgan? i knew that guy would find us." "he bane fine man," added a voice from the doorway. "hello svenska!" bellowed tierney. "who are you?" nels grinned as marsh explained who he was. "how did you get in? where's the gang?" rapidly questioned morgan. "one wounded and tied downstairs, and two safely tied up by the gate," explained marsh. "one of the two out there is your man wagner. now tell me how you got here." morgan gave him a brief outline of their adventures. "but how did the room get in this state?" questioned marsh. "well, you know tierney," replied morgan, with a laugh. "he's a mighty restless individual when you try to shut him up. he demolished all the chairs on the door. we found the window frame and the shutters had been screwed tight to keep us in, so tierney took the bed apart and used the sides to clean out the whole business. when we discovered it was too far to drop from the window, we tried to make a rope with the ticking of the mattress, but when we tested it, the stuff proved to be too rotten to hold us." "and the worst of it is," added morgan, "it was cold enough in here before tierney broke out the window. since then we've been freezing. if there's a fire in the house, lead us to it." "i don't think there is," replied marsh. "now that you speak of it, i noticed a damp chill in the place the minute i came in. nels," he added, turning to the swede; "you're a good fellow. i saw a big, open fireplace in the library. build a wood fire there and we'll warm my friends up." nels nodded and started off. "we haven't any time to lose," announced marsh, turning back to morgan. "i expect to find my final evidence in this house, and we've got to get back to town pretty soon. you fellows can warm up a bit and then we'll start a systematic search from the garret to the cellar." all three then went down to the library where nels was building the fire. tierney loudly voiced his approval as the red and yellow flames began to creep over the wood. a minute later, however, he was choking and swearing as the acrid wood smoke rolled out into the room instead of up the chimney. "aye fix him," explained nels. "chimney cover to keep out draft, mebbe." he hurried out of the room. a few minutes later he returned with a white face and staring eyes. "you come," he half-whispered, from the doorway. "aye see somet'ing." "what is it?" questioned marsh. "aye don't know--aye only tenk--come quick!" "go ahead," said marsh, "we'll follow," and with nels leading the way they all climbed the stairs. nels had turned on the electric lights in the halls. they could now see their way clearly as he guided them to the attic and across it to an open window which opened on a wide gutter. they crawled out after him and worked their way along a short distance to the big, old fashioned, outside stone chimney from the library fireplace. "yust put your hand in--so," directed nels, making a motion with his arm. marsh reached up and followed the suggestion. just below the top of the chimney his fingers came into contact with a human head. "my god!" he cried. "here's our man." "holy saints!" gasped tierney. then morgan asked, "what do you mean?" "i think we've found merton's body," replied marsh. "you'll have to help me get him out." with considerable effort, and hindered by the blackness of the night, marsh and morgan climbed the slanting, slate-covered roof and perched themselves on the broad capstone of the chimney. slowly they loosened the wedged in body, gradually drew it out through the top of the chimney, and passed it down to tierney and nels, who crept with it along the gutter and passed it through the attic window. marsh and morgan followed them, and under the glow of the one dim electric light, the two men made a hasty examination of the body. it was in a fair state of preservation, due probably to the cold air, which had been made especially effective by the draft through the chimney. the identification was made certain when marsh extracted a card case from the man's coat, in which they found the business and personal cards of richard townsend merton, and morgan located the duplicate of the cuff button he had discovered in the empty apartment. the examination completed, marsh turned to morgan. "do you notice that this man was stabbed, not shot?" he asked. "yes," returned morgan. "that was one of the things i looked to make certain of." "now," said marsh, addressing the two detectives, "i guess this job has warmed you fellows up. we can't lose another minute. you, tierney, make a careful examination of this attic. it should not take you long, and you can then join morgan, who will start now to make an examination of the second and third floors. nels and i will look over the first floor and the basement. you join us as soon as you get through. if you find anything worth while, bring it down." leaving tierney in the attic, and dropping morgan off at the third floor, marsh and nels passed on down to the first floor of the house. a careful inspection of this floor brought nothing of especial interest to light except that there were no signs of its having been used. the kitchen and the pantry were bare of food, and marsh could see that neither of the sinks in the pantry and the kitchen, nor the kitchen stove, had been used for a long time. "i thought you said those men were living in the house," he queried, turning to nels. "so aye tenk," nels assured him. "queer," murmured marsh. "no fire, no food, and no signs of cooking." "mebbe in basement," suggested nels. "well, we're going there now," said marsh. "do you know the way, nels?" "aye guess," replied the swede, leading the way into a long hall that led from the pantry along one side of the house. a short distance up this hall nels opened a door, and they discovered a stairway leading into the basement. marsh lit a match and located an electric switch. when he turned this a light flashed on below and they descended the stairs. here they found a hall leading across the house, with a doorway at the far end, and one on either side. "aye tenk," said nels, pointing down the hall, "dat door go outside--dis one to laundry--dat one aye don't know." marsh opened the last door indicated by nels, and lighting another match, found it a rough basement containing the heating plant, coal bins, and general storage space. he found the electric light and turned it on. but little coal was left in the bins, and the thick mantle of dust over the other things in this part of the basement showed that it had been a long time since anything had been touched. the last thing, marsh looked into the firebox under the heating plant. this was well filled with an ash that had resulted from the burning of papers, but after poking around with a long stick, he found that nothing remained which could in any way be used as evidence. turning out the light, they crossed the hall and opened the other door. with a match, marsh found a wall switch close to the door, and snapping this, the room was flooded with brilliant light from several electric lamps pendant from the ceiling, each covered with a green metal shade. here was the solution of the deserted condition of the upper part of the house. that part of the house had been left intentionally deserted, for all the men's activities had been centered in this room. it was a large, square room that had been the laundry of the house. four cots, standing along one wall, indicated where the men had slept, and several pots on the gas stove showed where they had obtained their heat and done their cooking. through the glass door of a cupboard, in one corner, he saw cans and packages of food. the table, in the center of the room, was littered with soiled dishes and the remains of a meal. large patches of black cloth on two sides of the room marked the probable location of windows which had been carefully covered to keep any light from showing on the outside. but what interested marsh most was the complete counterfeiting equipment in one corner of the room. a small trunk also stood in this corner, and raising the lid marsh discovered a large quantity of the five dollar bills he had been tracing over the country for the last two years. what he really sought, however, were the plates, and these were apparently missing. at this moment nels spoke. "you like to see dis?" he asked. turning, marsh found that nels had the cupboard door open, and was pointing to a suitcase, which lay on the floor. it had been previously concealed by the lower part of the door. "you bet i would!" exclaimed marsh and hurried across to the cupboard. he pulled out the suitcase, which was fairly heavy, and tried to open it. it was locked. nels pulled out a big knife, with a long blade, and began to cut through the leather at the edges. he presently laid back one side of the suitcase, exposing some clothing to view. it was only a thin layer, however, which marsh threw quickly aside. under the clothing he found a carefully wrapped package. tearing off the covering, he saw what he sought--the plates for the five dollar bills. beneath the package, laid out in a carefully arranged row, were bundles of stocks and bonds. here, at last, was the evidence marsh had sought, and the confirmation of the theory he had carefully worked out. chapter xxii cornered marsh replaced everything in the suitcase, put it back in the cupboard, and closed the door. "we're through here for the present, nels," he said. shutting off the lights, the two men returned to the main floor. as they entered the library, morgan and tierney appeared, having completed their search of the upper part of the house. "any luck?" asked marsh. "nothing at all with any bearing on the case," answered morgan. "how about you?" "i found all the evidence we need; most of it in a suitcase, which is probably the one atwood removed from his apartment." "there goes one of your theories, marsh," laughed morgan. "which one?" inquired marsh. "that clark atwood and this man hunt were not in cahoots." marsh smiled. "what is the proverb?" he said. "'tis wisdom sometimes to seem a fool.'" "now then, morgan," he continued, briskly, "there's the telephone. you make arrangements to have your men come out and take care of the evidence in the basement, and the prisoners. while you're doing that, the rest of us will bring in those fellows we left out by the road." morgan went to the telephone as directed, and marsh led the others down the drive to the gate. everything was just as they had left it, and they found the two men where they had placed them, behind the bushes. "if i'm any example," said tierney, "these two guys must be near frozen to death." "that'll cool off their ambition for a fight," replied marsh. marsh placed wagner, who was the smaller of the two men, over his shoulder, and tierney and nels, carrying the other man between them, followed marsh back to the house. they put the two men in chairs in the library, and lifting the other man from the floor placed him in a chair near them. marsh then turned to morgan. "have you fixed everything up?" "yes, they ought to be here inside of an hour and a half." "fine!" commented marsh. then turning to nels, he pulled out a bill and presented it. "nels," he said, "we've all got to go into the city. somebody must watch this place while we're gone. you have a good gun there, so you can stick around until the police come." "sure--aye watch." "come on," marsh called, and the three men started out. the last thing marsh heard as he went down the steps, was a voice murmuring, "he bane fine man." oak street lay shadowy and deserted, as marsh, accompanied by morgan and tierney, turned into it from rush street. "wait here for a minute," requested marsh, as they stopped in front of the entrance to hunt's building, and he moved toward the dark tradesmen's entrance. as he neared it, a man appeared from the shadows. they held a low-voiced conversation, and marsh then returned to the others. when the door was opened, in answer to their ring, the three detectives climbed the stairs. hunt's man-servant stood at the door. "mr. hunt in?" asked marsh. "yes, sir," replied the man. "i think you were here before, sir." "yes, sunday night." "walk right in, sir. mr. hunt's in the living room." hunt had evidently been reading, but had risen at the sound of voices, for on entering the living room they found him standing by the davenport, with his finger between the pages of a book. "good evening," said marsh. there was a look of surprise on hunt's face, but he quickly mastered it. "i hardly expected to see you here," he observed, significantly. "and who are your friends?" "detective sergeant morgan, whom you have met before; and his partner, detective sergeant tierney." again that astonished expression passed over hunt's face. he spoke quite calmly, however. "may i ask the reason for this late call?" "it's really a continuation of the visit i made here sunday night," answered marsh. "my story has had another and more interesting chapter added to it, and i thought you might like to hear it." "naturally, i am interested," returned hunt, smiling. "will you gentlemen take chairs?" hunt's man, who had followed them into the room, now offered to assist them in taking off their coats. "never mind," said marsh, "we shall be here only a few minutes," and the man left the room. marsh now seated himself in the chair he had occupied on the occasion of his previous visit, and morgan and tierney took chairs on the opposite side of the fireplace. hunt laid aside his book and offered them cigars from a humidor. marsh refused, calling attention to the fact that he was lighting a cigarette, but morgan and tierney accepted, and hunt, selecting a cigar for himself, then settled down among the cushions in a corner of the davenport. "my story really begins two years ago, mr. hunt," said marsh, "but i will pass briefly over the early part of it by merely saying that at that time i took up the trail of a counterfeiter, known as clark atwood." "why should you take up the trail of a counterfeiter?" inquired hunt. "because," declared marsh, throwing back his coat and exposing his badge, "i belong to the secret service division of the united states treasury department." hunt remained silent and marsh continued. "upon the death of his wife in st. louis, a few months ago, this man atwood brought his daughter to chicago and placed her in an apartment on sheridan road. posing as a traveling man, atwood was busy in other places, and made only occasional visits to his daughter. to maintain a place of safety and refuge in time of trouble, this man atwood kept his daughter in ignorance of his real occupation. i may say, at this point, that atwood had made his living by criminal means for many years, and the venture in counterfeiting was simply the latest of his many ways of gaining a livelihood." "in the course of time it became necessary for atwood to get a certain man out of the way. the plans were carefully laid and the stage set. his daughter believed him to be traveling on the road, but after he was sure that she had retired for the night, he quietly entered his apartment, went to her bedroom, and by means of a hypodermic needle, charged with morphine, rendered her unconscious while she slept, so that there would be no chance of her awakening and spoiling his plans. then atwood, and a well known police character known as 'baldy' newman, entered an empty apartment across the hall by means of a duplicate key. at twelve o'clock, this man 'baldy' telephoned the victim at his hotel. newman represented himself as the man's former chauffeur, and appealed for immediate assistance to get out of some trouble he was in. atwood, and his confederate, then waited in the dining room of this apartment until the victim rang the bell. newman admitted him and led him into the dining room. there the two men confronted him with revolvers and on the threat of taking his life, forced him to sign a paper." "after that, the victim made an attempt to escape. he fled to the front of the apartment, closely pursued by the two men. they attempted to make away with him silently, as originally planned, by knifing him to death. the victim brought a hitch into their plans by drawing a revolver and firing one shot before he died. had this not occurred, it is probable that the murderers' plans would not have been discovered until long after they had made a safe getaway. as it was, the shot merely hastened their actions at the time. the lights in the apartment were turned out, the dead man was carried across the hall, through atwood's apartment, and down the rear stairs, where he was thrown into a waiting automobile. when the police arrived, a few minutes later, the men believed that they had gotten safely away, without leaving a trace. they did leave traces, however, and from that minute the police never left the trail until they closed in on the men today." marsh took a photograph from his pocket. "among the traces left in that apartment," he went on, "were the imprints of a man's hands on the dining room table. i have here a photograph of those imprints, and among the many identifying marks there is a scar of a peculiar shape." marsh returned the photograph to his pocket. "i am very glad to learn that you have cleared up the murder of my employer, mr. marsh," said hunt. "what seems curious to me, however, is why you should think this man atwood would want to kill mr. merton. surely mr. merton could never have had any dealings with a criminal such as you describe atwood to be." "on the contrary, mr. hunt," returned marsh, "merton had extensive business dealings with atwood. in fact, he went so far as to place atwood in a position where he could rob merton of several hundred thousand dollars worth of stocks and bonds. the transfer of these securities had been taking place for a year or more, and it had reached the point where the greater part of merton's fortune was in atwood's hands. it is evident that atwood's original intention was to step quietly out of sight with this fortune, but subsequent events led him to believe that he could go on in quiet security if merton were out of the way. that was the reason why merton was murdered." hunt threw the remains of his cigar into the fireplace, and slipped the hand that had held it down into the pillows of the davenport. "and you think you have at last located this man atwood do you, mr. marsh?" "yes," returned marsh, calmly, "because i have absolute proof that clark atwood and gilbert hunt are one and the same man!" instantly hunt's hand whipped out from behind the sofa cushions, and the three detectives found themselves covered by an automatic as hunt stood up. "clever work, gentlemen," he said, smiling. "but after leading men of your type around by the nose for many years, you can hardly expect me to stay here and calmly accept defeat now." "oh, no," answered marsh. "we fully expected you to put up a good fight." he slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, and crossing his legs, leaned back, smiling up at hunt. "go ahead; what's your next move?" "my next move," cried hunt, sharply, "is to leave you damn fools sitting right there. when i didn't hear from my men this afternoon i knew that something was wrong, and my way of escape is ready." he backed slowly toward the door, keeping the detectives covered with his automatic. when he reached the door of the room, he called, "everything ready, george?" "yes, sir," a voice replied from the distance. hunt again addressed the detectives. "i advise you gentlemen to stay quietly where you are for a few minutes. i am going out of the back door of this apartment, and you, will find it difficult to find your way through in the dark--especially as you may meet a shot at any moment. i bid you good evening, gentlemen." with that, hunt backed out of sight through the doorway and all was silent. immediately, morgan and tierney leaped to their feet and dashed toward the door. "hold on!" exclaimed marsh, still sitting quietly in his chair, "where are you going?" the two detectives stopped in astonishment. "we're going to get him!" shouted tierney. "no need of taking all that trouble," returned marsh. "my men are ready for him. long ago a secret service man even replaced his driver at the wheel of his car." as if in answer to this statement from marsh, there was a distant fusillade of shots. "they've got him," said marsh, rising. "now we can go." "if there's no hurry now," said morgan, "i wish you would tell us the rest of the story." "what do you mean?" inquired marsh. "how did you come to connect these two men, and how did you get that inside dope on the stealing?" "you know all the incidents," returned marsh, "and you ought to be able to connect them as i did. the only information i had about which you did not know was that notebook. the book contained memoranda in hunt's handwriting, which, by the way, closely resembled the writing in atwood's last letter. among these were the names, addresses and telephone numbers of the men who worked with him, and showing their different locations during the past year or two. he also made notations of the different stocks and bonds which he took out of merton's vaults at various times." "atwood, you know, took a suitcase at the last moment from his apartment. this afternoon i located a suitcase in the merton house, containing the counterfeit plates, and the stocks and bonds which i had found noted in hunt's memorandum book. naturally, a large part of the story i told tonight was merely surmise on my part, but you can see how near i came to the truth from the way hunt acted." "another interesting point, due to your foresight, morgan, was that matter of the scar. i studied very carefully the photograph you had taken. sunday night, when i was calling here on hunt, i goaded him into a rage, so that he shook his right fist in my face. i had a good view of the scar then, and my last doubt vanished." "another point that isn't clear," queried morgan, "is that paper merton signed. what was it?" "i don't know," said marsh. "that was a wild guess on my part; that he had signed any paper at all. it seemed odd, however, that an experienced financier like merton would make an employee sole executor. so i decided that before his death, merton was forced to sign either a new will, or a codicil to his old will, which was dated back some months so as to offset any suspicions." "and what do you suppose hunt expected to gain by kidnapping all of us?" again questioned morgan. "don't you see," explained marsh, "that we were getting too close, and might be expected to spring the trap at any minute. our disappearance would divert the police into a search for us instead of for them. in the meantime, they could get quietly away and vanish. and besides, i was supposed to have that notebook--the most incriminating evidence we possessed at that time." "but see here," now broke in tierney. "why did you let that guy think he had a chance to get away, when you had the goods on him? the three of us could have nabbed him the minute we came in." "tierney," replied marsh, "there's a little girl up north that i hope to marry some day. you know her--she's atwood's daughter. if that girl knew that her father was a crook it would break her heart. i didn't intend that she should ever know. i told hunt that story tonight so as to show him the hopelessness of his position, and thus drive him out to a finish battle with my men. sooner or later he had to pay the penalty of being a murderer, and i did not think he would allow himself to be taken alive, so i gave him his chance. his death prevents a personal trial and the presenting of all the evidence. the name of atwood need not now appear in the reports of the case, and the girl will never connect the references that may be made to gilbert hunt, with her father." "one week!" exclaimed morgan. "marsh, you complimented me once on twenty-four hours bum work; it's my turn now, to hand it to you for one week's real work." "i appreciate your good intentions, morgan," laughed marsh, "but you forget that i have actually been two years on this job. the last week was simply the windup. it was not my superior work--merely a slip in the man's plans that gave me a clue." "hell!" cried tierney. "cut that modest stuff. a man who could turn the biggest mystery the department ever had into a clue, is some guy!" chapter xxiii sunset one of the sudden changes characteristic of the chicago climate had taken place. the wintry chill had left the air before the advance of a soft, warm breeze that blew out of the west. it might have been early spring instead of late fall. marsh waited outside the music school on michigan avenue for jane atwood. presently she appeared, and marsh was conscious of a quickened beating of the heart as he watched the slender, graceful figure approach. he noted the becoming flush, which spread over her features as she recognized him, and he was certain that no woman ever before had such sparkling eyes and so sweet a smile. "this is a pleasant surprise," she greeted him. "i knew you had a lesson today," explained marsh, "and the weather was so fine that i thought you might enjoy a walk before you went home." "i should love it!" she exclaimed. "i was just dreading the thought of going straight home to that plain little room in the hotel. hotel rooms never do seem homelike, do they?" "most of my life has been spent in hotels," returned marsh, as they strolled toward the curb. "my parents died before i was twenty, and since then i have led a roving life." he signaled a passing taxi, and directed the chauffeur to take them to lincoln park. marsh glanced down oak street as the car flashed by. the mysterious shadows that hung over the street at night, and the recent tragic incident which had taken place there, seemed almost like a dream to marsh, as he saw the street stretch peacefully toward the west in the light of the late afternoon sun. marsh's attention was quickly diverted, however, for at this point the tall buildings, the smoky streets, and the crowds were left behind. at one side began the long line of palatial residences that has brought to this section of chicago the sobriquet of "the gold coast." on the other side lay a strip of park, and beyond that stretched the rolling waters of lake michigan, as far as the eye could see. "this is what i like about chicago," exclaimed marsh. "after a day in the hurry and bustle and grind of the business district, you are swept in a few minutes into a region of trees, grass and spreading waters. at one stroke you seem to leave the seething city behind and enter into the wide spaces of the earth." "you speak like a poet," declared the girl, "rather than a plain business man." "perhaps," returned marsh, in a low voice, "it is because of something new that has come into my life." the girl's eyes looked into his for a moment, and seemed to read something there, for she turned with heightened color to look out over the lake. they sat in silence for the next few minutes; then marsh leaned forward and opened the door of the taxi. "we'll stop here," he called to the driver. "have you been in lincoln park before?" he inquired, as they strolled north. "only to pass through in the bus," returned jane. "i think," commented marsh, "that this is one of the prettiest parks. i presume that those rolling hills are artificial, but they are certainly a relief, after the monotonous flatness of the rest of the city. there is one, just ahead of us, that is the highest in the park. i want to take you there, for it is a place where i have often sat during the last few months, when i wanted to be alone and think." "i believe," said jane, "that this is the first time you have really told me anything abort yourself." "frankly," replied marsh, "that is one of the reasons why i suggested this walk today. this favorite spot of mine appealed to me as just the place to tell you something of my story. there it is," he added, pointing across the driveway to a little tree-clad hill. he guided her across the drive, up the winding path through the trees, to an open space on the hilltop, where they found a bench and sat down. "it is beautiful," agreed the girl. several miles of the shore line lay stretched before them, and beyond it miles and miles of blue-green water rolled in, to break into miniature waves against the embankment. the sun had nearly touched the treetops behind them, and the gray of evening already lay out over the lake. the distant horizon changed from a deep purplish tint, where it met the water, through many, shades, until it turned to rich gold, where the light of the setting sun fell full upon fleecy clouds that drifted slowly, far up in the air. "you asked me a few days ago," began marsh, "about the nature of my business. i did not feel free to tell you at that time, because i was engaged in working out one of my most important cases. that case is completed; and so is my work along that line. i am a detective, miss atwood--for the last ten years in the secret service division of the united states government." "how interesting," she exclaimed. "no, you are wrong," returned marsh. "i thought it was interesting, but i have found out my mistake. it was a wandering, unnatural life, full of nervous days and sleepless nights. no home life, no family, no friends--lacking all the things that really make life worth living. miss atwood, the men who work down there in those great buildings during the day, and go to a little home at night, to be greeted by a cheery wife and romping children, are the most fortunate men in the world. some of them grow restless at times, and may long for what they think is the glamour and excitement of a life like mine. work such as mine is necessary to the peace, happiness and progress of the world--but i have come to the conclusion that i would rather let the other fellow do it." "what do you plan to do, then?" the girl asked softly. "unfortunately, my training has been along one line only, and i must stick to that. but i intend to follow it in a way that will permit me to have a home, and some of the things in life which other men enjoy. i have already sent in my resignation to the secret service. as soon as it is accepted i plan to open an office in chicago, to do private investigative work. there is an immense opportunity for this among the thousands of great business houses here. then i am going to have a home--and," he added, leaning toward her and gazing straight into her eyes, "i want you to help me start that home." jane flushed. "what do you mean?" she murmured. "that i love you," replied marsh, as he took her small, soft hand in his. "but you have known me such a short time," protested jane. "jane," he said, "i have watched over you for nearly two years. when you walked along st. louis streets and entered shops; when you passed back and forth to your music school in chicago; i was many times close at hand." she gazed at him in startled surprise. "i don't understand," she said. "my work took me to st. louis," marsh explained. "there i saw you and fell in love. the same work brought me to chicago, soon after you arrived here, and though you did not know me--probably not even by sight--i was there, watching over you, and worshipping day by day. perhaps a week is too short a time for you to begin to care, but i had hoped that you would." "i do care," she half whispered, "but i did not know that you thought so much of me. i have often longed for a real home myself. you know, my own home was never really a happy one. for years my mother was sickly and nervous, and it was i who incurred all the household responsibilities. it has been years since i had the care and companionship that most girls receive from a mother. my father always provided liberally for us, but, he was seldom at home." "then we will start a real home together?" he pleaded. "yes," she whispered. the sun sank out of sight and the twilight folded them in friendly seclusion as marsh took her in his arms. book was produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.) the chase of the golden plate [illustration: "'you really do not love him, anyway,' he ventured"] the chase of the golden plate by jacques futrelle with illustrations by will grefé and decorations by e. a. poucher new york dodd, mead & company copyright, , by the curtis publishing company copyright, , by dodd, mead & company _published, october, _ to _three women i love_: fama, and mayzie, and berta the chase of the golden plate [illustration] part i the burglar and the girl chapter i cardinal richelieu and the mikado stepped out on a narrow balcony overlooking the entrance to seven oaks, lighted their cigarettes and stood idly watching the throng as it poured up the wide marble steps. here was an over-corpulent dowager empress of china, there an indian warrior in full paint and toggery, and mincing along behind him two giggling geisha girls. next, in splendid robes of rank, came the czar of russia. the mikado smiled. "an old enemy of mine," he remarked to the cardinal. a watteau shepherdess was assisted out of an automobile by christopher columbus and they came up the walk arm-in-arm, while a pierrette ran beside them laughing up into their faces. d'artagnan, athos, aramis, and porthos swaggered along with insolent, clanking swords. "ah!" exclaimed the cardinal. "there are four gentlemen whom i know well." mary queen of scots, pocahontas, the sultan of turkey, and mr. micawber chatted amicably together in one language. behind them came a figure which immediately arrested attention. it was a burglar, with dark lantern in one hand and revolver in the other. a black mask was drawn down to his lips, a slouch hat shaded his eyes, and a kit of the tools of his profession swung from one shoulder. "by george!" commented the cardinal. "now, that's clever." "looks like the real thing," the mikado added. the burglar stood aside a moment, allowing a diamond-burdened queen elizabeth to pass, then came on up the steps. the cardinal and the mikado passed through an open window into the reception-room to witness his arrival. [illustration: "a figure which immediately arrested attention"] "her royal highness, queen elizabeth!" the graven-faced servant announced. the burglar handed a card to the liveried voice and noted, with obvious amusement, a fleeting expression of astonishment on the stolid face. perhaps it was there because the card had been offered in that hand which held the revolver. the voice glanced at the name on the card and took a deep breath of relief. "bill, the burglar!" he announced. there was a murmur of astonishment and interest in the reception-hall and the ballroom beyond. thus it was that the burglar found himself the centre of attention for a moment, while a ripple of laughter ran around. the entrance of a clown, bounding in behind him, drew all eyes away, however, and the burglar was absorbed in the crowd. it was only a few minutes later that cardinal richelieu and the mikado, seeking diversion, isolated the burglar and dragged him off to the smoking-room. there the czar of russia, who was on such terms of intimacy with the mikado that he called him mike, joined them, and they smoked together. "how did you ever come to hit on a costume like that?" asked the cardinal of the burglar. the burglar laughed, disclosing two rows of strong, white teeth. a cleft in the square-cut, clean-shaven chin, visible below the mask, became more pronounced. a woman would have called it a dimple. "i wanted something different," he explained. "i couldn't imagine anything more extraordinary than a real burglar here ready to do business, so i came." "it's lucky the police didn't see you," remarked the czar. again the burglar laughed. he was evidently a good-natured craftsman, despite his sinister garb. "that was my one fear--that i would be pinched before i arrived," he replied. "'pinched,' i may explain, is a technical term in my profession meaning jugged, nabbed, collared, run in. it seemed that my fears had some foundation, too, for when i drove up in my auto and stepped out a couple of plain-clothes men stared at me pretty hard." he laid aside the dark lantern and revolver to light a fresh cigarette. the mikado picked up the lantern and flashed the light on and off several times, while the czar sighted the revolver at the floor. "better not do that," suggested the burglar casually. "it's loaded." "loaded?" repeated the czar. he laid down the revolver gingerly. "surest thing, you know," and the burglar laughed quizzically. "i'm the real thing, you see, so naturally my revolver is loaded. i think i ought to be able to make quite a good haul, as we say, before unmasking-time." "if you're as clever as your appearance would indicate," said the cardinal admiringly, "i see no reason why it shouldn't be worth while. you might, for instance, make a collection of elizabethan jewels. i have noticed four elizabeths so far, and it's early yet." "oh, i'll make it pay," the burglar assured him lightly. "i'm pretty clever; practised a good deal, you know. just to show you that i am an expert, here is a watch and pin i took from my friend, the czar, five minutes ago." he extended a well-gloved hand in which lay the watch and diamond pin. the czar stared at them a moment in frank astonishment; patted himself all over in sudden trepidation; then laughed sheepishly. the mikado tilted his cigar up to a level with the slant eyes of his mask, and laughed. "in the language of diplomacy, nick," he told the czar, "you are what is known as 'easy.' i thought i had convinced you of that." "gad, you are clever," remarked the cardinal. "i might have used you along with d'artagnan and the others." the burglar laughed again and stood up lazily. "come on, this is stupid," he suggested. "let's go out and see what's doing." "say, just between ourselves tell us who you are," urged the czar. "your voice seems familiar, but i can't place you." "wait till unmasking-time," retorted the burglar good-naturedly. "then you'll know. or if you think you could bribe that stone image who took my card at the door you might try. he'll remember me. i never saw a man so startled in all my life as he was when i appeared." the quartet sauntered out into the ballroom just as the signal for the grand march was given. a few minutes later the kaleidoscopic picture began to move. stuyvesant randolph, the host, as sir walter raleigh, and his superb wife, as cleopatra, looked upon the mass of colour, and gleaming shoulders, and jewels, and brilliant uniforms, and found it good--extremely good. mr. randolph smiled behind his mask at the striking incongruities on every hand: queen elizabeth and mr. micawber; cardinal richelieu and a pierrette; a clown dancing attendance on marie antoinette. the czar of russia paid deep and devoted attention to a light-footed geisha girl, while the mikado and folly, a jingling thing in bells and abbreviated skirts, romped together. the grotesque figure of the march was the burglar. his revolver was thrust carelessly into a pocket and the dark lantern hung at his belt. he was pouring a stream of pleasing nonsense into the august ear of lady macbeth, nimbly seeking at the same time to evade the pompous train of the dowager empress. the grand march came to an end and the chattering throng broke up into little groups. cardinal richelieu strolled along with a pierrette on his arm. "business good?" he inquired of the burglar. "expect it to be," was the reply. the pierrette came and, standing on her tip-toes--silly, impractical sort of toes they were--made a _moue_ at the burglar. "oooh!" she exclaimed. "you are perfectly horrid." "thank you," retorted the burglar. he bowed gravely, and the cardinal, with his companion, passed on. the burglar stood gazing after them a moment, then glanced around the room, curiously, two or three times. he might have been looking for someone. finally he wandered away aimlessly through the crowd. [illustration] chapter ii half an hour later the burglar stood alone, thoughtfully watching the dancers as they whirled by. a light hand fell on his arm--he started a little--and in his ear sounded a voice soft with the tone of a caress. "excellent, dick, excellent!" the burglar turned quickly to face a girl--a girl of the golden west, with deliciously rounded chin, slightly parted rose-red lips, and sparkling, eager eyes as blue as--as blue as--well, they were blue eyes. an envious mask hid cheeks and brow, but above a sombrero was perched arrogantly on crisp, ruddy-gold hair, flaunting a tricoloured ribbon. a revolver swung at her hip--the wrong hip--and a bowie knife, singularly inoffensive in appearance, was thrust through her girdle. the burglar looked curiously a moment, then smiled. [illustration: "an envious mask hid cheeks and brow"] "how did you know me?" he asked. "by your chin," she replied. "you can never hide yourself behind a mask that doesn't cover that." the burglar touched his chin with one gloved hand. "i forgot that," he remarked ruefully. "hadn't you seen me?" "no." the girl drew nearer and laid one hand lightly on his arm; her voice dropped mysteriously. "is everything ready?" she asked. "oh, yes," he assured her quickly. his voice, too, was lowered cautiously. "did you come in the auto?" "yes." "and the casket?" for an instant the burglar hesitated. "the casket?" he repeated. "certainly, the casket. did you get it all right?" the burglar looked at her with a new, businesslike expression on his lips. the girl returned his steady gaze for an instant, then her eyes dropped. a faint colour glowed in her white chin. the burglar suddenly laughed admiringly. "yes, i got it," he said. she took a deep breath quickly, and her white hands fluttered a little. "we will have to go in a few minutes, won't we?" she asked uneasily. "i suppose so," he replied. "certainly before unmasking-time," she said, "because--because i think there is someone here who knows, or suspects, that----" "suspects what?" demanded the burglar. "sh-h-h-h!" warned the girl, and she laid a finger on her lips. "not so loud. someone might hear. here are some people coming now that i'm afraid of. they know me. meet me in the conservatory in five minutes. i don't want them to see me talking to you." she moved away quickly and the burglar looked after her with admiration and some impalpable quality other than that in his eyes. he was turning away toward the conservatory when he ran into the arms of an oversized man lumpily clad in the dress of a courtier. the lumpy individual stood back and sized him up. "say, young fellow, that's a swell rig you got there," he remarked. the burglar glanced at him in polite astonishment--perhaps it was the tone of the remark. "glad you like it," he said coldly, and passed on. as he waited in the conservatory the amusement died out of his eyes and his lips were drawn into a straight, sharp line. he had seen the lumpy individual speak to another man, indicating generally the direction of the conservatory as he did so. after a moment the girl returned in deep agitation. "we must go now--at once," she whispered hurriedly. "they suspect us. i know it, i know it!" "i'm afraid so," said the burglar grimly. "that's why that detective spoke to me." "detective?" gasped the girl. "yes, a detective disguised as a gentleman." "oh, if they are watching us what shall we do?" the burglar glanced out, and seeing the man to whom the lumpy individual had spoken coming toward the conservatory, turned suddenly to the girl. "do you really want to go with me?" he asked. "certainly," she replied eagerly. "you are making no mistake?" "no, dick, no!" she said again. "but if we are caught----" "do as i say and we won't be caught," declared the burglar. his tone now was sharp, commanding. "you go on alone toward the front door. pass out as if to get a breath of fresh air. i'll follow in a minute. watch for me. this detective is getting too curious for comfort. outside we'll take the first auto and run for it." he thoughtfully whirled the barrel of his revolver in his fingers as he stared out into the ballroom. the girl clung to him helplessly a moment; her hand trembled on his arm. "i'm frightened," she confessed. "oh, dick, if----" "don't lose your nerve," he commanded. "if you do we'll both be caught. go on now, and do as i say. i'll come--but i may come in a hurry. watch for me." for just a moment more the girl clung to his arm. "oh, dick, you darling!" she whispered. then, turning, she left him there. from the door of the conservatory the burglar watched her splendid, lithe figure as she threaded her way through the crowd. finally she passed beyond his view and he sauntered carelessly toward the door. once he glanced back. the lumpy individual was following slowly. then he saw a liveried servant approach the host and whisper to him excitedly. "this is my cue to move," the burglar told himself grimly. still watching, he saw the servant point directly at him. the host, with a sudden gesture, tore off his mask and the burglar accelerated his pace. "stop that man!" called the host. for one brief instant there was the dead silence which follows general astonishment--and the burglar ran for the door. several pairs of hands reached out from the crowd toward him. "there he goes, there!" exclaimed the burglar excitedly. "that man ahead! i'll catch him!" the ruse opened the way and he went through. the girl was waiting at the foot of the steps. "they're coming!" he panted as he dragged her along. "climb in that last car on the end there!" without a word the girl ran to the auto and clambered into the front seat. several men dashed out of the house. wonderingly her eyes followed the vague figure of the burglar as he sped along in the shadow of a wall. he paused beneath a window, picked up something and raced for the car. "stop him!" came a cry. the burglar flung his burden, which fell at the girl's feet with a clatter, and leaped. the auto swayed as he landed beside her. with a quick twist of the wheel he headed out. "hurry, dick, they're coming!" gasped the girl. the motor beneath them whirred and panted and the car began to move. "halt, or i'll fire," came another cry. "down!" commanded the burglar. his hand fell on the girl's shoulder heavily and he dragged her below the level of the seat. then, bending low over the wheel, he gave the car half power. it leaped out into the road in the path of its own light, just as there came a pistol-shot from behind, followed instantly by another. the car sped on. [illustration] chapter iii stuyvesant randolph, millionaire, owner of seven oaks and host of the masked ball, was able to tell the police only what happened, and not the manner of its happening. briefly, this was that a thief, cunningly disguised as a burglar with dark lantern and revolver in hand, had surreptitiously attended the masked ball by entering at the front door and presenting an invitation card. and when mr. randolph got this far in his story even _he_ couldn't keep his face straight. the sum total of everyone's knowledge, therefore, was this: soon after the grand march a servant entered the smoking room and found the burglar there alone, standing beside an open window, looking out. this smoking room connected, by a corridor, with a small dining room where the randolph gold plate was kept in ostentatious seclusion. as the servant entered the smoking-room the burglar turned away from the window and went out into the ballroom. he did not carry a bundle; he did not appear to be excited. fifteen or twenty minutes later the servant discovered that eleven plates of the gold service, valued roughly at $ , , were missing. he informed mr. randolph. the information, naturally enough, did not elevate the host's enjoyment of the ball, and he did things hastily. meanwhile--that is, between the time when the burglar left the smoking-room and the time when he passed out the front door--the burglar had talked earnestly with a masked girl of the west. it was established that, when she left him in the conservatory, she went out the front door. there she was joined by the burglar, and then came their sensational flight in the automobile--a horse-power car that moved like the wind. the automobile in which the burglar had gone to seven oaks was left behind; thus far it had not been claimed. the identity of the burglar and the girl made the mystery. it was easy to conjecture--that's what the police said--how the burglar got away with the gold plate. he went into the smoking-room, then into the dining-room, dropped the gold plate into a sack and threw the sack out of a window. it was beautifully simple. just what the girl had to do with it wasn't very clear; perhaps a score or more articles of jewelry, which had been reported missing by guests, engaged her attention. it was also easy to see how the burglar and the girl had been able to shake off pursuit by the police in two other automobiles. the car they had chosen was admittedly the fastest of the scores there, the night was pitch-dark, and, besides, a burglar like that was liable to do anything. two shots had been fired at him by the lumpy courtier, who was really detective cunningham, but they had only spurred him on. these things were easy to understand. but the identity of the pair was a different and more difficult proposition, and there remained the task of yanking them out of obscurity. this fell to the lot of detective mallory, who represented the supreme police intelligence of the metropolitan district, happily combining a no. shoe and a no. hat. he was a cautious, suspicious, far-seeing man--as police detectives go. for instance, it was he who explained the method of the theft with a lucidity that was astounding. [illustration] detective mallory and two or three of his satellites heard mr. randolph's story, then the statements of his two men who had attended the ball in costume, and the statements of the servants. after all this mr. mallory chewed his cigar and thought violently for several minutes. mr. randolph looked on expectantly; he didn't want to miss anything. "as i understand it, mr. randolph," said the supreme police intelligence at last, "each invitation-card presented at the door by your guests bore the name of the person to whom it was issued?" "yes," replied mr. randolph. "ah!" exclaimed the detective shrewdly. "then we have a clue." "where are those cards, curtis?" asked mr. randolph of the servant who had received them at the door. "i didn't know they were of further value, sir, and they were thrown away--into the furnace." mr. mallory was crestfallen. "did you notice if the card presented at the door by the burglar on the evening of the masked ball at seven oaks bore a name?" he asked. he liked to be explicit like that. "yes, sir. i noticed it particularly because the gentleman was dressed so queerly." "do you remember the name?" "no, sir." "would you remember it if you saw it or heard it again?" the servant looked at mr. randolph helplessly. "i don't think i would, sir," he answered. "and the girl? did you notice the card she gave you?" "i don't remember her at all, sir. many of the ladies wore wraps when they came in, and her costume would not have been noticeable if she had on a wrap." the supreme intelligence was thoughtful for another few minutes. at last he turned to mr. randolph again. "you are certain there was only _one_ man at that ball dressed as a burglar?" he asked. "yes, thank heaven," replied mr. randolph fervently. "if there'd been another one they might have taken the piano." the supreme intelligence frowned. "and this girl was dressed like a western girl?" he asked. "yes. a sort of spirit-of-the-west costume." "and no other woman there wore such a dress?" "no," responded mr. randolph. "no," echoed the two detectives. "now, mr. randolph, how many invitations were issued for the ball?" "three or four hundred. it's a big house," mr. randolph apologised, "and we tried to do the thing properly." "how many persons do you suppose actually attended the ball?" "oh, i don't know. three hundred, perhaps." detective mallory thought again. "it's unquestionably the work of two bold and clever professional crooks," he said at last judicially, and his satellites hung on his words eagerly. "it has every ear-mark of it. they perhaps planned the thing weeks before, and forged invitation-cards, or perhaps stole them--perhaps stole them." he turned suddenly and pointed an accusing finger at the servant, curtis. "did you notice the handwriting on the card the burglar gave you?" he demanded. "no, sir. not particularly." "i mean, do you recall if it was different in any way from the handwriting on the other cards?" insisted the supreme intelligence. "i don't think it was, sir." "if it had been would you have noticed it?" "i might have, sir." "were the names written on all the invitation-cards by the same hand, mr. randolph?" "yes: my wife's secretary." detective mallory arose and paced back and forth across the room with wrinkles in his brow. "ah!" he said at last, "then we know the cards were not forged, but stolen from someone to whom they had been sent. we know this much, therefore----" he paused a moment. "therefore all that must be done," mr. randolph finished the sentence, "is to find from whom the card or cards were stolen, who presented them at my door, and who got away with the plate." the supreme intelligence glared at him aggressively. mr. randolph's face was perfectly serious. it was his gold plate, you know. "yes, that's it," detective mallory assented. "now we'll get after this thing right. downey, you get that automobile the burglar left at seven oaks and find its owner; also find the car the burglar and the girl escaped in. cunningham, you go to seven oaks and look over the premises. see particularly if the girl left a wrap--she didn't wear one away from there--and follow that up. blanton, you take a list of invited guests that mr. randolph will give you, check off those persons who are known to have been at the ball, and find out all about those who were not, and--follow that up." "that'll take weeks!" complained blanton. the supreme intelligence turned on him fiercely. "well?" he demanded. he continued to stare for a moment, and blanton wrinkled up in the baleful glow of his superior's scorn. "and," detective mallory added magnanimously, "i will do the rest." thus the campaign was planned against the burglar and the girl. chapter iv hutchinson hatch was a newspaper reporter, a long, lean, hungry looking young man with an insatiable appetite for facts. this last was, perhaps, an astonishing trait in a reporter; and hatch was positively finicky on the point. that's why his city editor believed in him. if hatch had come in and told his city editor that he had seen a blue elephant with pink side-whiskers his city editor would have _known_ that that elephant was blue--mentally, morally, physically, spiritually and everlastingly--not any washed-out green or purple, but blue. hatch was remarkable in other ways, too. for instance, he believed in the use of a little human intelligence in his profession. as a matter of fact, on several occasions he had demonstrated that it was really an excellent thing--human intelligence. his mind was well poised, his methods thorough, his style direct. along with dozens of others hatch was at work on the randolph robbery, and knew what the others knew--no more. he had studied the case so closely that he was beginning to believe, strangely enough, that perhaps the police were right in their theory as to the identity of the burglar and the girl--that is, that they were professional crooks. he could do a thing like that sometimes--bring his mind around to admit the possibility of somebody else being right. it was on saturday afternoon--two days after the randolph affair--that hatch was sitting in detective mallory's private office at police headquarters laboriously extracting from the supreme intelligence the precise things he had not found out about the robbery. the telephone-bell rang. hatch got one end of the conversation--he couldn't help it. it was something like this: "hello!... yes, detective mallory.... missing?... what's her name?... what?... oh, dorothy!... yes?... merritt?... oh, merryman!... well, what the deuce is it then?... _spell it!_... m-e-r-e-d-i-t-h. why didn't you say that at first?... how long has she been gone?... huh?... thursday evening?... what does she look like?... auburn hair. red, you mean?... oh, ruddy! i'd like to know what's the difference." the detective had drawn up a pad of paper and was jotting down what hatch imagined to be the description of a missing girl. then: "who is this talking?" asked the detective. there was a little pause as he got the answer, and, having the answer, he whistled his astonishment, after which he glanced around quickly at the reporter, who was staring dreamily out a window. "no," said the supreme intelligence over the 'phone. "it wouldn't be wise to make it public. it isn't necessary at all. i understand. i'll order a search immediately. no. the newspapers will get nothing of it. good-by." "a story?" inquired hatch carelessly as the detective hung up the receiver. "doesn't amount to anything," was the reply. "yes, that's obvious," remarked the reporter drily. "well, whatever it is, it is not going to be made public," retorted the supreme intelligence sharply. he never did like hatch, anyway. "it's one of those things that don't do any good in the newspapers, so i'll not let this one get there." hatch yawned to show that he had no further interest in the matter, and went out. but there was the germ of an idea in his head which would have startled detective mallory, and he paced up and down outside to develop it. a girl missing! a red-headed girl missing! a red-headed girl missing since thursday! thursday was the night of the randolph masked ball. the missing girl of the west was red-headed! mallory had seemed astonished when he learned the name of the person who reported this last case! therefore the person who reported it was high up--perhaps! certainly high enough up to ask and receive the courtesy of police suppression--and the missing girl's name was dorothy meredith! hatch stood still for a long time on the curb and figured it out. suddenly he rushed off to a telephone and called up stuyvesant randolph at seven oaks. he asked the first question with trepidation: "mr. randolph, can you give me the address of miss dorothy meredith?" "miss meredith?" came the answer. "let's see. i think she is stopping with the morgan greytons, at their suburban place." the reporter gulped down a shout. "worked, by thunder!" he exclaimed to himself. then, in a deadly, forced calm: "she attended the masked ball thursday evening, didn't she?" "well, she was invited." "you didn't see her there?" "no. who _is_ this?" then hatch hung up the receiver. he was nearly choking with excitement, for, in addition to all those virtues which have been enumerated, he possessed, too, the quality of enthusiasm. it was no part of his purpose to tell anybody anything. mallory didn't know, he was confident, anything of the girl having been a possible guest at the ball. and what mallory didn't know now wouldn't be found out, all of which was a sad reflection upon the detective. in this frame of mind hatch started for the suburban place of the greytons. he found the house without difficulty. morgan greyton was an aged gentleman of wealth and exclusive ideas--and wasn't in. hatch handed a card bearing only his name, to a maid, and after a few minutes mrs. greyton appeared. she was a motherly, sweet-faced old lady of seventy, with that grave, exquisite courtesy which makes mere man feel ashamed of himself. hatch had that feeling when he looked at her and thought of what he was going to ask. "i came up direct from police headquarters," he explained diplomatically, "to learn any details you may be able to give us as to the disappearance of miss meredith." "oh, yes," replied mrs. greyton. "my husband said he was going to ask the police to look into the matter. it is most mysterious--most mysterious! we can't imagine where dollie is, unless she has eloped. do you know that idea keeps coming to me and won't go away?" she spoke as if it were a naughty child. "if you'll tell me something about miss meredith--who she is and all that?" hatch suggested. "oh, yes, to be sure," exclaimed mrs. greyton. "dollie is a distant cousin of my husband's sister's husband," she explained precisely. "she lives in baltimore, but is visiting us. she has been here for several weeks. she's a dear, sweet girl, but i'm afraid--afraid she has eloped." the aged voice quivered a little, and hatch was more ashamed of himself than ever. "some time ago she met a man named herbert--richard herbert, i think, and----" "dick herbert?" the reporter exclaimed suddenly. "do you know the young gentleman?" inquired the old lady eagerly. "yes, it just happens that we were classmates in harvard," said the reporter. "and is he a nice young man?" "a good, clean-cut, straightforward, decent man," replied hatch. he could speak with a certain enthusiasm about dick herbert. "go on, please," he urged. "well, for some reason i don't know, dollie's father objects to mr. herbert's attentions to her--as a matter of fact, mr. meredith has absolutely prohibited them--but she's a young, headstrong girl, and i fear that, although she had outwardly yielded to her father's wishes, she had clandestinely kept up a correspondence with mr. herbert. last thursday evening she went out unattended and since then we have not heard from her--not a word. we can only surmise--my husband and i--that they have eloped. i know her father and mother will be heart-broken, but i have always noticed that if a girl sets her heart on a man, she will get him. and perhaps it's just as well that she _has_ eloped now since you assure me he is a nice young man." hatch was choking back a question that rose in his throat. he hated to ask it, because he felt this dear, garrulous old woman would have hated him for it, if she could have known its purpose. but at last it came. "do you happen to know," he asked, "if miss meredith attended the randolph ball at seven oaks on thursday evening?" "i dare say she received an invitation," was the reply. "she receives many invitations, but i don't think she went there. it was a costume affair, i suppose?" the reporter nodded. "well, i hardly believe she went there then," mrs. greyton replied. "she has had no costume of any sort made. no, i am positive she has eloped with mr. herbert, but i should like to hear from her to satisfy myself and explain to her parents. we did not permit mr. herbert to come here, and it will be very hard to explain." hatch heard the slight rustle of a skirt in the hall and glanced toward the door. no one appeared, and he turned back to mrs. greyton. "i don't suppose it possible that miss meredith has returned to baltimore?" he asked. "oh, no!" was the positive reply. "her father there telegraphed to her to-day--i opened it--saying he would be here, probably to-night, and i--i haven't the heart to tell him the truth when he arrives. somehow, i have been hoping that we would hear and--and----" then hatch took his shame in his hand and excused himself. the maid attended him to the door. "how much is it worth to you to know if miss meredith went to the masked ball?" asked the maid cautiously. "eavesdropping, eh?" asked hatch in disgust. the maid shrugged her shoulders. "how much is it worth?" she repeated. hatch extended his hand. she took a ten-dollar bill which lay there and secreted it in some remote recess of her being. "miss meredith did go to the ball," she said. "she went there to meet mr. herbert. they had arranged to elope from there and she had made all her plans. i was in her confidence and assisted her." "what did she wear?" asked hatch eagerly. "her costume was that of a western girl," the maid responded. "she wore a sombrero, and carried a bowie knife and revolver." hatch nearly swallowed his palate. chapter v hatch started back to the city with his brain full of seven-column heads. he thoughtfully lighted a cigar just before he stepped on the car. "no smoking," said the conductor. the reporter stared at him with dull eyes and then went in and sat down with the cigar in his mouth. "no smoking, i told you," bawled the conductor. "certainly not," exclaimed hatch indignantly. he turned and glared at the only other occupant of the car, a little girl. she wasn't smoking. then he looked at the conductor and awoke suddenly. "miss meredith is the girl," hatch was thinking. "mallory doesn't even dream it and never will. he won't send a man out there to do what i did. the greytons are anxious to keep it quiet, and they won't say anything to anybody else until they know what really happened. i've got it bottled up, and don't know how to pull the cork. now, the question is: what possible connection can there be between dorothy meredith and the burglar? was dick herbert the burglar? why, of course _not_! then--what?" pondering all these things deeply, hatch left the car and ran up to see dick herbert. he was too self-absorbed to notice that the blinds of the house were drawn. he rang, and after a long time a man-servant answered the bell. "mr. herbert here?" hatch asked. "yes, sir, he's here," replied the servant, "but i don't know if he can see you. he is not very well, sir." "not very well?" hatch repeated. "no, it's not that he's sick, sir. he was hurt and----" "who is it, blair?" came herbert's voice from the top of the stair. "mr. hatch, sir." "come up, hatch!" dick called cordially. "glad to see you. i'm so lonesome here i don't know what to do with myself." the reporter ran up the steps and into dick's room. "not that one," dick smiled as hatch reached for his right hand. "it's out of business. try this one----" and he offered his left. "what's the matter?" hatch inquired. "little hurt, that's all," said dick. "sit down. i got it knocked out the other night and i've been here in this big house alone with blair ever since. the doctor told me not to venture out yet. it has been lonesome, too. all the folks are away, up in nova scotia, and took the other servants along. how are you, anyhow?" hatch sat down and stared at dick thoughtfully. herbert was a good-looking, forceful person of twenty-eight or thirty, and a corking right-guard. now he seemed a little washed out, and there was a sort of pallor beneath the natural tan. he was a young man of family, unburdened by superlative wealth, but possessing in his own person the primary elements of success. he looked what hatch had said of him: a "good, clean-cut, straightforward, decent man." "i came up here to say something to you in my professional capacity," the reporter began at last; "and frankly, i don't know how to say it." dick straightened up in his chair with a startled expression on his face. he didn't speak, but there was something in his eyes which interested hatch immensely. "have you been reading the papers?" the reporter asked--"that is, during the last couple of days?" "yes." "of course, then, you've seen the stories about the randolph robbery?" dick smiled a little. "yes," he said. "clever, wasn't it?" "it was," hatch responded enthusiastically. "it was." he was silent for a moment as he accepted and lighted a cigarette. "it doesn't happen," he went on, "that, by any possible chance, you know anything about it, does it?" "not beyond what i saw in the papers. why?" "i'll be frank and ask you some questions, dick," hatch resumed in a tone which betrayed his discomfort. "remember i am here in my official capacity--that is, not as a friend of yours, but as a reporter. you need not answer the questions if you don't want to." dick arose with a little agitation in his manner and went over and stood beside the window. "what is it all about?" he demanded. "what are the questions?" "do you know where miss dorothy meredith is?" dick turned suddenly and glared at him with a certain lowering of his eyebrows which hatch knew from the football days. "what about her?" he asked. "where is she?" hatch insisted. "at home, so far as i know. why?" "she is not there," the reporter informed him, "and the greytons believe that you eloped with her." "eloped with her?" dick repeated. "she is not at home?" "no. she's been missing since thursday evening--the evening of the randolph affair. mr. greyton has asked the police to look for her, and they are doing so now, but quietly. it is not known to the newspapers--that is, to other newspapers. your name has not been mentioned to the police. now, isn't it a fact that you did intend to elope with her on thursday evening?" dick strode feverishly across the room several times, then stopped in front of hatch's chair. "this isn't any silly joke?" he asked fiercely. "isn't it a fact that you did intend to elope with her on thursday evening?" the reporter went on steadily. "i won't answer that question." "did you get an invitation to the randolph ball?" "yes." "did you go?" dick was staring straight down into his eyes. "i won't answer that, either," he said after a pause. "where were you on the evening of the masked ball?" "nor will i answer that." when the newspaper instinct is fully aroused a reporter has no friends. hatch had forgotten that he ever knew dick herbert. to him the young man was now merely a thing from which he might wring certain information for the benefit of the palpitating public. "did the injury to your arm," he went on after the approved manner of attorney for the prosecution, "prevent you going to the ball?" "i won't answer that." "what is the nature of the injury?" "now, see here, hatch," dick burst out, and there was a dangerous undertone in his manner, "i shall not answer any more questions--particularly that last one--unless i know what this is all about. several things happened on the evening of the masked ball that i can't go over with you or anyone else, but as for me having any personal knowledge of events at the masked ball--well, you and i are not talking of the same thing at all." he paused, started to say something else, then changed his mind and was silent. "was it a pistol shot?" hatch went on calmly. dick's lips were compressed to a thin line as he looked at the reporter, and he controlled himself only by an effort. "where did you get that idea?" he demanded. hatch would have hesitated a long time before he told him where he got that idea; but vaguely it had some connection with the fact that at least two shots were fired at the burglar and the girl when they raced away from seven oaks. while the reporter was rummaging through his mind for an answer to the question there came a rap at the door and blair appeared with a card. he handed it to dick, who glanced at it, looked a little surprised, then nodded. blair disappeared. after a moment there were footsteps on the stairs and stuyvesant randolph entered. chapter vi dick arose and offered his left hand to mr. randolph, who calmly ignored it, turning his gaze instead upon the reporter. "i had hoped to find you alone," he said frostily. hatch made as if to rise. "sit still, hatch," dick commanded. "mr. hatch is a friend of mine, mr. randolph. i don't know what you want to say, but whatever it is, you may say it freely before him." hatch knew that humour in dick. it always preceded the psychological moment when he wanted to climb down someone's throat and open an umbrella. the tone was calm, the words clearly enunciated, and the face was white--whiter than it had been before. "i shouldn't like to----" mr. randolph began. "you may say what you want to before mr. hatch, or not at all, as you please," dick went on evenly. mr. randolph cleared his throat twice and waved his hands with an expression of resignation. "very well," he replied. "i have come to request the return of my gold plate." hatch leaned forward in his chair, gripping its arms fiercely. this was a question bearing broadly on a subject that he wanted to mention, but he didn't know how. mr. randolph apparently found it easy enough. "what gold plate?" asked dick steadily. "the eleven pieces that you, in the garb of a burglar, took from my house last thursday evening," said mr. randolph. he was quite calm. dick took a sudden step forward, then straightened up with flushed face. his left hand closed with a snap and the nails bit into the flesh; the fingers of the helpless right hand worked nervously. in a minute now hatch could see him climbing all over mr. randolph. but again dick gained control of himself. it was a sort of recognition of the fact that mr. randolph was fifty years old; hatch knew it; mr. randolph's knowledge on the subject didn't appear. suddenly dick laughed. "sit down, mr. randolph, and tell me about it," he suggested. "it isn't necessary to go into details," continued mr. randolph, still standing. "i had not wanted to go this far in the presence of a third person, but you forced me to do it. now, will you or will you not return the plate?" "would you mind telling me just what makes you think i got it?" dick insisted. "it is as simple as it is conclusive," said mr. randolph. "you received an invitation to the masked ball. you went there in your burglar garb and handed your invitation-card to my servant. he noticed you particularly and read your name on the card. he remembered that name perfectly. i was compelled to tell the story as i knew it to detective mallory. i did not mention your name; my servant remembered it, had given it to me in fact, but i forbade him to repeat it to the police. he told them something about having burned the invitation-cards." "oh, wouldn't that please mallory?" hatch thought. "i have not even intimated to the police that i have the least idea of your identity," mr. randolph went on, still standing. "i had believed that it was some prank of yours and that the plate would be returned in due time. certainly i could not account for you taking it in any other circumstances. my reticence, it is needless to say, was in consideration of your name and family. but now i want the plate. if it was a prank to carry out the rôle of the burglar, it is time for it to end. if the fact that the matter is now in the hands of the police has frightened you into the seeming necessity of keeping the plate for the present to protect yourself, you may dismiss that. when the plate is returned to me i shall see that the police drop the matter." dick had listened with absorbed interest. hatch looked at him from time to time and saw only attention--not anger. "and the girl?" asked dick at last. "does it happen that you have as cleverly traced her?" "no," mr. randolph replied frankly. "i haven't the faintest idea who she is. i suppose no one knows that but you. i have no interest further than to recover the plate. i may say that i called here yesterday, friday, and asked to see you, but was informed that you had been hurt, so i went away to give you opportunity to recover somewhat." "thanks," said dick drily. "awfully considerate." there was a long silence. hatch was listening with all the multitudinous ears of a good reporter. "now the plate," mr. randolph suggested again impatiently. "do you deny that you got it?" "i do," replied dick firmly. "i was afraid you would, and, believe me, mr. herbert, such a course is a mistaken one," said mr. randolph. "i will give you twenty-four hours to change your mind. if, at the end of that time, you see fit to return the plate, i shall drop the matter and use my influence to have the police do so. if the plate is not returned i shall be compelled to turn over all the facts to the police with your name." "is that all?" dick demanded suddenly. "yes, i believe so." "then get out of here before i----" dick started forward, then dropped back into a chair. mr. randolph drew on his gloves and went out, closing the door behind him. for a long time dick sat there, seemingly oblivious of hatch's presence, supporting his head with his left hand, while the right hung down loosely beside him. hatch was inclined to be sympathetic, for, strange as it may seem, some reporters have even the human quality of sympathy--although there are persons who will not believe it. "is there anything i can do?" hatch asked at last. "anything you want to say?" "nothing," dick responded wearily. "nothing. you may think what you like. there are, as i said, several things of which i cannot speak, even if it comes to a question--a question of having to face the charge of theft in open court. i simply _can't_ say anything." "but--but----" stammered the reporter. "absolutely not another word," said dick firmly. chapter vii those satellites of the supreme police intelligence of the metropolitan district who had been taking the randolph mystery to pieces to see what made it tick, lined up in front of detective mallory, in his private office, at police headquarters, early saturday evening. they did not seem happy. the supreme intelligence placed his feet on the desk and glowered; that was a part of the job. "well, downey?" he asked. "i went out to seven oaks and got the automobile the burglar left, as you instructed," reported downey. "then i started out to find its owner, or someone who knew it. it didn't have a number on it, so the job wasn't easy, but i found the owner all right, all right." detective mallory permitted himself to look interested. "he lives at merton, four miles from seven oaks," downey resumed. "his name is blake--william blake. his auto was in the shed a hundred feet or so from his house on thursday evening at nine o'clock. it wasn't there friday morning." "umph!" remarked detective mallory. "there is no question but what blake told me the truth," downey went on. "to me it seems provable that the burglar went out from the city to merton by train, stole the auto and ran it on to seven oaks. that's all there seems to be to it. blake proved ownership of the machine and i left it with him." the supreme intelligence chewed his cigar frantically. "and the other machine?" he asked. "i have here a blood-stained cushion, the back of a seat from the car in which the burglar and the girl escaped," continued downey in a walk-right-up-ladies-and-gentlemen sort of voice. "i found the car late this afternoon at a garage in pleasantville. we knew, of course, that it belonged to nelson sharp, a guest at the masked ball. according to the manager of the garage the car was standing in front of his place this morning when he arrived to open up. the number had been removed." [illustration] detective mallory examined the cushion which downey handed to him. several dark brown stains told the story--one of the occupants of the car had been wounded. "well, that's something," commented the supreme intelligence. "we know now that when cunningham fired at least one of the persons in the car was hit, and we may make our search accordingly. the burglar and the girl probably left the car where it was found during the preceding night." "it seems so," said downey. "i shouldn't think they would have dared to keep it long. autos of that size and power are too easily traced. i asked mr. sharp to run down and identify the car and he did so. the stains were new." the supreme intelligence digested that in silence while his satellites studied his face, seeking some inkling of the convolutions of that marvellous mind. "very good, downey," said detective mallory at last. "now cunningham?" "nothing," said cunningham in shame and sorrow. "nothing." "didn't you find anything at all about the premises?" "nothing," repeated cunningham. "the girl left no wrap at seven oaks. none of the servants remembers having seen her in the room where the wraps were checked. i searched all around the place and found a dent in the ground under the smoking-room window, where the gold plate had been thrown, and there were what seemed to be footprints in the grass, but it was all nothing." "we can't arrest a dent and footprints," said the supreme intelligence cuttingly. the satellites laughed sadly. it was part of the deference they owed to the supreme intelligence. "and you, blanton?" asked mr. mallory. "what did you do with the list of invited guests?" "i haven't got a good start yet," responded blanton hopelessly. "there are three hundred and sixty names on the list. i have been able to see possibly thirty. it's worse than making a city directory. i won't be through for a month. randolph and his wife checked off a large number of these whom they knew were there. the others i am looking up as rapidly as i can." the detectives sat moodily thoughtful for uncounted minutes. finally detective mallory broke the silence. [illustration: "'the stains were new'"] "there seems to be no question but that any clew that might have come from either of the automobiles is disposed of unless it is the fact that we now know one of the thieves was wounded. i readily see how the theft could have been committed by a man as bold as this fellow. now we must concentrate all our efforts to running down the invited guests and learning just where they were that evening. all of you will have to get on this job and hustle it. we know that the burglar _did_ present an invitation-card with a name on it." the detectives went their respective ways and then detective mallory deigned to receive representatives of the press, among them hutchinson hatch. hatch was worried. he knew a whole lot of things, but they didn't do him any good. he felt that he could print nothing as it stood, yet he would not tell the police, because that would give it to everyone else, and he had a picture of how the supreme intelligence would tangle it if he got hold of it. "well, boys," said detective mallory smilingly, when the press filed in, "there's nothing to say. frankly, i will tell you that we have not been able to learn anything--at least anything that can be given out. you know, of course, about the finding of the two automobiles that figured in the case, and the blood-stained cushion?" the press nodded collectively. "well, that's all there is yet. my men are still at work, but i'm a little afraid the gold plate will never be found. it has probably been melted up. the cleverness of the thieves you can judge for yourself by the manner in which they handled the automobiles." and yet hatch was not surprised when, late that night, police headquarters made known the latest sensation. this was a bulletin, based on a telephone message from stuyvesant randolph to the effect that the gold plate had been returned by express to seven oaks. this mystified the police beyond description; but official mystification was as nothing to hatch's state of mind. he knew of the scene in dick herbert's room and remembered mr. randolph's threat. "then dick _did_ have the plate," he told himself. chapter viii whole flocks of detectives, reporters, and newspaper artists appeared at seven oaks early next morning. it had been too late to press an investigation the night before. the newspapers had only time telephonically to confirm the return of the plate. now the investigators unanimously voiced one sentiment: "show us!" hatch arrived in the party headed by detective mallory, with downey and cunningham trailing. blanton was off somewhere with his little list, presumably still at it. mr. randolph had not come down to breakfast when the investigators arrived, but had given his servant permission to exhibit the plate, the wrappings in which it had come, and the string wherewith it had been tied. the plate arrived in a heavy paper-board box, covered twice over with a plain piece of stiff brown paper, which had no markings save the address and the "paid" stamp of the express company. detective mallory devoted himself first to the address. it was: mr. stuyvesant randolph, "seven oaks," via merton. in the upper left-hand corner were scribbled the words: from john smith, state street, watertown. detectives mallory, downey, and cunningham studied the handwriting on the paper minutely. "it's a man's," said detective downey. "it's a woman's," said detective cunningham. "it's a child's," said detective mallory. "whatever it is, it is disguised," said hatch. he was inclined to agree with detective cunningham that it was a woman's purposely altered, and in that event--great cæsar! there came that flock of seven-column heads again! and he couldn't open the bottle! the simple story of the arrival of the gold plate at seven oaks was told thrillingly by the servant. "it was eight o'clock last night," he said. "i was standing in the hall here. mr. and mrs. randolph were still at the dinner table. they dined alone. suddenly i heard the sound of waggon-wheels on the granolithic road in front of the house. i listened intently. yes, it was waggon-wheels." the detectives exchanged significant glances. "i heard the waggon stop," the servant went on in an awed tone. "still i listened. then came the sound of footsteps on the walk and then on the steps. i walked slowly along the hall toward the front door. as i did so the bell rang." "yes, ting-a-ling-a-ling, we know. go on," hatch interrupted impatiently. "i opened the door," the servant continued. "a man stood there with a package. he was a burly fellow. 'mr. randolph live here?' he asked gruffly. 'yes,' i said. 'here's a package for him,' said the man. 'sign here.' i took the package and signed a book he gave me, and--and----" "in other words," hatch interrupted again, "an expressman brought the package here, you signed for it, and he went away?" the servant stared at him haughtily. "yes, that's it," he said coldly. a few minutes later mr. randolph in person appeared. he glanced at hatch with a little surprise in his manner, nodded curtly, then turned to the detectives. he could not add to the information the servant had given. his plate had been returned, pre-paid. the matter was at an end so far as he was concerned. there seemed to be no need of further investigation. "how about the jewelry that was stolen from your other guests?" demanded detective mallory. "of course, there's that," said mr. randolph. "it had passed out of my mind." "instead of being at an end this case has just begun," the detective declared emphatically. mr. randolph seemed to have no further interest in the matter. he started out, then turned back at the door, and made a slight motion to hatch which the reporter readily understood. as a result hatch and mr. randolph were closeted together in a small room across the hall a few minutes later. "may i ask your occupation, mr. hatch?" inquired mr. randolph. "i'm a reporter," was the reply. "a reporter?" mr. randolph seemed surprised. "of course, when i saw you in mr. herbert's rooms," he went on after a little pause, "i met you only as his friend. you saw what happened there. now, may i ask you what you intend to publish about this affair?" hatch considered the question a moment. there seemed to be no objection to telling. "i can't publish anything until i know everything, or until the police act," he confessed frankly. "i had been talking to dick herbert in a general way about this case when you arrived yesterday. i knew several things, or thought i did, that the police do not even suspect. but, of course, i can print only just what the police know and say." "i'm glad of that--very glad of it," said mr. randolph. "it seems to have been a freak of some sort on mr. herbert's part, and, candidly, i can't understand it. of course he returned the plate, as i knew he would." "do you really believe he is the man who came here as the burglar?" asked hatch curiously. "i should not have done what you saw me do if i had not been absolutely certain," mr. randolph explained. "one of the things, particularly, that was called to my attention--i don't know that you know of it--is the fact that the burglar had a cleft in his chin. you know, of course, that mr. herbert has such a cleft. then there is the invitation-card with his name. everything together makes it conclusive." mr. randolph and the reporter shook hands. three hours later the press and police had uncovered the watertown end of the mystery as to how the express package had been sent. it was explained by the driver of an express waggon there and absorbed by greedily listening ears. "the boss told me to call at no. state street and get a bundle," the driver explained. "i think somebody telephoned to him to send the waggon. i went up there yesterday morning. it's a small house, back a couple of hundred feet from the street, and has a stone fence around it. i opened the gate, went in, and rang the bell. "no one answered the first ring, and i rang again. still nobody answered and i tried the door. it was locked. i walked around the house, thinking there might be somebody in the back, but it was all locked up. i figured as how the folks that had telephoned for me wasn't in, and started out to my waggon, intending to stop by later. "just as i got to the gate, going out, i saw a package set down inside, hidden from the street behind the stone fence, with a dollar bill on it. i just naturally looked at it. it was the package directed to mr. randolph. i reasoned as how the folks who 'phoned had to go out and left the package, so i took it along. i made out a receipt to john smith, the name that was in the corner, and pinned it to a post, took the package and the money and went along. that's all." "you don't know if the package was there when you went in?" he was asked. "i dunno. i didn't look. i couldn't help but see it when i came out, so i took it." then the investigators sought out "the boss." "did the person who 'phoned give you a name?" inquired detective mallory. "no, i didn't ask for one." "was it a man or a woman talking?" "a man," was the unhesitating reply. "he had a deep, heavy voice." the investigators trailed away, dismally despondent, toward no. state street. it was unoccupied; inquiry showed that it had been unoccupied for months. the supreme intelligence picked the lock and the investigators walked in, craning their necks. they expected, at the least, to find a thieves' rendezvous. there was nothing but dirt, and dust, and grime. then the investigators returned to the city. they had found only that the gold plate had been returned, and they knew that when they started. hatch went home and sat down with his head in his hands to add up all he didn't know about the affair. it was surprising how much there was of it. "dick herbert either did or didn't go to the ball," he soliloquised. "_something_ happened to him that evening. he either did or didn't steal the gold plate, and every circumstance indicates that he did--which, of course, he didn't. dorothy meredith either was or was not at the ball. the maid's statement shows that she was, yet no one there recognised her--which indicates that she wasn't. she either did or didn't run away with somebody in an automobile. anyhow, something happened to _her_, because she's missing. the gold plate is stolen, and the gold plate is back. i know _that_, thank heaven! and now, knowing more about this affair than any other single individual, i don't know _anything_." part ii the girl and the plate chapter i low-bent over the steering-wheel, the burglar sent the automobile scuttling breathlessly along the flat road away from seven oaks. at the first shot he crouched down in the seat, dragging the girl with him; at the second, he winced a little and clenched his teeth tightly. the car's headlights cut a dazzling pathway through the shadows, and trees flitted by as a solid wall. the shouts of pursuers were left behind, and still the girl clung to his arm. "don't do that," he commanded abruptly. "you'll make me smash into something." "why, dick, they shot at us!" she protested indignantly. the burglar glanced at her, and, when he turned his eyes to the smooth road again, there was a flicker of a smile about the set lips. "yes, i had some such impression myself," he acquiesced grimly. "why, they might have killed us!" the girl went on. "it is just barely possible that they had some such absurd idea when they shot," replied the burglar. "guess you never got caught in a pickle like this before?" "i certainly never did!" replied the girl emphatically. the whir and grind of their car drowned other sounds--sounds from behind--but from time to time the burglar looked back, and from time to time he let out a new notch in the speed-regulator. already the pace was terrific, and the girl bounced up and down beside him at each trivial irregularity in the road, while she clung frantically to the seat. "is it necessary to go so awfully fast?" she gasped at last. the wind was beating on her face, her mask blew this way and that; the beribboned sombrero clung frantically to a fast-failing strand of ruddy hair. she clutched at the hat and saved it, but her hair tumbled down about her shoulders, a mass of gold, and floated out behind. "oh," she chattered, "i can't keep my hat on!" the burglar took another quick look behind, then his foot went out against the speed-regulator and the car fairly leaped with suddenly increased impetus. the regulator was in the last notch now, and the car was one that had raced at ormonde beach. "oh, dear!" exclaimed the girl again. "can't you go a little slower?" "look behind," directed the burglar tersely. she glanced back and gave a little cry. two giant eyes stared at her from a few hundred yards away as another car swooped along in pursuit, and behind this ominously glittering pair was still another. "they're chasing us, aren't they?" "they are," replied the burglar grimly, "but if these tires hold, they haven't got a chance. a breakdown would----" he didn't finish the sentence. there was a sinister note in his voice, but the girl was still looking back and did not heed it. to her excited imagination it seemed that the giant eyes behind were creeping up, and again she clutched the burglar's arm. "don't do that, i say," he commanded again. "but, dick, they mustn't catch us--they mustn't!" "they won't." "but if they should----" "they won't," he repeated. "it would be perfectly awful!" "worse than that." for a time the girl silently watched him bending over the wheel, and a singular feeling of security came to her. then the car swept around a bend in the road, careening perilously, and the glaring eyes were lost. she breathed more freely. "i never knew you handled an auto so well," she said admiringly. "i do lots of things people don't know i do," he replied. "are those lights still there?" "no, thank goodness!" the burglar touched a lever with his left hand and the whir of the machine became less pronounced. after a moment it began to slow down. the girl noticed it and looked at him with new apprehension. "oh, we're stopping!" she exclaimed. "i know it." they ran on for a few hundred feet; then the burglar set the brake and, after a deal of jolting, the car stopped. he leaped out and ran around behind. as the girl watched him uneasily there came a sudden crash and the auto trembled a little. "what is it?" she asked quickly. "i smashed that tail lamp," he answered. "they can see it, and it's too easy for them to follow." he stamped on the shattered fragments in the road, then came around to the side to climb in again, extending his left hand to the girl. "quick, give me your hand," he requested. she did so wonderingly and he pulled himself into the seat beside her with a perceptible effort. the car shivered, then started on again, slowly at first, but gathering speed each moment. the girl was staring at her companion curiously, anxiously. "are you hurt?" she asked at last. he did not answer at the moment, not until the car had regained its former speed and was hurtling headlong through the night. "my right arm's out of business," he explained briefly, then: "i got that second bullet in the shoulder." "oh, dick, dick," she exclaimed, "and you hadn't said anything about it! you need assistance!" a sudden rush of sympathy caused her to lay her hands again on his left arm. he shook them off roughly with something like anger in his manner. "don't do that!" he commanded for the third time. "you'll make me smash hell out of this car." startled by the violence of his tone, she recoiled dumbly, and the car swept on. as before, the burglar looked back from time to time, but the lights did not reappear. for a long time the girl was silent and finally he glanced at her. "i beg your pardon," he said humbly. "i didn't mean to speak so sharply, but--but it's true." "it's really of no consequence," she replied coldly. "i am sorry--very sorry." "thank you," he replied. "perhaps it might be as well for you to stop the car and let me out," she went on after a moment. the burglar either didn't hear or wouldn't heed. the dim lights of a small village rose up before them, then faded away again; a dog barked lonesomely beside the road. the streaming lights of their car revealed a tangle of crossroads just ahead, offering a definite method of shaking off pursuit. their car swerved widely, and the burglar's attention was centred on the road ahead. "does your arm pain you?" asked the girl at last timidly. "no," he replied shortly. "it's a sort of numbness. i'm afraid i'm losing blood, though." "hadn't we better go back to the village and see a doctor?" "not _this_ evening," he responded promptly in a tone which she did not understand. "i'll stop somewhere soon and bind it up." at last, when the village was well behind, the car came to a dark little road which wandered off aimlessly through a wood, and the burglar slowed down to turn into it. once in the shelter of the overhanging branches they proceeded slowly for a hundred yards or more, finally coming to a standstill. "we must do it here," he declared. he leaped from the car, stumbled and fell. in an instant the girl was beside him. the reflected light from the auto showed her dimly that he was trying to rise, showed her the pallor of his face where the chin below the mask was visible. "i'm afraid it's pretty bad," he said weakly. then he fainted. the girl, stooping, raised his head to her lap and pressed her lips to his feverishly, time after time. "dick, dick!" she sobbed, and tears fell upon the burglar's sinister mask. chapter ii when the burglar awoke to consciousness he was as near heaven as any mere man ever dares expect to be. he was comfortable--quite comfortable--wrapped in a delicious, languorous lassitude which forbade him opening his eyes to realisation. a woman's hand lay on his forehead, caressingly, and dimly he knew that another hand cuddled cosily in one of his own. he lay still, trying to remember, before he opened his eyes. someone beside him breathed softly, and he listened, as if to music. gradually the need of action--just what action and to what purpose did not occur to him--impressed itself on his mind. he raised the disengaged hand to his face and touched the mask, which had been pushed back on his forehead. then he recalled the ball, the shot, the chase, the hiding in the woods. he opened his eyes with a start. utter darkness lay about him--for a moment he was not certain whether it was the darkness of blindness or of night. "dick, are you awake?" asked the girl softly. he knew the voice and was content. "yes," he answered languidly. he closed his eyes again and some strange, subtle perfume seemed to envelop him. he waited. warm lips were pressed to his own, thrilling him strangely, and the girl rested a soft cheek against his. "we have been very foolish, dick," she said, sweetly chiding, after a moment. "it was all my fault for letting you expose yourself to danger, but i didn't dream of such a thing as this happening. i shall never forgive myself, because----" "but----" he began protestingly. "not another word about it now," she hurried on. "we must go very soon. how do you feel?" "i'm all right, or will be in a minute," he responded, and he made as if to rise. "where is the car?" "right here. i extinguished the lights and managed to stop the engine for fear those horrid people who were after us might notice." "good girl!" "when you jumped out and fainted i jumped out, too. i'm afraid i was not very clever, but i managed to bind your arm. i took my handkerchief and pressed it against the wound after ripping your coat, then i bound it there. it stopped the flow of blood, but, dick, dear, you must have medical attention just as soon as possible." the burglar moved his shoulder a little and winced. "just as soon as i did that," the girl went on, "i made you comfortable here on a cushion from the car." "good girl!" he said again. "then i sat down to wait until you got better. i had no stimulant or anything, and i didn't dare to leave you, so--so i just waited," she ended with a weary little sigh. "how long was i knocked out?" he queried. "i don't know; half an hour, perhaps." "the bag is all right, i suppose?" "the bag?" "the bag with the stuff--the one i threw in the car when we started?" "oh, yes, i suppose so! really, i hadn't thought of it." "hadn't thought of it?" repeated the burglar, and there was a trace of astonishment in his voice. "by george, you're a wonder!" he added. he started to get on his feet, then dropped back weakly. "say, girlie," he requested, "see if you can find the bag in the car there and hand it out. let's take a look." "where is it?" "somewhere in front. i felt it at my feet when i jumped out." there was a rustle of skirts in the darkness, and after a moment a faint muffled clank as of one heavy metal striking dully against another. "goodness!" exclaimed the girl. "it's heavy enough. what's in it?" "what's in it?" repeated the burglar, and he chuckled. "a fortune, nearly. it's worth being punctured for. let me see." in the darkness he took the bag from her hands and fumbled with it a moment. she heard the metallic sound again and then several heavy objects were poured out on the ground. "a good fourteen pounds of pure gold," commented the burglar. "by george, i haven't but one match, but we'll see what it's like." the match was struck, sputtered for a moment, then flamed up, and the girl, standing, looked down upon the burglar on his knees beside a heap of gold plate. she stared at the glittering mass as if fascinated, and her eyes opened wide. "why, dick, what is that?" she asked. "it's randolph's plate," responded the burglar complacently. "i don't know how much it's worth, but it must be several thousands, on dead weight." "what are you doing with it?" "what am i doing with it?" repeated the burglar. he was about to look up when the match burned his finger and he dropped it. "that's a silly question." "but how came it in your possession?" the girl insisted. "i acquired it by the simple act of--of dropping it into a bag and bringing it along. that and you in the same evening----" he stretched out a hand toward her, but she was not there. he chuckled a little as he turned and picked up eleven plates, one by one, and replaced them in the bag. "nine--ten--eleven," he counted. "what luck did _you_ have?" "dick herbert, explain to me, please, what you are doing with that gold plate?" there was an imperative command in the voice. the burglar paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "oh, i'm taking it to have it fixed!" he responded lightly. "fixed? taking it this way at this time of the night?" [illustration: "'it must be several thousands, on dead weight'"] "sure," and he laughed pleasantly. "you mean you--you--you _stole_ it?" the words came with an effort. "well, i'd hardly call it that," remarked the burglar. "that's a harsh word. still, it's in my possession; it wasn't given to me, and i didn't buy it. you may draw your own conclusions." the bag lay beside him and his left hand caressed it idly, lovingly. for a long time there was silence. "what luck did _you_ have?" he asked again. there was a startled gasp, a gurgle and accusing indignation in the girl's low, tense voice. "you--you _stole_ it!" "well, if you prefer it that way--yes." the burglar was staring steadily into the darkness toward that point whence came the voice, but the night was so dense that not a trace of the girl was visible. he laughed again. "it seems to me it was lucky i decided to take it at just this time and in these circumstances," he went on tauntingly--"lucky for you, i mean. if i hadn't been there you would have been caught." again came the startled gasp. "what's the matter?" demanded the burglar sharply, after another silence. "why don't you say something?" he was still peering unseeingly into the darkness. the bag of gold plate moved slightly under his hand. he opened his fingers to close them more tightly. it was a mistake. the bag was drawn away; his hand grasped--air. "stop that game now!" he commanded angrily. "where are you?" he struggled to his feet. his answer was the crackling of a twig to his right. he started in that direction and brought up with a bump against the automobile. he turned, still groping blindly, and embraced a tree with undignified fervour. to his left he heard another slight noise and ran that way. again he struck an obstacle. then he began to say things, expressive things, burning things from the depths of an impassioned soul. the treasure had gone--disappeared into the shadows. the girl was gone. he called, there was no answer. he drew his revolver fiercely, then reconsidered and flung it down angrily. "and i thought _i_ had nerve!" he declared. it was a compliment. chapter iii extravagantly brilliant the sun popped up out of the east--not an unusual occurrence--and stared unblinkingly down upon a country road. there were the usual twittering birds and dew-spangled trees and nodding wild-flowers; also a dust that was shoe-top deep. the dawny air stirred lazily and rustling leaves sent long, sinuous shadows scampering back and forth. looking upon it all without enthusiasm or poetic exaltation was a girl--a pretty girl--a very pretty girl. she sat on a stone beside the yellow roadway, a picture of weariness. a rough burlap sack, laden heavily, yet economically as to space, wallowed in the dust beside her. her hair was tawny gold, and rebellious strands drooped listlessly about her face. a beribboned sombrero lay in her lap, supplementing a certain air of dilapidated bravado, due in part to a short skirt, heavy gloves and boots, a belt with a knife and revolver. a robin, perched impertinently on a stump across the road, examined her at his leisure. she stared back at signor redbreast, and for this recognition he warbled a little song. "i've a good mind to cry!" exclaimed the girl suddenly. shamed and startled, the robin flew away. a mistiness came into the girl's blue eyes and lingered there a moment, then her white teeth closed tightly and the glimmer of outraged emotion passed. "oh," she sighed again, "i'm so tired and hungry and i just know i'll never get anywhere at all!" but despite the expressed conviction she arose and straightened up as if to resume her journey, turning to stare down at the bag. it was an unsightly symbol of blasted hopes, man's perfidy, crushed aspirations and--heaven only knows what besides. "i've a good mind to leave you right there," she remarked to the bag spitefully. "perhaps i might hide it." she considered the question. "no, that wouldn't do. i must take it with me--and--and--oh, dick! dick! what in the world was the matter with you, anyway?" then she sat down again and wept. the robin crept back to look and modestly hid behind a leaf. from this coign of vantage he watched her as she again arose and plodded off through the dust with the bag swinging over one shoulder. at last--there is an at last to everything--a small house appeared from behind a clump of trees. the girl looked with incredulous eyes. it was really a house. really! a tiny curl of smoke hovered over the chimney. "well, thank goodness, i'm somewhere, anyhow," she declared with her first show of enthusiasm. "i can get a cup of coffee or something." she covered the next fifty yards with a new spring in her leaden heels and with a new and firmer grip on the precious bag. then--she stopped. "gracious!" and perplexed lines suddenly wrinkled her brow. "if i should go in there with a pistol and a knife they'd think i was a brigand--or--or a thief, and i suppose i am," she added as she stopped and rested the bag on the ground. "at least i have stolen goods in my possession. now, what shall i say if they ask questions? what am i? they wouldn't believe me if i told them really. short skirt, boots and gloves: i know! i'm a bicyclist. my wheel broke down, and----" whereupon she gingerly removed the revolver from her belt and flung it into the underbrush--not at all in the direction she had intended--and the knife followed to keep it company. having relieved herself of these sinister things, she straightened her hat, pushed back the rebellious hair, yanked at her skirt, and walked bravely up to the little house. an angel lived there--an angel in a dizzily beflowered wrapper and a crabbed exterior. she listened to a rapidly constructed and wholly inconsistent story of a bicycle accident, which ended with a plea for a cup of coffee. silently she proceeded to prepare it. after the pot was bubbling cheerfully and eggs had been put on and biscuits thrust into a stove to be warmed over, the angel sat down at the table opposite the girl. "book agent?" she asked. "oh, no!" replied the girl. "sewing-machines?" "no." there was a pause as the angel settled and poured a cup of coffee. "make to order, i s'pose?" "no," the girl replied uncertainly. "what _do_ you sell?" "nothing, i--i----" she stopped. "what you got in the bag?" the angel persisted. "some--some--just some--stuff," stammered the girl, and her face suddenly flushed crimson. "what kind of stuff?" the girl looked into the frankly inquisitive eyes and was overwhelmed by a sense of her own helplessness. tears started, and one pearly drop ran down her perfect nose and splashed in the coffee. that was the last straw. she leaned forward suddenly with her head on her arms and wept. "please, please don't ask questions!" she pleaded. "i'm a poor, foolish, helpless, misguided, disillusioned woman!" "yes'm," said the angel. she took up the eggs, then came over and put a kindly arm about the girl's shoulders. "there, there!" she said soothingly. "don't take on like that! drink some coffee, and eat a bite, and you'll feel better!" "i have had no sleep at all and no food since yesterday, and i've walked miles and miles and miles," the girl rushed on feverishly. "it's all because--because----" she stopped suddenly. "eat something," commanded the angel. the girl obeyed. the coffee was weak and muddy and delightful; the biscuits were yellow and lumpy and delicious; the eggs were eggs. the angel sat opposite and watched the girl as she ate. "husband beat you?" she demanded suddenly. the girl blushed and choked. "no," she hastened to say. "i have no husband." "well, there ain't no serious trouble in this world till you marry a man that beats you," said the angel judicially. it was the final word. the girl didn't answer, and, in view of the fact that she had sufficient data at hand to argue the point, this repression required heroism. perhaps she will never get credit for it. she finished the breakfast in silence and leaned back with some measure of returning content in her soul. "in a hurry?" asked the angel. "no, i have no place to go. what is the nearest village or town?" "watertown, but you'd better stay and rest a while. you look all tuckered out." "oh, thank you so much," said the girl gratefully. "but it would be so much trouble for----" the angel picked up the burlap bag, shook it inquiringly, then started toward the short stairs leading up. "please, please!" exclaimed the girl suddenly. "i--i--let me have that, please!" the angel relinquished the bag without a word. the girl took it, tremblingly, then, suddenly dropping it, clasped the angel in her arms and placed upon her unresponsive lips a kiss for which a mere man would have endangered his immortal soul. the angel wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and went on up the stairs with the girl following. for a time the girl lay, with wet eyes, on a clean little bed, thinking. humiliation, exhaustion, man's perfidy, disillusionment, and the kindness of an utter stranger all occupied her until she fell asleep. then she was chased by a policeman with automobile lights for eyes, and there was a parade of hard-boiled eggs and yellow, lumpy biscuits. when she awoke the room was quite dark. she sat up a little bewildered at first; then she remembered. after a moment she heard the voice of the angel, below. it rippled on querulously; then she heard the gruff voice of a man. "diamond rings?" the girl sat up in bed and listened intently. involuntarily her hands were clasped together. her rings were still safe. the angel's voice went on for a moment again. "something in a bag?" inquired the man. again the angel spoke. terror seized upon the girl; imagination ran riot, and she rose from the bed, trembling. she groped about the dark room noiselessly. every shadow lent her new fears. then from below came the sound of heavy footsteps. she listened fearfully. they came on toward the stairs, then paused. a match was struck and the step sounded on the stairs. after a moment there was a knock at the door, a pause, then another knock. finally the door was pushed open and a huge figure--the figure of a man--appeared, sheltering a candle with one hand. he peered about the room as if perplexed. "ain't nobody up here," he called gruffly down the stairs. [illustration] there was a sound of hurrying feet and the angel entered, her face distorted by the flickering candlelight. "for the land's sakes!" she exclaimed. "went away without even saying thank you," grumbled the man. he crossed the room and closed a window. "you ain't got no better sense than a chicken," he told the angel. "take in anybody that comes." chapter iv if willie's little brother hadn't had a pain in his tummy this story might have gone by other and devious ways to a different conclusion. but fortunately he did have, so it happened that at precisely . o'clock of a warm evening willie was racing madly along a side street of watertown, drug-store-bound, when he came face to face with a girl--a pretty girl--a very pretty girl. she was carrying a bag that clanked a little at each step. "oh, little boy!" she called. "hunh?" and willie stopped so suddenly that he endangered his equilibrium, although that isn't how he would have said it. "nice little boy," said the girl soothingly, and she patted his tousled head while he gnawed a thumb in pained embarrassment. "i'm very tired. i have been walking a great distance. could you tell me, please, where a lady, unattended, might get a night's lodging somewhere near here?" "hunh?" gurgled willie through the thumb. wearily the girl repeated it all and at its end willie giggled. it was the most exasperating incident of a long series of exasperating incidents, and the girl's grip on the bag tightened a little. willie never knew how nearly he came to being hammered to death with fourteen pounds of solid gold. "well?" inquired the girl at last. "dunno," said willie. "jimmy's got the stomach-ache," he added irrelevantly. "can't you think of a hotel or boarding-house near by?" the girl insisted. "dunno," replied willie. "i'm going to the drug store for a pair o' gorrick." the girl bit her lip, and that act probably saved willie from the dire consequences of his unconscious levity, for after a moment the girl laughed aloud. "where is the drug store?" she asked. "'round the corner. i'm going." "i'll go along, too, if you don't mind," the girl said, and she turned and walked beside him. perhaps the drug clerk would be able to illuminate the situation. "i swallyed a penny oncst," willie confided suddenly. "too bad!" commented the girl. "unh unnh," willie denied emphatically. "'cause when i cried, paw gimme a quarter." he was silent a moment, then: "if i'd 'a' swallyed that, i reckin he'd gimme a dollar. gee!" this is the optimism that makes the world go round. the philosophy took possession of the girl and cheered her. when she entered the drug store she walked with a lighter step and there was a trace of a smile about her pretty mouth. a clerk, the only attendant, came forward. "i want a pair o' gorrick," willie announced. the girl smiled, and the clerk, paying no attention to the boy, went toward her. "better attend to him first," she suggested. "it seems urgent." the clerk turned to willie. "paregoric?" he inquired. "how much?" "about a quart, i reckin," replied the boy. "is that enough?" "quite enough," commented the clerk. he disappeared behind the prescription screen and returned after a moment with a small phial. the boy took it, handed over a coin, and went out, whistling. the girl looked after him with a little longing in her eyes. "now, madam?" inquired the clerk suavely. "i only want some information," she replied. "i was out on my bicycle"--she gulped a little--"when it broke down, and i'll have to remain here in town over night, i'm afraid. can you direct me to a quiet hotel or boarding-house where i might stay?" "certainly," replied the clerk briskly. "the stratford, just a block up this street. explain the circumstances, and it will be all right, i'm sure." the girl smiled at him again and cheerfully went her way. that small boy had been a leaven to her drooping spirits. she found the stratford without difficulty and told the usual bicycle lie, with a natural growth of detail and a burning sense of shame. she registered as elizabeth carlton and was shown to a modest little room. her first act was to hide the gold plate in the closet; her second was to take it out and hide it under the bed. then she sat down on a couch to think. for an hour or more she considered the situation in all its hideous details, planning her desolate future--women like to plan desolate futures--then her eye chanced to fall upon an afternoon paper, which, with glaring headlines, announced the theft of the randolph gold plate. she read it. it told, with startling detail, things that had and had not happened in connection therewith. this comprehended in all its horror, she promptly arose and hid the bag between the mattress and the springs. soon after she extinguished the light and retired with little shivers running up and down all over her. she snuggled her head down under the cover. she didn't sleep much--she was still thinking--but when she arose next morning her mind was made up. first she placed the eleven gold plates in a heavy card-board box, then she bound it securely with brown paper and twine and addressed it: "stuyvesant randolph, seven oaks, via merton." she had sent express packages before and knew how to proceed, therefore when the necessity of writing a name in the upper left-hand corner appeared--the sender--she wrote in a bold, desperate hand: "john smith, watertown." when this was all done to her satisfaction, she tucked the package under one arm, tried to look as if it weren't heavy, and sauntered downstairs with outward self-possession and inward apprehension. she faced the clerk cordially, while a singularly distracting smile curled her lips. "my bill, please?" she asked. "two dollars, madam," he responded gallantly. [illustration] "i don't happen to have any money with me," she explained charmingly. "of course, i had expected to go back on my wheel, but, since it is broken, perhaps you would be willing to take this until i return to the city and can mail a check?" she drew a diamond ring from an aristocratic finger and offered it to the clerk. he blushed furiously, and she reproved him for it with a cold stare. "it's quite irregular," he explained, "but, of course, in the circumstances, it will be all right. it is not necessary for us to keep the ring at all, if you will give us your city address." "i prefer that you keep it," she insisted firmly, "for, besides, i shall have to ask you to let me have fare back to the city--a couple of dollars? of course it will be all right?" it was half an hour before the clerk fully awoke. he had given the girl two real dollars and held her ring clasped firmly in one hand. she was gone. she might just as well have taken the hotel along with her so far as any objection from that clerk would have been concerned. once out of the hotel the girl hurried on. "thank goodness, that's over," she exclaimed. for several blocks she walked on. finally her eye was attracted by a "to let" sign on a small house--it was no. state street. she walked in through a gate cut in the solid wall of stone and strolled up to the house. here she wandered about for a time, incidentally tearing off the "to let" sign. then she came down the path toward the street again. just inside the stone fence she left her express package, after scribbling the name of the street on it with a pencil. a dollar bill lay on top. she hurried out and along a block or more to a small grocery. "will you please 'phone to the express company and have them send a wagon to no. state street for a package?" she asked sweetly of a heavy-voiced grocer. "certainly, ma'am," he responded with alacrity. she paused until he had done as she requested, then dropped into a restaurant for a cup of coffee. she lingered there for a long time, and then went out to spend a greater part of the day wandering up and down state street. at last an express wagon drove up, the driver went in and returned after a little while with the package. [illustration] "and, thank goodness, that's off my hands!" sighed the girl. "now i'm going home." * * * * * late that evening, saturday, miss dollie meredith returned to the home of the greytons and was clasped to the motherly bosom of mrs. greyton, where she wept unreservedly. [illustration: "a dollar bill lay on top"] chapter v it was late sunday afternoon. hutchinson hatch did not run lightly up the steps of the greyton home and toss his cigar away as he rang the bell. he did go up the steps, but it was reluctantly, dragging one foot after the other, this being an indication rather of his mental condition than of physical weariness. he did not throw away his cigar as he rang the bell because he wasn't smoking--but he did ring the bell. the maid whom he had seen on his previous visit opened the door. "is mrs. greyton in?" he asked with a nod of recognition. "no, sir." "mr. greyton?" "no, sir." "did mr. meredith arrive from baltimore?" "yes, sir. last midnight." "ah! is _he_ in?" "no, sir." the reporter's disappointment showed clearly in his face. "i don't suppose you've heard anything further from miss meredith?" he ventured hopelessly. "she's upstairs, sir." anyone who has ever stepped on a tack knows just how hatch felt. he didn't stand on the order of being invited in--he went in. being in, he extracted a plain calling-card from his pocketbook with twitching fingers and handed it to the waiting maid. "when did she return?" he asked. "last night, about nine, sir." "where has she been?" "i don't know, sir." "kindly hand her my card and explain to her that it is imperative that i see her for a few minutes," the reporter went on. "impress upon her the absolute necessity of this. by the way, i suppose you know where i came from, eh?" "police headquarters, yes, sir." hatch tried to look like a detective, but a gleam of intelligence in his face almost betrayed him. "you might intimate as much to miss meredith," he instructed the maid calmly. the maid disappeared. hatch went in and sat down in the reception-room, and said "whew!" several times. "the gold plate returned to randolph last night by express," he mused, "and she returned also, last night. now what does that mean?" after a minute or so the maid reappeared to state that miss meredith would see him. hatch received the message gravely and beckoned mysteriously as he sought for a bill in his pocketbook. "do you have any idea where miss meredith was?" "no, sir. she didn't even tell mrs. greyton or her father." "what was her appearance?" "she seemed very tired, sir, and hungry. she still wore the masked ball costume." the bill changed hands and hatch was left alone again. there was a long wait, then a rustle of skirts, a light step, and miss dollie meredith entered. she was nervous, it is true, and pallid, but there was a suggestion of defiance as well as determination on her pretty mouth. hatch stared at her in frank admiration for a moment, then, with an effort, proceeded to business. "i presume, miss meredith," he said solemnly, "that the maid informed you of my identity?" "yes," replied dollie weakly. "she said you were a detective." "ah!" exclaimed the reporter meaningly, "then we understand each other. now, miss meredith, will you tell me, please, just where you have been?" "no." the answer was so prompt and so emphatic that hatch was a little disconcerted. he cleared his throat and started over again. "will you inform me, then, in the interest of justice, where you were on the evening of the randolph ball?" an ominous threat lay behind the words, hatch hoped she believed. "i will not." "why did you disappear?" "i will not tell you." [illustration: "there was a suggestion of defiance as well as determination on her pretty mouth"] hatch paused to readjust himself. he was going at things backward. when next he spoke his tone had lost the official tang--he talked like a human being. "may i ask if you happen to know richard herbert?" the pallor of the girl's face was relieved by a delicious sweep of colour. "i will not tell you," she answered. "and if i say that mr. herbert happens to be a friend of mine?" "well, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!" two distracting blue eyes were staring him out of countenance; two scarlet lips were drawn tightly together in reproof of a man who boasted such a friendship; two cheeks flamed with indignation that he should have mentioned the name. hatch floundered for a moment, then cleared his throat and took a fresh start. "will you deny that you saw richard herbert on the evening of the masked ball?" "i will not." "will you admit that you saw him?" "i will not." "do you know that he was wounded?" "certainly." now, hatch had always held a vague theory that the easiest way to make a secret known was to intrust it to a woman. at this point he revised his draw, threw his hand in the pack, and asked for a new deal. "miss meredith," he said soothingly after a pause, "will you admit or deny that you ever heard of the randolph robbery?" "i will not," she began, then: "certainly i know of it." "you know that a man and a woman are accused of and sought for the theft?" "yes, i know that." "you will admit that you know the man was in burglar's garb, and that the woman was dressed in a western costume?" "the newspapers say that, yes," she replied sweetly. "you know, too, that richard herbert went to that ball in burglar's garb and that you went there dressed as a western girl?" the reporter's tone was strictly professional now. dollie stared into the stern face of her interrogator and her courage oozed away. the colour left her face and she wept violently. "i beg your pardon," hatch expostulated. "i beg your pardon. i didn't mean it just that way, but----" he stopped helplessly and stared at this wonderful woman with the red hair. of all things in the world tears were quite the most disconcerting. [illustration] "i beg your pardon," he repeated awkwardly. dollie looked up with tear-stained, pleading eyes, then arose and placed both her hands on hatch's arm. it was a pitiful, helpless sort of a gesture; hatch shuddered with sheer delight. "i don't know how you found out about it," she said tremulously, "but, if you've come to arrest me, i'm ready to go with you." "arrest you?" gasped the reporter. "certainly. i'll go and be locked up. that's what they do, isn't it?" she questioned innocently. the reporter stared. "i wouldn't arrest you for a million dollars!" he stammered in dire confusion. "it wasn't quite that. it was----" and five minutes later hutchinson hatch found himself wandering aimlessly up and down the sidewalk. chapter vi dick herbert lay stretched lazily on a couch in his room with hands pressed to his eyes. he had just read the sunday newspapers announcing the mysterious return of the randolph plate, and naturally he had a headache. somewhere in a remote recess of his brain mental pyrotechnics were at play; a sort of intellectual pinwheel spouted senseless ideas and suggestions of senseless ideas. the late afternoon shaded off into twilight, twilight into dusk, dusk into darkness, and still he lay motionless. after a while, from below, he heard the tinkle of a bell and blair entered with light tread: "beg pardon, sir, are you asleep?" "who is it, blair?" "mr. hatch, sir." "let him come up." dick arose, snapped on the electric lights, and stood blinkingly in the sudden glare. when hatch entered they faced each other silently for a moment. there was that in the reporter's eyes that interested dick immeasurably; there was that in dick's eyes that hatch was trying vainly to fathom. dick relieved a certain vague tension by extending his left hand. hatch shook it cordially. "well?" dick inquired. hatch dropped into a chair and twirled his hat. "heard the news?" he asked. "the return of the gold plate, yes," and dick passed a hand across his fevered brow. "it makes me dizzy." "heard anything from miss meredith?" "no. why?" "she returned to the greytons last night." "returned to the----" and dick started up suddenly. "well, there's no reason why she shouldn't have," he added. "do you happen to know where she was?" the reporter shook his head. "i don't know anything," he said wearily, "except----" he paused. dick paced back and forth across the room several times with one hand pressed to his forehead. suddenly he turned on his visitor. "except what?" he demanded. "except that miss meredith, by action and word, has convinced me that she either had a hand in the disappearance of the randolph plate or else knows who was the cause of its disappearance." dick glared at him savagely. "you know she didn't take the plate?" he demanded. "certainly," replied the reporter. "that's what makes it all the more astonishing. i talked to her this afternoon, and when i finished she seemed to think i had come to arrest her, and she wanted to go to jail. i nearly fainted." dick glared incredulously, then resumed his nervous pacing. suddenly he stopped. "did she mention my name?" "i mentioned it. she wouldn't admit even that she knew you." there was a pause. "i don't blame her," dick remarked enigmatically. "she must think me a cad." another pause. "well, what about it all, anyhow?" dick went on finally. "the plate has been returned, therefore the matter is at an end." "now look here, dick," said hatch. "i want to say something, and don't go crazy, please, until i finish. i know an awful lot about this affair--things the police never will know. i haven't printed anything much for obvious reasons." dick looked at him apprehensively. "go on," he urged. "i could print things i know," the reporter resumed; "swear out a warrant for you in connection with the gold plate affair and have you arrested and convicted on your own statements, supplemented by those of miss meredith. yet, remember, please, neither your name nor hers has been mentioned as yet." dick took it calmly; he only stared. "do you believe that i stole the plate?" he asked. "certainly i do not," replied hatch, "but i can prove that you _did_; prove it to the satisfaction of any jury in the world, and no denial of yours would have any effect." "well?" asked dick, after a moment. "further, i can, on information in my possession, swear out a warrant for miss meredith, prove she was in the automobile, and convict her as your accomplice. now that's a silly state of affairs, isn't it?" "but, man, you can't believe that she had anything to do with it! she's--she's not that kind." "i could take oath that she didn't have anything to do with it, but all the same i can prove that she did," replied hatch. "now what i am getting at is this: if the police should happen to find out what i know they would send you up--both of you." "well, you are decent about it, old man, and i appreciate it," said dick warmly. "but what can we do?" "it behoves us--miss meredith and you and myself--to get the true facts in the case all together before you get pinched," said the reporter judicially. "suppose now, just suppose, that we three get together and tell each other the truth for a change, the whole truth, and see what will happen?" "if i should tell you the truth," said dick dispassionately, "it would bring everlasting disgrace on miss meredith, and i'd be a beast for doing it; if she told you the truth she would unquestionably send me to prison for theft." "but here----" hatch expostulated. "just a minute!" dick disappeared into another room, leaving the reporter to chew on what he had, then returned in a little while, dressed for the street. "now, hatch," he said, "i'm going to try to get to miss meredith, but i don't believe she'll see me. if she will, i may be able to explain several things that will clear up this affair in _your_ mind, at any rate. if i don't see her---- by the way, did her father arrive from baltimore?" "yes." "good!" exclaimed dick. "i'll see him, too--make a show-down of it, and when it's all over i'll let you know what happened." [illustration] hatch went back to his shop and threatened to kick the office-boy into the waste-basket. at just about that moment mr. meredith, in the greyton home, was reading a card on which appeared the name, "mr. richard hamilton herbert." having read it, he snorted his indignation and went into the reception-room. dick arose to greet him and offered a hand, which was promptly declined. "i'd like to ask you, mr. meredith," dick began with a certain steely coldness in his manner, "just why you object to my attention to your daughter, dorothy?" "you know well enough!" raged the old man. "it is because of the trouble i had in harvard with your son, harry. well and good, but is that all? is that to stand forever?" "you proved then that you were not a gentleman," declared the old man savagely. "you're a puppy, sir." [illustration: "mr. meredith ... was reading a card on which appeared the name 'mr. richard hamilton herbert'"] "if you didn't happen to be the father of the girl i'm in love with i'd poke you in the nose," dick replied, almost cheerfully. "where is your son now? is there no way i can place myself right in your eyes?" "no!" mr. meredith thundered. "an apology would only be a confession of your dishonour!" dick was nearly choking, but managed to keep his voice down. "does your daughter know anything of that affair?" "certainly not." "where is your son?" "none of your business, sir!" "i don't suppose there's any doubt in your mind of my affection for your daughter?" "i suppose you do admire her," snapped the old man. "you can't help that, i suppose. no one can," he added naïvely. "and i suppose you know that she loves me, in spite of your objections?" went on the young man. "bah! bah!" "and that you are breaking her heart by your mutton-headed objection to me?" "you--you----" sputtered mr. meredith. dick was still calm. "may i see miss meredith for a few minutes?" he went on. "she won't see you, sir," stormed the irate parent. "she told me last night that she would never consent to see you again." "will you give me your permission to see her here and now, if she will consent?" dick insisted steadily. "she won't see you, i say." "may i send a card to her?" "she won't see you, sir," repeated mr. meredith doggedly. dick stepped out into the hall and beckoned to the maid. "please take my card to miss meredith," he directed. the maid accepted the white square, with a little uplifting of her brows, and went up the stairs. miss meredith received it languidly, read it, then sat up indignantly. "dick herbert!" she exclaimed incredulously. "how dare he come here? it's the most audacious thing i ever heard of! certainly i will not see him again in any circumstances." she arose and glared defiantly at the demure maid. "tell mr. herbert," she said emphatically, "tell him--that i'll be right down." chapter vii mr. meredith had stamped out of the room angrily, and dick herbert was alone when dollie, in regal indignation, swept in. the general slant of her ruddy head radiated defiance, and a most depressing chilliness lay in her blue eyes. her lips formed a scarlet line, and there was a how-dare-you-sir tilt to nose and chin. dick started up quickly at her appearance. "dollie!" he exclaimed eagerly. "mr. herbert," she responded coldly. she sat down primly on the extreme edge of a chair which yawned to embrace her. "what is it, please?" dick was a singularly audacious sort of person, but her manner froze him into sudden austerity. he regarded her steadily for a moment. "i have come to explain why----" miss dollie meredith sniffed. "i have come to explain," he went on, "why i did not meet you at the randolph masked ball, as we had planned." "why you did _not_ meet me?" inquired dollie coldly, with a little surprised movement of her arched brows. "why you did _not_ meet me?" she repeated. "i shall have to ask you to believe that, in the circumstances, it was absolutely impossible," dick continued, preferring not to notice the singular emphasis of her words. "something occurred early that evening which--which left me no choice in the matter. i can readily understand your indignation and humiliation at my failure to appear, and i had no way of reaching you that evening or since. news of your return last night only reached me an hour ago. i knew you had disappeared." dollie's blue eyes were opened to the widest and her lips parted a little in astonishment. for a moment she sat thus, staring at the young man, then she sank back into her chair with a little gasp. "may i inquire," she asked, after she recovered her breath, "the cause of this--this levity?" "dollie, dear, i am perfectly serious," dick assured her earnestly. "i am trying to make it plain to you, that's all." "why you did _not_ meet me?" dollie repeated again. "why you _did_ meet me! and that's--that's what's the matter with everything!" whatever surprise or other emotion dick might have felt was admirably repressed. "i thought perhaps there was some mistake somewhere," he said at last. "now, dollie, listen to me. no, wait a minute please! i did not go to the randolph ball. you did. you eloped from that ball, as you and i had planned, in an automobile, but not with me. you went with some other man--the man who really stole the gold plate." dollie opened her mouth to exclaim, then shut it suddenly. "now just a moment, please," pleaded dick. "you spoke to some other man under the impression that you were speaking to me. for a reason which does not appear now, he fell in with your plans. therefore, you ran away with him--in the automobile which carried the gold plate. what happened after that i cannot even surmise. i only know that you are the mysterious woman who disappeared with the burglar." dollie gasped and nearly choked with her emotions. a flame of scarlet leaped into her face and the glare of the blue eyes was pitiless. "mr. herbert," she said deliberately at last, "i don't know whether you think i am a fool or only a child. i know that no rational human being can accept that as true. i know i left seven oaks with you in the auto; i know you are the man who stole the gold plate; i know how you received the shot in your right shoulder; i know how you afterward fainted from loss of blood. i know how i bound up your wound and--and--i know a lot of things else!" the sudden rush of words left her breathless for an instant. dick listened quietly. he started to say something--to expostulate--but she got a fresh start and hurried on: "i recognised you in that silly disguise by the cleft in your chin. i called you dick and you answered me. i asked if you had received the little casket and you answered yes. i left the ballroom as you directed and climbed into the automobile. i know that horrid ride we had, and how i took the gold plate in the bag and walked--walked through the night until i was exhausted. i know it all--how i lied and connived, and told silly stories--but i did it all to save you from yourself, and now you dare face me with a denial!" dollie suddenly burst into tears. dick now attempted no further denial. there was no anger in his face--only a deeply troubled expression. he arose and walked over to the window, where he stood staring out. "i know it all," dollie repeated gurglingly--"all, except what possible idea you had in stealing the miserable, wretched old plate, anyway!" there was a pause and dollie peered through teary fingers. "how--how long," she asked, "have you been a--a--a--kleptomaniac?" dick shrugged his sturdy shoulders a little impatiently. "did your father ever happen to tell you _why_ he objects to my attentions to you?" he asked. "no, but i know now." and there was a new burst of tears. "it's because--because you are a--a--you take things." "you will not believe what i tell you?" "how can i when i helped you run away with the horrid stuff?" "if i pledge you my word of honour that i told you the truth?" "i can't believe it, i can't!" wailed dollie desolately. "no one could believe it. i never suspected--never dreamed--of the possibility of such a thing even when you lay wounded out there in the dark woods. if i had, i should certainly have never--have never--kissed you." dick wheeled suddenly. "kissed me?" he exclaimed. "yes, you horrid thing!" sobbed dollie. "if there had previously been the slightest doubt in my mind as to your identity, that would have convinced me that it was you, because--because--just because! and besides, if it wasn't you i kissed, you ought to have told me!" dollie leaned forward suddenly on the arm of the chair with her face hidden in her hands. dick crossed the room softly toward her and laid a hand caressingly about her shoulders. she shook it off angrily. "how dare you, sir?" she blazed. "dollie, don't you love me?" he pleaded. "no!" was the prompt reply. "but you did love me--once?" "why--yes, but i--i----" "and couldn't you ever love me again?" "i--i don't ever want to again." "but couldn't you?" "if you had only told me the truth, instead of making such a silly denial," she blubbered. "i don't know why you took the plate unless--unless it is because you--you couldn't help it. but you didn't tell me the truth." dick stared down at the ruddy head moodily for a moment. then his manner changed and he dropped on his knees beside her. "suppose," he whispered, "suppose i should confess that i did take it?" dollie looked up suddenly with a new horror in her face. "oh, you _did_ do it then?" she demanded. this was worse than ever! "suppose i should confess that i did?" "oh, dick!" she sobbed. and her arms went suddenly around his neck. "you are breaking my heart. why? why?" "would you be satisfied?" he insisted. "what could have caused you to do such a thing?" the love-light glimmered again in her blue eyes; the red lips trembled. "suppose it had been just a freak of mine, and i had intended to--to return the stuff, as has been done?" he went on. dollie stared deeply into the eyes upturned to hers. "silly boy," she said. then she kissed him. "but you must never, never do it again." "i never will," he promised solemnly. five minutes later dick was leaving the house, when he met mr. meredith in the hall. [illustration: "'silly boy,' she said"] "i'm going to marry your daughter," he said quite calmly. mr. meredith raved at him as he went down the steps. [illustration] chapter viii alone in her room, with the key turned in the lock, miss dollie meredith had a perfectly delightful time. she wept and laughed and sobbed and shuddered; she was pensive and doleful and happy and melancholy; she dreamed dreams of the future, past and present; she sang foolish little ecstatic songs--just a few words of each--and cried again copiously. her father had sent her to her room with a stern reprimand, and she giggled joyously as she remembered it. "after all, it wasn't anything," she assured herself. "it was silly for him to--to take the stuff, of course, but it's back now, and he told me the truth, and he intended to return it, anyway." in her present mood she would have justified anything. "and he's not a thief or anything. i don't suppose father will ever give his consent, so, after all, we'll have to elope, and that will be--perfectly delightful. papa will go on dreadfully and then he'll be all right." after a while dollie snuggled down in the sheets and lay quite still in the dark until sleep overtook her. silence reigned in the house. it was about two o'clock in the morning when she sat up suddenly in bed with startled eyes. she had heard something--or rather in her sleep she had received the impression of hearing something. she listened intently as she peered about. finally she _did_ hear something--something tap sharply on the window once. then came silence again. a frightened chill ran all the way down to dollie's curling pink toes. there was a pause, and then again came the sharp click on the window, whereupon dollie pattered out of bed in her bare feet and ran to the window, which was open a few inches. with the greatest caution she peered out. vaguely skulking in the shadows below she made out the figure of a man. as she looked it seemed to draw up into a knot, then straighten out quickly. involuntarily she dodged. there came another sharp click at the window. the man below was tossing pebbles against the pane with the obvious purpose of attracting her attention. "dick, is that you?" she called cautiously. "sh-h-h-h!" came the answer. "here's a note for you. open the window so i may throw it in." "is it really and truly you?" dollie insisted. "yes," came the hurried, whispered answer. "quick, someone is coming!" dollie threw the sash up and stepped back. a whirling, white object came through and fell noiselessly on the carpet. dollie seized upon it eagerly and ran to the window again. below she saw the retreating figure of a man. other footsteps materialised in a bulky policeman, who strolled by seeking, perhaps, a quiet spot for a nap. [illustration: "she opened the note eagerly and sat down upon the floor to read it"] shivering with excitement, dollie closed the window and pulled down the shade, after which she lighted the gas. she opened the note eagerly and sat down upon the floor to read it. now a large part of this note was extraneous verbiage of a superlative emotional nature--its vital importance was an outline of a new plan of elopement, to take place on wednesday in time for them to catch a european-bound steamer at half-past two in the afternoon. dollie read and reread the crumpled sheet many times, and when finally its wording had been indelibly fixed in her mind she wasted an unbelievable number of kisses on it. of course this was sheer extravagance, but--girls are wonderful creatures. "he's the dearest thing in the world!" she declared at last. she burned the note reluctantly and carefully disposed of the ashes by throwing them out of the window, after which she returned to her bed. on the following morning, monday, father glared at daughter sternly as she demurely entered the breakfast-room. he was seeking to read that which no man has ever been able to read--a woman's face. dollie smiled upon him charmingly. after breakfast father and daughter had a little talk in a sunny corner of the library. "i have planned for us to return to baltimore on next thursday," he informed her. "oh, isn't that delightful?" beamed dollie. "in view of everything and your broken promise to me--the promise not to see herbert again--i think it wisest," he continued. "perhaps it is," she mused. "why did you see him?" he demanded. "i consented to see him only to bid him good-by," replied dollie demurely, "and to make perfectly clear to him my position in this matter." oh, woman! perfidious, insincere, loyal, charming woman! all the tangled skeins of life are the work of your dainty fingers. all the sins and sorrows are your doing! mr. meredith rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "you may take it as my wish--my order even," he said as he cleared his throat--for giving orders to dollie was a dangerous experiment, "that you must not attempt to communicate in any way with mr. herbert again--by letter or otherwise." "yes, papa." mr. meredith was somewhat surprised at the ease with which he got away with this. had he been blessed with a little more wisdom in the ways of women he would have been suspicious. "you really do not love him, anyway," he ventured at last. "it was only a girlish infatuation." "i told him yesterday just what i thought of him," she replied truthfully enough. and thus the interview ended. it was about noon that day when hutchinson hatch called on dick herbert. "well, what did you find out?" he inquired. "really, old man," said dick kindly, "i have decided that there is nothing i can say to you about the matter. it's a private affair, after all." "yes, i know that and you know that, but the police don't know it," commented the reporter grimly. "the police!" dick smiled. "did you see her?" hatch asked. "yes, i saw her--and her father, too." hatch saw the one door by which he had hoped to solve the riddle closing on him. "was miss meredith the girl in the automobile?" he asked bluntly. "really, i won't answer that." "are you the man who stole the gold plate?" "i won't answer that, either," replied dick smilingly. "now, look here, hatch, you're a good fellow. i like you. it is your business to find out things, but, in this particular affair, i'm going to make it my business to keep you from finding out things. i'll risk the police end of it." he went over and shook hands with the reporter cordially. "believe me, if i told you the absolute truth--all of it--you couldn't print it unless--unless i was arrested, and i don't intend that that shall happen." hatch went away. that night the randolph gold plate was stolen for the second time. thirty-six hours later detective mallory arrested richard herbert with the stolen plate in his possession. dick burst out laughing when the detective walked in on him. [illustration] part iii the thinking machine chapter i professor augustus s. f. x. van dusen, ph. d., ll. d., f. r. s., m. d., etc., etc., was the court of last appeal in the sciences. he was five feet two inches tall, weighed pounds, that being slightly above normal, and wore a number eight hat. bushy, yellow hair straggled down about his ears and partially framed a clean-shaven, wizened face in which were combined the paradoxical qualities of extreme aggressiveness and childish petulance. the mouth drooped a little at the corners, being otherwise a straight line; the eyes were mere slits of blue, squinting eternally through thick spectacles. his brow rose straight up, domelike, majestic even, and added a whimsical grotesqueness to his appearance. the professor's idea of light literature, for rare moments of recreation, was page after page of encyclopædic discussion on "ologies" and "isms" with lots of figures in 'em. sometimes he wrote these discussions himself, and frequently held them up to annihilation. his usual speaking tone was one of deep annoyance, and he had an unwavering glare that went straight through one. he was the son of the son of the son of an eminent german scientist, the logical production of a house that had borne a distinguished name in the sciences for generations. thirty-five of his fifty years had been devoted to logic, study, analysis of cause and effect, mental, material, and psychological. by his personal efforts he had mercilessly flattened out and readjusted at least two of the exact sciences and had added immeasurably to the world's sum of knowledge in others. once he had held the chair of philosophy in a great university, but casually one day he promulgated a thesis that knocked the faculty's eye out, and he was invited to vacate. it was a dozen years later that that university had openly resorted to influence and diplomacy to induce him to accept its ll. d. for years foreign and american institutions, educational, scientific, and otherwise, crowded degrees upon him. he didn't care. he started fires with the elaborately formal notifications of these unsought honours and turned again to his work in the small laboratory which was a part of his modest home. there he lived, practically a recluse, his simple wants being attended to by one aged servant, martha. this, then, was the thinking machine. this last title, the thinking machine, perhaps more expressive of the real man than a yard of honorary initials, was coined by hutchinson hatch at the time of the scientist's defeat of a chess champion after a single morning's instruction in the game. the thinking machine had asserted that logic was inevitable, and that game had proven his assertion. afterward there had grown up a strange sort of friendship between the crabbed scientist and the reporter. hatch, to the scientist, represented the great, whirling outside world; to the reporter the scientist was merely a brain--a marvellously keen, penetrating, infallible guide through material muddles far removed from the delicately precise labours of the laboratory. now the thinking machine sat in a huge chair in his reception-room with long, slender fingers pressed tip to tip and squint eyes turned upward. hatch was talking, had been talking for more than an hour with infrequent interruptions. in that time he had laid bare the facts as he and the police knew them from the incidents of the masked ball at seven oaks to the return of dollie meredith. "now, mr. hatch," asked the thinking machine, "just what is known of this second theft of the gold plate?" "it's simple enough," explained the reporter. "it was plain burglary. some person entered the randolph house on monday night by cutting out a pane of glass and unfastening a window-latch. whoever it was took the plate and escaped. that's all anyone knows of it." "left no clew, of course?" "no, so far as has been found." "i presume that, on its return by express, mr. randolph ordered the plate placed in the small room as before?" "yes." "he's a fool." "yes." "please go on." "now the police absolutely decline to say as yet just what evidence they have against herbert beyond the finding of the plate in his possession," the reporter resumed, "though, of course, that's enough and to spare. they will not say, either, how they first came to connect him with the affair. detective mallory doesn't----" "when and where was mr. herbert arrested?" "yesterday, tuesday, afternoon in his rooms. fourteen pieces of the gold plate were on the table." the thinking machine dropped his eyes a moment to squint at the reporter. "only eleven pieces of the plate were first stolen, you said?" "only eleven, yes." "and i think you said two shots were fired at the thief?" "yes." "who fired them, please?" "one of the detectives--cunningham, i think." "it was a detective--you know that?" "yes, i know that." "yes, yes. please go on." "the plate was all spread out--there was no attempt to conceal it," hatch resumed. "there was a box on the floor and herbert was about to pack the stuff in it when detective mallory and two of his men entered. herbert's servant, blair, was away from the house at the time. his people are up in nova scotia, so he was alone." "nothing but the gold plate was found?" "oh, yes!" exclaimed the reporter. "there was a lot of jewelry in a case and fifteen or twenty odd pieces--fifty thousand dollars' worth of stuff, at least. the police took it to find the owners." "dear me! dear me!" exclaimed the thinking machine. "why didn't you mention the jewelry at first? wait a minute." hatch was silent while the scientist continued to squint at the ceiling. he wriggled in his chair uncomfortably and smoked a couple of cigarettes before the thinking machine turned to him and nodded. "that's all i know," said hatch. "did mr. herbert say anything when arrested?" "no, he only laughed. i don't know why. i don't imagine it would have been at all funny to me." "has he said anything since?" "no, nothing to me or anybody else. he was arraigned at a preliminary hearing, pleaded not guilty, and was released on twenty thousand dollars bail. some of his rich friends furnished it." "did he give any reason for his refusal to say anything?" insisted the thinking machine testily. "he remarked to me that he wouldn't say anything, because, even if he told the truth, no one would believe him." "if it should have been a protestation of innocence i'm afraid nobody _would_ have believed him," commented the scientist enigmatically. he was silent for several minutes. "it could have been a brother, of course," he mused. "a brother?" asked hatch quickly. "whose brother? what brother?" "as i understand it," the scientist went on, not heeding the question, "you did not believe herbert guilty of the first theft?" "why, i couldn't," hatch protested. "i couldn't," he repeated. "why?" "well, because--because he's not that sort of man," explained the reporter. "i've known him for years, personally and by reputation." "was he a particular friend of yours in college?" "no, not an intimate, but he was in my class--and he's a whacking, jam-up, ace-high football player." that squared everything. "do you now believe him guilty?" insisted the scientist. "i can't believe anything else--and yet i'd stake my life on his honesty." "and miss meredith?" the reporter was reaching the explosive point. he had seen and talked to miss meredith, you know. "it's perfectly asinine to suppose that _she_ had anything to do with either theft, don't you think?" the thinking machine was silent on that point. [illustration] "well, mr. hatch," he said finally, "the problem comes down to this: did a man, and perhaps a woman, who are circumstantially proven guilty of stealing the gold plate, _actually_ steal it? we have the stained cushion of the automobile in which the thieves escaped to indicate that one of them was wounded; we have mr. herbert with an injured right shoulder--a hurt received that night on his own statement, though he won't say how. we have, then, the second theft and the finding of the stolen property in his possession along with another lot of stolen stuff--jewels. it is apparently a settled case now without going further." "but----" hatch started to protest. "but suppose we do go a little further," the thinking machine went on. "i can prove definitely, conclusively, and finally by settling only two points whether or not mr. herbert was wounded while in the automobile. if he was wounded while in that automobile, he was the first thief; if not, he wasn't. if he was the first thief, he was probably the second, but even if he were not the first thief, there is, of course, a possibility that he was the second." hatch was listening with mouth open. "suppose we begin now," continued the thinking machine, "by finding out the name of the physician who treated mr. herbert's wound last thursday night. mr. herbert may have a reason for keeping the identity of this physician secret, but, perhaps--wait a minute," and the scientist disappeared into the next room. he was gone for five minutes. "see if the physician who treated the wound wasn't dr. clarence walpole." the reporter blinked a little. "right," he said. "what next?" "ask him something about the nature of the wound and all the usual questions." hatch nodded. "then," resumed the thinking machine casually, "bring me some of mr. herbert's blood." the reporter blinked a good deal, and gulped twice. "how much?" he inquired briskly. "a single drop on a small piece of glass will do very nicely," replied the scientist. chapter ii the supreme police intelligence of the metropolitan district was doing some heavy thinking, which, modestly enough, bore generally on his own dazzling perspicacity. just at the moment he couldn't recall any detector of crime whose lustre in any way dimmed his own, or whose mere shadow, even, had a right to fall on the same earth as his; and this lapse of memory so stimulated his admiration for the subject of his thoughts that he lighted a fresh cigar and put his feet in the middle of the desk. he sat thus when the thinking machine called. the supreme intelligence--mr. mallory--knew professor van dusen well, and, though he received his visitor graciously, he showed no difficulty in restraining any undue outburst of enthusiasm. instead, the same admirable self-control which prevented him from outwardly evidencing his pleasure prompted him to square back in his chair with a touch of patronising aggressiveness in his manner. "ah, professor," was his noncommittal greeting. "good-evening, mr. mallory," responded the scientist in the thin, irritated voice which always set mr. mallory's nerves a-jangle. "i don't suppose you would tell me by what steps you were led to arrest mr. herbert?" "i would not," declared mr. mallory promptly. "no, nor would you inform me of the nature of the evidence against him in addition to the jewels and plate found in his possession?" "i would not," replied mr. mallory again. "no, i thought perhaps you would not," remarked the thinking machine. "i understand, by the way, that one of your men took a leather cushion from the automobile in which the thieves escaped on the night of the ball?" "well, what of it?" demanded the detective. "i merely wanted to inquire if it would be permissible for me to see that cushion?" detective mallory glared at him suspiciously, then slowly his heavy face relaxed, and he laughed as he arose and produced the cushion. "if you're trying to make any mystery of this cushion, you're in bad," he informed the scientist. "we know the owner of the automobile in which herbert and the girl escaped. the cushion means nothing." the thinking machine examined the heavy leather carefully and paid a great deal of attention to the crusted stains which it bore. he picked at one of the brown spots with his penknife and it flaked off in his hand. "herbert was caught with the goods on," declared the detective, and he thumped the desk with his lusty fist. "we've got the right man." "yes," admitted the thinking machine, "it begins to look very much as if you _did_ have the right man--for once." detective mallory snorted. "would you mind telling me if any of the jewelry you found in mr. herbert's possession has been identified?" "sure thing," replied the detective. "that's where i've got herbert good. four people who lost jewelry at the masked ball have appeared and claimed pieces of the stuff." for an instant a slightly perplexed wrinkle appeared in the brow of the thinking machine, and as quickly it passed. "of course, of course," he mused. "it's the biggest haul of stolen goods the police of this city have made for many years," the detective volunteered complacently. "and, if i'm not wrong, there's more of it coming--no man knows how much more. why, herbert must have been operating for years, and he got away with it, of course, by the gentlemanly exterior, the polish, and all that. i consider his capture the most important that has happened since i have been connected with the police." "indeed?" inquired the scientist thoughtfully. he was still gazing at the cushion. "and the most important development of all is to come," detective mallory rattled on. "that will be the real sensation, and make the arrest of herbert seem purely incidental. it now looks as if there would be another arrest of a--of a person who is so high socially, and all that----" "yes," interrupted the thinking machine, "but do you think it would be wise to arrest her now?" "her?" demanded detective mallory. "what do you know of any woman?" "you were speaking of miss dorothy meredith, weren't you?" inquired the thinking machine blandly. "well, i merely asked if you thought it would be wise for your men to go so far as to arrest her." the detective bit his cigar in two in obvious perturbation. "how--how--did you happen to know her name?" he demanded. "oh, mr. hatch mentioned it to me," replied the scientist. "he has known of her connection with the case for several days, as well as herbert's, and has talked to them both, i think." the supreme intelligence was nearly apoplectic. "if hatch knew it why didn't he tell me?" he thundered. "really, i don't know," responded the scientist. "perhaps," he added curtly, "he may have had some absurd notion that you would find it out for yourself. he has strange ideas like that sometimes." and when detective mallory had fully recovered the thinking machine was gone. meanwhile hatch had seen and questioned dr. clarence walpole in the latter's office, only a stone's throw from dick herbert's home. had doctor walpole recently dressed a wound for mr. herbert? doctor walpole had. a wound caused by a pistol-bullet? yes. "when was it, please?" asked hatch. "only a few nights ago." "thursday night, perhaps?" doctor walpole consulted a desk-diary. "yes, thursday night, or rather friday morning," he replied. "it was between two and three o'clock. he came here and i fixed him up." "where was the wound, please?" "in the right shoulder," replied the physician, "just here," and he touched the reporter with one finger. "it wasn't dangerous, but he had lost considerable blood." hatch was silent for a moment, dazed. every new point piled up the evidence against herbert. the location of the wound--a pistol-wound--the very hour of the dressing of it! dick would have had plenty of time between the moment of the robbery, which was comparatively early, and the hour of his call on doctor walpole to do all those things which he was suspected of doing. "i don't suppose mr. herbert explained how he got the wound?" hatch asked apprehensively. he was afraid he had. "no. i asked, but he evaded the question. it was, of course, none of my business, after i had extracted the bullet and dressed the hurt." "you have the bullet?" "yes. it's the usual size--thirty-two calibre." that was all. the prosecution was in, the case proven, the verdict rendered. ten minutes later hatch's name was announced to dick herbert. dick received him gloomily, shook hands with him, then resumed his interrupted pacing. "i had declined to see men from other papers," he said wearily. "now, look here, dick," expostulated hatch, "don't you want to make some statement of your connection with this affair? i honestly believe that if you did it would help you." "no, i cannot make any statement--that's all." dick's hand closed fiercely. "i can't," he added, "and there's no need to talk of it." he continued his pacing for a moment or so; then turned on the reporter. "do you believe me guilty?" he demanded abruptly. "i can't believe anything else," hatch replied falteringly. "but at that i don't _want_ to believe it." there was an embarrassed pause. "i have just seen dr. clarence walpole." "well?" dick wheeled on him angrily. "what he said alone would convict you, even if the stuff had not been found here," hatch replied. "are you _trying_ to convict me?" dick demanded. "i'm trying to get the truth," remarked hatch. "there is just one man in the world whom i must see before the truth can ever be told," declared dick vehemently. "and i can't find him now. i don't know where he is!" "let me find him. who is he? what's his name?" "if i told you that i might as well tell you everything," dick went on. "it was to prevent any mention of that name that i have allowed myself to be placed in this position. it is purely a personal matter between us--at least i will make it so--and if i ever meet him----" his hands closed and unclosed spasmodically, "the truth will be known unless i--i kill him first." more bewildered, more befuddled, and more generally betangled than ever, hatch put his hands to his head to keep it from flying off. finally he glanced around at dick, who stood with clenched fists and closed teeth. a blaze of madness lay in dick's eyes. "have you seen miss meredith again?" inquired the reporter. dick burst out laughing. half an hour later hatch left him. on the glass top of an inkstand he carried three precious drops of herbert's blood. chapter iii faithfully, phonographically even, hatch repeated to the thinking machine the conversation he had had with doctor walpole, indicating on the person of the eminent scientist the exact spot of the wound as doctor walpole had indicated it to him. the scientist listened without comment to the recital, casually studying meanwhile the three crimson drops on the glass. "every step i take forward is a step backward," the reporter declared in conclusion with a helpless grin. "instead of showing that dick herbert might not have stolen the plate i am proving conclusively that he was the thief--nailing it to him so hard that he can't possibly get out of it." he was silent a moment. "if i keep on long enough," he added glumly, "i'll hang him." the thinking machine squinted at him aggressively. "you still don't believe him guilty?" he asked. "why, i--i--i----" hatch burst out savagely. "damn it, i don't know what i believe," he tapered off. "it's absolutely impossible!" "nothing is impossible, mr. hatch," snapped the thinking machine irritably. "the worst a problem can be is difficult, but all problems can be solved as inevitably as that two and two make four--not sometimes, but all the time. please don't say things are impossible. it annoys me exceedingly." hatch stared at his distinguished friend and smiled whimsically. he was also annoyed exceedingly on his own private, individual account--the annoyance that comes from irresistibly butting into immovable facts. "doctor walpole's statement," the thinking machine went on after a moment, "makes this particular problem ludicrously simple. two points alone show conclusively that mr. herbert was not the man in the automobile. i shall reach the third myself." hatch didn't say anything. the english language is singularly inadequate at times, and if he had spoken he would have had to invent a phraseology to convey even a faint glimmer of what he really thought. "now, mr. hatch," resumed the scientist, quite casually, "i understand you graduated from harvard in ninety-eight. yes? well, herbert was a classmate of yours there. please obtain for me one of the printed lists of students who were in harvard that year--a complete list." "i have one at home," said the reporter. "get it, please, immediately, and return here," instructed the scientist. hatch went out and the thinking machine disappeared into his laboratory. he remained there for one hour and forty-seven minutes by the clock. when he came out he found the reporter sitting in the reception-room again, holding his head. the scientist's face was as blankly inscrutable as ever. "here is the list," said hatch as he handed it over. the thinking machine took it in his long, slender fingers and turned two or three leaves. finally he stopped and ran a finger down one page. "ah," he exclaimed at last. "i thought so." "thought what?" asked hatch curiously. "i'm going out to see mr. meredith now," remarked the thinking machine irrelevantly. "come along. have you met him?" "no." mr. meredith had read the newspaper accounts of the arrest of dick herbert and the seizure of the gold plate and jewels; he had even taunted his charming daughter with it in a fatherly sort of a way. she was weeping, weeping her heart out over this latest proof of the perfidy and loathsomeness of the man she loved. incidentally, it may be mentioned here that the astute mr. meredith was not aware of any elopement plot--either the first or second. when a card bearing the name of mr. augustus s. f. x. van dusen was handed to mr. meredith he went wonderingly into the reception-room. there was a pause as the scientist and mr. meredith mentally sized each other up; then introductions--and the thinking machine came down to business abruptly, as always. "may i ask, mr. meredith," he began, "how many sons you have?" "one," replied mr. meredith, puzzled. "may i ask his present address?" went on the scientist. mr. meredith studied the belligerent eyes of his caller and wondered what business it was of his, for mr. meredith was a belligerent sort of a person himself. "may i ask," he inquired with pronounced emphasis on the personal pronoun, "why you want to know?" hatch rubbed his chin thoughtfully. he was wondering what would happen to him when the cyclone struck. "it may save him and you a great deal of annoyance if you will give me his address," said the thinking machine. "i desire to communicate with him immediately on a matter of the utmost importance--a purely personal matter." "personal matter?" repeated mr. meredith. "your abruptness and manner, sir, were not calculated to invite confidence." the thinking machine bowed gravely. "may i ask your son's address?" he repeated. mr. meredith considered the matter at some length and finally arrived at the conclusion that he might ask. "he is in south america at present--buenos ayres," he replied. "what?" exclaimed the thinking machine so suddenly that both hatch and mr. meredith started a little. "what?" he repeated, and wrinkles suddenly appeared in the domelike brow. "i said he was in south america--buenos ayres," repeated mr. meredith stiffly, but a little awed. "a letter or cable to him in care of the american consul at buenos ayres will reach him promptly." the thinking machine's narrow eyes were screwed down to the disappearing point, the slender white fingers were twiddled jerkily, the corrugations remained in his brow. "how long has mr. meredith been there?" he asked at last. "three months." "do you _know_ he _is_ there?" mr. meredith started to say something and swallowed it with an effort. "i know it positively, yes," he replied. "i received this letter dated the second from him three days ago, and to-day i received a cable-dispatch forwarded to me here from baltimore." "are you positive the letter is in your son's handwriting?" mr. meredith almost choked in mingled bewilderment and resentment at the question and the manner of its asking. "i am positive, yes," he replied at last, preserving his tone of dignity with a perceptible effort. he noted the inscrutable face of his caller and saw the corrugations in the brow suddenly swept away. "what business of yours is it, anyway?" blazed mr. meredith suddenly. "may i ask where _you_ were last thursday night?" went on the even, steady voice. "it's no business of yours," mr. meredith blurted. "i was in baltimore." "can you prove it in a court of law?" "prove it? of course i can prove it!" mr. meredith was fairly bellowing at his impassive interrogator. "but it's nobody's business." "if you _can_ prove it, mr. meredith," remarked the thinking machine quietly, coldly, "you had best make your arrangements to do so, because, believe me, it may be necessary to save you from a charge of having stolen the randolph gold plate on last thursday night at the masked ball. good-day, sir." chapter iv "but mr. herbert won't see anyone, sir," protested blair. "tell mr. herbert, please, that unless i can see him immediately his bail-bond will be withdrawn," directed the thinking machine. he stood waiting in the hall while blair went up the stairs. dick herbert took the card impatiently and glanced at it. "van dusen," he mused. "who the deuce is van dusen?" blair repeated the message he had received below. "what does he look like?" inquired dick. "he's a shrivelled little man with a big yellow head, sir," replied blair. "let him come up," instructed dick. thus, within an hour after he had talked to mr. meredith, the thinking machine met dick herbert. "what's this about the bail-bond?" dick inquired. "i wanted to talk to you," was the scientist's calm reply. "that seemed to be the easiest way to make you believe it was important, so----" dick's face flushed crimson at the trick. "well, you see me!" he broke out angrily. "i ought to throw you down the stairs, but--what is it?" not having been invited to a seat, the thinking machine took one anyway and settled himself comfortably. "if you will listen to me for a moment without interruption," he began testily, "i think the subject of my remarks will be of deep personal concern to you. i am interested in solving this randolph plate affair and have perhaps gone further in my investigation than anyone else. at least, i know more about it. there are some things i don't happen to know, however, that are of the greatest importance." "i tell you----" stormed dick. "for instance," calmly resumed the scientist, "it is very important for me to know whether or not harry meredith was masked when he came into this room last thursday night." [illustration: "suddenly he stopped and turned upon the thinking machine"] dick gazed at him in surprise which approached awe. his eyes were widely distended, the lower part of his face lax, for the instant; then his white teeth closed with a snap and he sat down opposite the thinking machine. anger had gone from his manner; instead there was a pallor of apprehension in the clean-cut face. "who are you, mr. van dusen?" he asked at last. his tone was mild, even deferential. "was he masked?" insisted the scientist. for a long while dick was silent. finally he arose and paced nervously back and forth across the room, glancing at the diminutive figure of the thinking machine each time as he turned. "i won't say anything," he decided. "will you name the cause of the trouble you and meredith had in harvard?" asked the scientist. again there was a long pause. "no," dick said finally. "did it have anything to do with theft?" "i don't know who you are or why you are prying into an affair that, at least on its face, does not concern you," replied dick. "i'll say nothing at all--unless--unless you produce the one man who can and shall explain this affair. produce him here in this room where i can get my hands on him!" the thinking machine squinted at the sturdy shoulders with admiration in his face. "did it ever happen to occur to you, mr. herbert, that harry meredith and his father are precisely of the same build?" some nameless, impalpable expression crept into dick's face despite an apparent fight to restrain it, and again he stared at the small man in the chair. "and that you and mr. meredith are practically of the same build?" tormented by unasked questions and by those emotions which had compelled him to silence all along, dick still paced back and forth. his head was whirling. the structure which he had so carefully guarded was tumbling about his ears. suddenly he stopped and turned upon the thinking machine. "just what do you know of this affair?" he asked. "i know for one thing," replied the scientist positively, "that you were _not_ the man in the automobile." "how do you know that?" "that's beside the question just now." "do you know who _was_ in the automobile?" dick insisted. "i can only answer that question when you have answered mine," the scientist went on. "was harry meredith masked when he entered this room last thursday night?" dick sat staring down at his hands, which were working nervously. finally he nodded. the thinking machine understood. "you recognised him, then, by something he said or wore?" again dick nodded reluctantly. "both," he added. the thinking machine leaned back in his chair and sat there for a long time. at last he arose as if the interview were at an end. there seemed to be no other questions that he desired to ask at the moment. "you need not be unnecessarily alarmed, mr. herbert," he assured dick as he picked up his hat. "i shall act with discretion in this matter. i am not representing anyone who would care to make it unpleasant for you. i may tell you that you made two serious mistakes: the first when you saw or communicated with mr. randolph immediately after the plate was stolen the second time, and again when you undertook something which properly belonged within the province of the police." herbert still sat with his head in his hands as the thinking machine went out. it was very late that night--after twelve, in fact--when hutchinson hatch called on the thinking machine with excitement evident in tone, manner, and act. he was accustomed to calling at any hour; now he found the scientist at work as if it were midday. [illustration] "the worst has happened," the reporter told him. the thinking machine didn't look around. "detective mallory and two of his men saw miss meredith this evening about nine o'clock," hatch hurried on, "and bully-ragged her into a confession." "what sort of a confession?" "she admitted that she was in the automobile on the night of the ball and that----" "mr. herbert was with her," the scientist supplied. "yes." "and--what else?" "that her own jewels, valued at twenty thousand dollars, were among those found in herbert's possession when he was arrested." the thinking machine turned and looked at the reporter, just casually, and raised his hand to his mouth to cover a yawn. "well, she couldn't do anything else," he said calmly. chapter v hutchinson hatch remained with the thinking machine for more than an hour, and when he left his head was spinning with the multitude of instructions which had been heaped upon him. "meet me at noon in detective mallory's office at police headquarters," the thinking machine had said in conclusion. "mr. randolph and miss meredith will be there." "miss meredith?" hatch repeated. "she hasn't been arrested, you know, and i doubt if she will come." "she will come," the scientist had replied, as if that settled it. next day the supreme intelligence was sitting in his private office. he had eaten the canary; mingled triumph and gratification beamed upon his countenance. the smile remained, but to it was added the quality of curiosity when the door opened and the thinking machine, accompanied by dollie meredith and stuyvesant randolph, entered. "mr. hatch called yet?" inquired the scientist. "no," responded the detective. "dear me!" grumbled the other. "it's one minute after twelve o'clock now. what could have delayed him?" his answer was the clattering rush of a cab and the appearance of hatch in person a moment later. he came into the room headlong, glanced around, then paused. "did you get it?" inquired the thinking machine. "yes, i got it, but----" began the reporter. "nothing else now," commanded the other. there was a little pause as the thinking machine selected a chair. the others also sat down. "well?" inquired the supreme intelligence at last. "i would like to ask, mr. mallory," the scientist said, "if it would be possible for me to convince you of mr. herbert's innocence of the charges against him?" "it would not," replied the detective promptly. "it would not while the facts are before me, supplemented by the statement of miss meredith here--her confession." dollie coloured exquisitely and her lips trembled slightly. "would it be possible, miss meredith," the even voice went on, "to convince _you_ of mr. herbert's innocence?" "i--i don't think so," she faltered. "i--i _know_." tears which had been restrained with difficulty gushed forth suddenly, and the thinking machine squinted at her in pained surprise. "don't do that," he commanded. "it's--it's exceedingly irritating." he paused a moment, then turned suddenly to mr. randolph. "and you?" he asked. mr. randolph shrugged his shoulders. the thinking machine receded still further into his chair and stared dreamily upward with his long, slender fingers pressed tip to tip. hatch knew the attitude; something was going to happen. he waited anxiously. detective mallory knew it, too, and wriggled uncomfortably. "suppose," the scientist began, "just suppose that we turn a little human intelligence on this problem for a change and see if we can't get the truth out of the blundering muddle that the police have helped to bring about. let's use logic, inevitable logic, to show, simply enough, that instead of being guilty, mr. herbert is innocent." dolly meredith suddenly leaned forward in her chair with flushed face, eyes widely opened and lips slightly parted. detective mallory also leaned forward in his chair, but there was a different expression on his face--oh, so different. "miss meredith, we know you were in the automobile with the burglar who stole the plate," the thinking machine went on. "you probably knew that he was wounded and possibly either aided in dressing the wound--as any woman would--or else saw him dress it himself?" "i bound my handkerchief on it," replied the girl. her voice was low, almost a whisper. "where was the wound?" "in the right shoulder," she replied. "back or front?" insisted the scientist. "back," she replied. "very near the arm, an inch or so below the level of the shoulder." except for the thinking machine himself hatch was the only person in the room to whom this statement meant anything, and he restrained a shout with difficulty. "now, mr. mallory," the scientist went on calmly, "do you happen to know dr. clarence walpole?" "i know of him, yes," replied the detective. "he is a man of considerable reputation." "would you believe him under oath?" "why, certainly, of course." the supreme intelligence tugged at his bristly moustache. "if doctor walpole should dress a wound and should later, under oath, point out its exact location, you would believe him?" "why, i'd have to, of course." "very well," commented the thinking machine tersely. "now i will state an incontrovertible scientific fact for your further enlightenment. you may verify it anyway you choose. this is, briefly, that the blood corpuscles in man average one-thirty-three hundredths of an inch in diameter. remember that, please: one-thirty-three hundredths of an inch. the system of measurement has reached a state of perfection almost incomprehensible to the man who does not understand." he paused for so long that detective mallory began to wriggle again. the others were leaning forward, listening with widely varied expressions on their faces. "now, mr. mallory," continued the thinking machine at last, "one of your men shot twice at the burglar in the automobile, as i understand it?" "yes--two shots." "mr. cunningham?" "yes, detective cunningham." "is he here now?" the detective pressed a button on his desk and a uniformed man appeared. instructions were given, and a moment later detective cunningham stood before them wonderingly. "i suppose you can prove beyond any shadow of a doubt," resumed the scientist, still addressing mr. mallory, "that two shots--_and only two_--were fired?" "i can prove it by twenty witnesses," was the reply. "good, very good," exclaimed the scientist, and he turned to cunningham. "you _know_ that only two shots were fired?" "i know it, yes," replied cunningham. "i fired 'em." "may i see your revolver?" cunningham produced the weapon and handed it over. the thinking machine merely glanced at it. "this is the revolver you used?" "yes." "very well, then," remarked the scientist quietly, "on that statement alone mr. herbert is proven innocent of the charge against him." there was an astonished gasp all around. hatch was beginning to see what the thinking machine meant, and curiously watched the bewitchingly sorrowful face of dollie meredith. he saw all sorts of strange things there. "proven innocent?" snorted detective mallory. "why, you've convicted him out of hand so far as i can see." "corpuscles in human blood average, as i said, one-thirty-three hundredths of an inch in diameter," resumed the scientist. "they vary slightly each way, of course. now, the corpuscles of the burglar in the automobile measured just one-thirty-one-forty-seven hundredths of an inch. mr. herbert's corpuscles, tested the same way, with the same instruments, measure precisely one-thirty-five-sixty hundredths." he stopped as if that were all. "by george!" exclaimed mr. randolph. "by george!" "that's all tommy-rot," detective mallory burst out. "that's nothing to a jury or to any other man with common sense." "that difference in measurement proves beyond question that mr. herbert was not wounded while in the automobile," went on the thinking machine as if there had been no interruption. "now, mr. cunningham, may i ask if the burglar's back was toward you when you fired?" "yes. he was going away from me." "well, that statement agrees with the statement of miss meredith to show that the burglar was wounded in the back. doctor walpole dressed mr. herbert's wound between two and three o'clock friday morning following the masked ball. mr. herbert had been shot, but the wound was in the _front_ of his right shoulder." delighted amazement radiated from dollie meredith's face; she clapped her hands involuntarily as she would have applauded a stage incident. detective mallory started to say something, then thought better of it and glared at cunningham instead. "now, mr. cunningham says that he shot the burglar with this revolver." the thinking machine waved the weapon under detective mallory's nose. "this is the usual police weapon. its calibre is thirty-eight. mr. herbert was shot with a _thirty-two_ calibre. here is the bullet." and he tossed it on the desk. chapter vi strange emotions all tangled up with turbulent, night-marish impressions scrambled through dollie meredith's pretty head in garish disorder. she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. finally she compromised by blushing radiantly at the memory of certain lingering kisses she had bestowed upon--upon--dick herbert? no, it wasn't dick herbert. oh, dear! detective mallory pounced upon the bullet as a hound upon a hare, and turned and twisted it in his hands. cunningham leaned over his shoulder, then drew a cartridge from the revolver and compared it, as to size, with the bullet. hatch and mr. randolph, looking on, saw him shake his head. the ball was too small for the revolver. the supreme intelligence turned suddenly, fiercely, upon dollie and thrust an accusing finger into her startled face. "mr. herbert confessed to you that he was with you in the automobile, didn't he?" "y-yes," she faltered. "you _know_ he was with you?" "i thought i knew it." "you wouldn't have gone with any other man?" "certainly not!" a blaze of indignation suffused her cheeks. "your casket of jewels was found among the stolen goods in his possession?" "yes, but----" with a wave of his hand the supreme intelligence stopped explanations and turned to glare at the thinking machine. that imperturbable gentleman did not alter his position in the slightest, nor did he change the steady, upward squint of his eyes. "if you have quite finished, mr. mallory," he said after a moment, "i will explain how and in what circumstances the stolen plate and jewels came into mr. herbert's possession." "go on," urged mr. randolph and hatch in a breath. "explain all you please; i've got him with the goods on," declared the supreme intelligence doggedly. "when the simplest rules of logic establish a fact it becomes incontrovertible," resumed the scientist. "i have shown that mr. herbert was _not_ the man in the automobile--the burglar. now, what _did_ happen to mr. herbert? twice since his arrest he has stated that it would be useless for him to explain because no one would believe it, and no one _would_ have believed it unsupported, least of all you, mr. mallory. "it's an admitted fact that miss meredith and mr. herbert had planned to elope from seven oaks the night of the ball. i daresay that mr. herbert did not deem it wise for miss meredith to know his costume, although he must, of necessity, have known hers. therefore, the plan was for him to recognise her, but as it developed she recognised him--or thought she did--and that was the real cause of this remarkable muddle." he glanced at dollie. "is that correct?" dollie nodded blushingly. "now, mr. herbert did not go to the ball--why not i will explain later. therefore, miss meredith recognised the real burglar as mr. herbert, and we know how they ran away together after the burglar had stolen the plate and various articles of jewelry. we must credit the burglar with remarkable intelligence, so that when a young and attractive woman--i may say a beautiful woman--spoke to him as someone else he immediately saw an advantage in it. for instance, when there came discovery of the theft the girl might unwittingly throw the police off the track by revealing to them what she believed to be the identity of the thief. further, he was a daring, audacious sort of person; the pure love of such an adventure might have appealed to him. still, again, it is possible that he believed miss meredith a thief who was in peril of discovery or capture, and a natural gallantry for one of his own craft prompted him to act as he did. there is always, too, the possibility that he knew he was mistaken for mr. herbert." dollie was beginning to see, too. "we know the method of escape, the pursuit, and all that," continued the professor, "therefore we jump to the return of the gold plate. logic makes it instantly apparent that that was the work of miss meredith here. not having the plate, mr. herbert did not send it back, of course; and the burglar _would_ not have sent it back. realising, too late, that the man she was with was really a thief--and still believing him, perhaps, to be mr. herbert--she must have taken the plate and escaped under cover of darkness?" the tone carried a question and the thinking machine turned squintingly upon dollie. again she nodded. she was enthralled, fascinated, by the recital. "it was a simple matter for her to return the gold plate by express, taking advantage of an unoccupied house and the willingness of a stranger to telephone for an express wagon. thus, we have the plate again at seven oaks, and we have it there by the only method it could have been returned there when we account for, and consider, every known fact." the thinking machine paused and sat silently staring upward. his listeners readjusted themselves in their chairs and waited impatiently. "now, why did mr. herbert confess to miss meredith that he stole the plate?" asked the scientist, as if of himself. "perhaps she forced him to it. mr. herbert is a young man of strong loyalty and a grim sense of humour, this latter being a quality the police are not acquainted with. however, mr. herbert _did_ confess to miss meredith that he was the burglar, but he made this confession, obviously, because she would believe nothing else, and when a seeming necessity of protecting the real burglar was still uppermost in his mind. what he wanted was the girl. if the facts never came out he was all right; if they did come out they would implicate one whom he was protecting, but through no fault of his--therefore, he was still all right." "bah!" exclaimed the supreme intelligence. "my experience has shown that a man doesn't confess to a theft unless----" "so we may safely assume," the thinking machine continued almost pleasantly, "that mr. herbert, by confessing the theft as a prank, perhaps, won back miss meredith's confidence; that they planned an elopement for the second time. a conversation mr. hatch had with mr. herbert immediately after mr. herbert saw miss meredith practically confirms it. then, with matters in this shape, the real burglar, to whom i have accredited unusual powers, stole the plate the second time--we know how." "herbert stole it, you mean!" blazed detective mallory. "this theft came immediately on top of the reconciliation of miss meredith and mr. herbert," the thinking machine went on steadily, without heeding the remark by the slightest sign. "therefore, it was only natural that he should be the person most vitally interested in seeing that the plate was again returned. he undertook to do this himself. the result was that, where the police had failed, he found the plate and a lot of jewels, took them from the burglar, and was about to return mr. randolph's property when the detectives walked in on him. that is why he laughed." detective mallory arose from his seat and started to say something impolite. the presence of dollie meredith choked the words back and he swallowed hard. "who then," he demanded after a couple of gulps--"who do you say is the thief if herbert is not?" the thinking machine glanced up into his face, then turned to hatch. "mr. hatch, what is that name i asked you to get?" "george francis hayden," was the stammering reply, "but--but----" "then george francis hayden is the thief," declared the thinking machine emphatically. "but i--i started to say," hatch blurted--"i started to say that george francis hayden has been dead for two years." the thinking machine rose suddenly and glared at the reporter. there was a tense silence, broken at last by a chuckle from detective mallory. "dead?" repeated the scientist incredulously. "do you _know_ that?" "yes, i--i know it." the thinking machine stood for another moment squinting at him, then, turning, left the room. chapter vii half an hour later the thinking machine walked in, unannounced, upon dick herbert. the front door had not been locked; blair was somewhere in the rear. herbert, in some surprise, glanced up at his visitor just in time to see him plank himself down solidly into a chair. "mr. herbert," the scientist began, "i have gone out of my way to prove to the police that you were not in the automobile with miss meredith, and that you did not steal the gold plate found in your possession. now, i happen to know the name of the thief, and----" "and if you mention it to one living soul," dick added suddenly, hotly, "i shall forget myself and--and----" "his name is george francis hayden," the scientist continued. dick started a little and straightened up; the menace dropped from him and he paused to gaze curiously into the wizened face before him. after a moment he drew a sigh of deep relief. "oh!" he exclaimed. "oh!" "i know that that isn't who you thought it was," resumed the other, "but the fact remains that hayden is the man with whom miss meredith unwittingly eloped, and that hayden is the man who actually stole the plate and jewels. further, the fact remains that hayden----" "is dead," dick supplemented grimly. "you are talking through your----" he coughed a little. "you are talking without any knowledge of what you are saying." "he can't be dead," remarked the scientist calmly. "but he _is_ dead!" dick insisted. "he can't be dead," snapped the other abruptly. "it's perfectly silly to suppose such a thing. why, i have proven absolutely, by the simplest rules of logic, that he stole the gold plate, therefore he cannot be dead. it's silly to say so." dick wasn't quite certain whether to be angry or amused. he decided to hold the matter in abeyance for the moment and see what other strange thing would develop. "how long has he been dead?" continued the scientist. "about two years." "you _know_ it?" "yes, i know it." "_how_ do you know it?" "because i attended his funeral," was the prompt reply. dick saw a shadow of impatience flash into his visitor's face and instantly pass. "how did he die?" queried the scientist. "he was lost from his catboat," dick answered. "he had gone out sailing, alone, while in a bathing-suit. several hours after the boat drifted in on the tide without him. two or three weeks later the body was recovered." "ah!" exclaimed the thinking machine. then, for half an hour or so, he talked, and--as he went on, incisively, pointedly, dramatically, even, at times--dick herbert's eyes opened wider and wider. at the end he rose and gripped the scientist's slender white fingers heartily in his own with something approaching awe in his manner. finally he put on his hat and they went out together. that evening at eight o'clock detective mallory, hutchinson hatch, mr. randolph, mr. meredith, mr. greyton, and dollie meredith gathered in a parlour of the greyton home by request of the thinking machine. they were waiting for something--no one knew exactly what. finally there came a tinkle at the bell and the thinking machine entered. behind him came dick herbert, dr. clarence walpole, and a stranger. mr. meredith glanced up quickly at herbert, and dollie lifted her chin haughtily with a stony stare which admitted of no compromise. dick pleaded for recognition with his eyes, but it was no use, so he sat down where he could watch her unobserved. singular expressions flitted over the countenance of the supreme intelligence. right here, now, he knew the earth was to be jerked out from under him and he was not at all certain that there would be anything left for him to cling to. this first impression was strengthened when the thinking machine introduced doctor walpole with an ostentatious squint at mr. mallory. the detective set his teeth hard. the thinking machine sat down, stretched out his slender legs, turned his eyes upward, and adjusted his fingers precisely, tip to tip. the others watched him anxiously. "we will have to go back a few years to get the real beginning of the events which have culminated so strangely within the past week," he said. "this was a close friendship of three young men in college. they were mr. herbert here, a freshman, and harry meredith and george francis hayden, juniors. this friendship, not an unusual one in college, was made somewhat romantic by the young men styling themselves the triangle. they occupied the same apartments and were exclusive to a degree. of necessity mr. herbert was drawn from that exclusiveness, to a certain extent by his participation in football." a germ of memory was working in hatch's mind. "at someone's suggestion three triangular watch charms were made, identical in every way save for initials on the back. they bore a symbol which was meaningless except to the triangle. they were made to order and are, therefore, the only three of the kind in the world. mr. herbert has one now on his watch chain, with his own initials; there is another with the initials 'g. f. h.' in the lot of jewelry mr. mallory recovered from mr. herbert. the third is worn by harry meredith, who is now in buenos ayres. the american consul there has confirmed, by cable, that fact. "in the senior year the three young men of the triangle were concerned in the mysterious disappearance of a valuable diamond ring. it was hushed up in college after it seemed established that mr. herbert was a thief. knowing his own innocence and seeing what seemed to be an exclusive opportunity for harry meredith to have done what was charged, mr. herbert laid the matter to him, having at that time an interview with harry's father. the result of that interview was more than ever to convince mr. meredith of mr. herbert's guilt. as a matter of fact, the thief in that case was george francis hayden." there were little murmurs of astonishment, and mr. meredith turned and stared at dick herbert. dollie gave him a little glance out of a corner of her eye, smiled, then sat up primly. "this ended the triangle," resumed the scientist. "a year or so later mr. herbert met miss meredith. about two years ago george francis hayden was reported drowned from his catboat. this was confirmed, apparently, by the finding of his body, and an insurance company paid over a large sum--i think it was $ , --to a woman who said she was his wife. but george francis hayden was not drowned; he is alive now. it was a carefully planned fraud against the insurance company, and it succeeded. "this, then, was the situation on last thursday--the night of the masked ball at seven oaks--except that there had grown up a love affair between miss meredith and mr. herbert. naturally, the father opposed this because of the incident in college. both miss meredith and mr. herbert had invitations to that ball. it was an opportunity for an elopement and they accepted it. mr. herbert sent word to her what costume to wear; she did not know the nature of his. "on thursday afternoon miss meredith sent her jewel-casket, with practically all her jewels, to mr. herbert. she wanted them, naturally; they probably planned a trip abroad. the maid in this house took the casket and gave it into mr. herbert's own hands. am i right?" he turned squarely and squinted at dollie. "yes," she gasped quickly. she smiled distractingly upon her father and he made some violent remarks to himself. "at this point, fate, in the guise of a masked burglar, saw fit to step into the affair," the scientist went on after a moment. "about nine-thirty, thursday evening, while mr. herbert was alone, the masked burglar, george francis hayden, entered mr. herbert's house, possibly thinking everyone was away. there, still masked, he met mr. herbert, who--by something the burglar said and by the triangular charm he wore--recognised him as _harry meredith_. remember, he thought he knew george francis hayden was dead. "there were some words and a personal encounter between the two men. george francis hayden fired a shot which struck mr. herbert in the right shoulder--in front--took the jewel-casket in which mr. herbert had placed his card of invitation to the ball, and went away, leaving mr. herbert senseless on the floor." dollie's face blanched suddenly and she gasped. when she glanced involuntarily at dick she read the love-light in his eyes, and her colour returned with a rush. "several hours later, when mr. herbert recovered consciousness," the unruffled voice went on, "he went to doctor walpole, the nearest physician, and there the bullet was extracted and the wound dressed. the ball was thirty-two calibre?" doctor walpole nodded. "and mr. cunningham's revolver carried a thirty-eight," added the scientist. "now we go back to the burglar. he found the invitation in the casket, and the bold scheme, which later he carried out so perfectly, came to him as an inspiration. he went to the ball just as he was. nerve, self-possession, and humour took him through. we know the rest of that. "naturally, in the circumstances, mr. herbert, believing that harry meredith was the thief, would say nothing to bring disgrace upon the name of the girl he loved. instead, he saw miss meredith, who would not accept his denial then, and in order to get her first--explanations might come later--he confessed to the theft, whereupon they planned the second elopement. "when miss meredith returned the plate by express there was no anticipation of a second theft. here is where we get a better understanding of the mettle of the real burglar--george francis hayden. he went back and got the plate from seven oaks. instantly that upset the second elopement plan. then mr. herbert undertook the search, got a clew, followed it, and recovered not only the plate, but a great lot of jewels." there was a pause. a skyrocket ascended in hatch's mind and burst, illuminating the whole tangled story. detective mallory sat dumbly, thinking harsh words. mr. meredith arose, went over to dick herbert, and solemnly shook his hand, after which he sat down again. dollie smiled charmingly. chapter viii "now that is what actually happened," said the thinking machine, after a little while. "how do i know it? logic, logic, logic! the logical mind can start from any given point and go backward or forward, with equal facility, to a natural conclusion. this is as certain as that two and two make four--not _sometimes_, but _all_ the time. "first in this case i had mr. hatch's detailed examination of each circumstance. by an inspiration he connected mr. herbert and miss meredith with the affair and talked to both before the police had any knowledge at all of them. in other words, he reached at a bound what they took days to accomplish. after the second theft he came to me and related the story." the reporter blushed modestly. "mr. hatch's belief that the thing that had happened to mr. herbert and miss meredith bore on the theft," resumed the scientist, "was susceptible of confirmation or refutation in only one way, this being so because of mr. herbert's silence--due to his loyalty. i saw that. but, before i went further, i saw clearly what had actually happened _if_ i presupposed that there _had_ been some connection. thus came to me, i may say here, the almost certain knowledge that miss meredith had a brother, although i had never heard of him or her." he paused a little and twiddled his thumbs thoughtfully. "suppose you give us just your line of reasoning," ventured hatch. "well, i began with the blood-stains in the automobile to either bring mr. herbert into this affair or shut him out," replied the scientist. "you know how i made the blood tests. they showed conclusively that the blood on the cushion was not mr. herbert's. remember, please, that, although i knew miss meredith had been in the automobile, i also knew she was not wounded; therefore the blood was that of someone else--the man. "now, i knew mr. herbert had been wounded--he wouldn't say how. if at home, would he not go to the nearest physician? probably. i got doctor walpole's name from the telephone-book--he being nearest the herbert home--and sent mr. hatch there, where he learned of the wound in front, and of the thirty-two calibre ball. i already knew the police revolvers were thirty-eight calibre; therefore mr. herbert was not wounded while in the automobile. "that removed mr. herbert as a possibility in the first theft, despite the fact that his invitation-card was presented at the door. it was reasonable to suppose that invitation had been stolen. immediately after the plate was returned by express, mr. herbert effected a reconciliation with miss meredith. because of this and for other reasons i could not bring myself to see that he was a party to the second theft, as i knew him to be innocent of the first. yet, what happened to him? why wouldn't he say something? "all things must be imagined before they can be achieved; therefore imagination is one of the most vital parts of the scientific brain. in this instance i could only imagine why mr. herbert was silent. remember, he was shot and wouldn't say who did it. why? if it had been an ordinary thief--and i got the idea of a thief from the invitation-card being in other hands than his--he would not have hesitated to talk. therefore, it was an _extraordinary_ thief in that it connected with something near and dear to him. no one was nearer and dearer to him than miss meredith. did she shoot him? no. did her father shoot him? probably not, but possibly. a brother? that began to look more reasonable. mr. herbert would probably not have gone so far to protect one less near to her than brother or father. "for the moment i assumed a brother, not knowing. how did mr. herbert know this brother? was it in his college days? mr. hatch brought me a list of the students of three years before his graduating year and there i found the name, harry meredith. you see, step by step, pure logic was leading me to something tangible, definite. my next act was to see mr. meredith and ask for the address of his son--an only son--whom at that time i frankly believed was the real thief. but this son was in south america. that startled me a little and brought me up against the father as a possible thief. he was in baltimore on that night. "i accepted that as true at the moment after some--er--some pleasant words with mr. meredith. then the question: was the man who stole from mr. herbert, probably entering his place and shooting him, masked? mr. herbert said he was. i framed the question so as to bring harry meredith's name into it, much to mr. herbert's alarm. how had he recognised him as harry meredith? by something he said or wore? mr. herbert replied in the affirmative--both. therefore i had a masked burglar who could _not_ have been either harry meredith or harry meredith's father. who was he? "i decided to let mr. hatch look into that point for me, and went to see doctor walpole. he gave me the bullet he had extracted from mr. herbert's shoulder. mr. hatch, shortly after, rushed in on me with the statement that miss meredith had admitted that mr. herbert had confessed to her. i could see instantly _why_ he had confessed to her. then mr. hatch undertook for me the investigation of herbert's and harry meredith's career in college. he remembered part of it and unearthed the affair of the triangle and the theft of a diamond ring. "i had asked mr. hatch to find for me if harry meredith and mr. herbert had had a mutual intimate in college. they had. george francis hayden, the third member of the triangle. then the question seemed solved, but mr. hatch upset everything when he said that mr. hayden was dead. i went immediately to see mr. herbert. from him i learned that, although mr. hayden was _supposed_ to be dead and buried, there was no positive proof of it; the body recovered had been in the water three weeks and was consequently almost unrecognisable. therefore, the theft came inevitably to mr. hayden. why? because the burglar had been recognised by something he said and wore. it would have been difficult for mr. herbert to recognise a masked man so positively unless the masked man _wore_ something he absolutely _knew_, or _said_ something he absolutely _knew_. mr. herbert _thought_ with reason that the masked man was harry meredith, but, with harry meredith in south america, the thief was incontrovertibly george francis hayden. there was no going behind that. "after a short interview as to hayden, during which mr. herbert told me more of the triangle and the three watch charms, he and i went out investigating. he took me to the room where he had found the plate and jewels--a place in an apartment-house which this gentleman manages." the scientist turned to the stranger, who had been a silent listener. "he identified an old photograph of george francis hayden as an occupant of an apartment. "mr. herbert and i searched the place. my growing idea, based on the established knavery of george francis hayden, that he was the real thief in the college incident, was proven when i found this ring there--the ring that was stolen at that time--with the initials of the owner in it." the thinking machine produced the ring and offered it to detective mallory, who had allowed the earth to slip away from him slowly but surely, and he examined it with a new and absorbed interest. "mr. herbert and i learned of the insurance fraud in another manner--that is, when we knew that george francis hayden was not dead, we knew there had been a fraud. mr. hayden has been known lately as chester goodrich. he has been missing since mr. herbert, in his absence, recovered the plate and the jewels in his apartments. i may add that, up to the day of the masked ball, he was protected from casual recognition by a full beard. he is now clean-shaven." the thinking machine glanced at mr. mallory. "your man--downey, i think it was--did excellent work," he said, "in tracing miss meredith from the time she left the automobile until she returned home, and later leading you to mr. herbert. it was not strange that you should have been convinced of his guilt when we consider the goods found in his possession and also the wound in his shoulder. the only trouble is he didn't get to the real insides of it." that was all. for a long time there was silence. dollie meredith's pretty face was radiant and her eyes were fastened on her father. mr. meredith glanced at her, cleared his throat several times, then arose and offered his hand to dick herbert. "i have done you an injustice, sir," he said gravely. "permit me to apologise. i think perhaps my daughter----" that was superfluous. dollie was already beside dick, and a rousing, smacking, resounding kiss echoed her father's words. dick liked it some and was ready for more, but dollie impetuously flung her arms around the neck of the thinking machine, and he--passed to his reward. "you dear old thing!" she gurgled. "you're just too sweet and cute for anything." [illustration] "dear me! dear me!" fussed the thinking machine. "don't do that. it annoys me exceedingly." * * * * * some three months later, when the search for george francis hayden had become only lukewarm, this being three days before miss meredith's wedding to dick herbert, she received a small box containing a solitaire ring and a note. it was brief: in memory of one night in the woods and of what happened there, permit me to give this--you can't return it. it is one of the few things honest money from me ever paid for. bill, the burglar. while dollie examined the ring with mingled emotions dick stared at the postmark on the package. "it's a corking good clew," he said enthusiastically. dollie turned to him, recognising a menace in the words, and took the paper which bore the postmark from his hands. "let's pretend," she said gently--"let's pretend we don't know where it came from!" dick stared a little and kissed her. * * * * * transcriber's notes: repaired obvious spelling and punctuation typos. period spellings and unusual grammatical usages retained. both "waggon" and "wagon" were used in this text, consistent within character voices--retained. [illustration: william a. pinkerton] true detective stories from the archives of the pinkertons by cleveland moffett new york: _g. w. dillingham co., publishers,_ copyright, , s. s. mcclure co. copyright, doubleday & mcclure co. * * * * * contents page the northampton bank robbery the susquehanna express robbery the pollock diamond robbery the rock island express the destruction of the renos the american exchange bank robbery * * * * * the northampton bank robbery about midnight on tuesday, january , , five masked men entered the house of john whittelsey in northampton, massachusetts. mr. whittelsey was the cashier of the northampton national bank, and was known to have in his possession the keys of the bank building and the combination to the bank vault. the five men entered the house noiselessly, with the aid of false keys, previously prepared. passing up-stairs to the sleeping-apartments, they overpowered seven inmates of the house, gagging and binding them so that resistance or alarm was impossible. these were mr. whittelsey and his wife, mr. and mrs. t. b. cutler, miss mattie white, miss benton, and a servant-girl. the bedroom of mr. and mrs. whittelsey was entered by two men who seemed to be leaders of the band. one wore a long linen duster buttoned nearly to the knees, also gloves and overshoes; the other wore a jacket and overalls. both men had their faces concealed behind masks, and one of them carried a dark-lantern. on entering the room the two men went directly to the bed, one standing on either side, and handcuffed mr. whittelsey and his wife. both carried revolvers. the proceedings were much the same in the other rooms. after some delay and whispered consultation, the robbers ordered the five women to get up and dress. when they had done so, they were roped together by ankles and wrists, and taken into a small room, where they were kept under guard by one of the band. mr. cutler also was imprisoned in the same way. then the two leaders devoted themselves to mr. whittelsey. they told him plainly that they had come for the keys of the bank and the combination of the vault, and that they would "make it hot" for him unless he gave them what they wanted. mr. whittelsey replied that it was useless to attempt to break into the bank, as the locks were too strong for their efforts and he would not betray his trust. at this the man in the linen duster shrugged his shoulders and said they would see about that. mr. whittelsey was then taken downstairs, and again summoned to surrender the keys. again he refused. at this the man in the overalls put his hand in the cashier's trousers-pocket and drew forth a key. "is this the key to the bank?" he asked. "yes, it is," answered the cashier, hoping to gain time. "you lie," said the robber, with threatening gesture, at the same time trying the key in the lock of the front door of the house, which it turned. "don't hit him yet," said the other; "he is sick." then he asked mr. whittelsey if he wanted a drink of brandy. mr. whittelsey shook his head no. then the man in the linen duster renewed his demands. he wanted the combination of the vault. mr. whittelsey gave him some figures, which the robber wrote down on a piece of paper. these were for the outer door of the vault. he demanded the combination for the inner door, and mr. whittelsey gave him other figures. having written these down also, the robber came close to his prisoner and said, "will you swear these figures are correct?" "i will," answered mr. whittelsey. "you are lying again. if they are correct, let's hear you repeat them." the cashier could not do this, and so disclosed that the figures were not the right ones. "see, number one," said the robber, addressing his comrade, "we're wasting time; we'll have to teach him to stop lying." as he spoke he struck the sharp point of his lead-pencil into mr. whittelsey's face so violently as to make a wound, and followed this with several blows on the body. "will you tell us now?" he asked. mr. whittelsey kept silent. then both men came at him, wringing his ears, shaking him by the throat, hurling him to the floor, and pounding their knees into his chest. for three hours this torture was continued. more than once the ruffians placed their revolvers at mr. whittelsey's head, declaring they would blow his brains out unless he yielded. finally he did yield; the suffering was too great; the supreme instinct of self-preservation asserted itself. toward four o'clock in the morning, bruised from head to foot, and worn beyond further resistance, he surrendered the keys, and revealed the true combination of the vault. then the robbers went away, leaving two of their associates to watch over the prisoners. one of the band, before his departure, did not disdain to search mr. whittelsey's clothes and take his watch and chain and fourteen dollars in money. the last of the band remained in the house until six o'clock; and it was an hour later before mr. whittelsey succeeded in freeing himself from his bonds. he hurried at once to the bank, arriving there soon after seven o'clock. he found the vault door locked, and its dials broken off, so that it was impossible at the moment to determine the extent of the robbery, or, indeed, whether there had been any robbery. it was necessary to send to new york for an expert before the vault could be opened, which was not accomplished until late that night, twenty hours after the attack had been made. then it was found that the robbers had been only too successful, having secured money and securities estimated at a million and a quarter dollars. much of this sum was safe-deposits, and the loss fell on the depositors; and to some it was the loss of their whole property. at this time the authorities had no clue to the identity of the robbers, though they had left behind them numerous evidences of their presence, such as dark-lanterns, masks, sledge-hammers, overshoes, and the like. their escape had been managed as skilfully as the robbery itself. sheriff's officers and detectives did their best during subsequent days and weeks, but their efforts were in vain. the president of the bank offered a reward of twenty-five thousand dollars for the apprehension of the robbers and the return of the property; but there were no discoveries. when several months had elapsed, the pinkertons were called into the case. they began by carefully studying certain communications that had been received by the bank directors from persons claiming to have in their possession the missing securities. the first of these communications was dated new york, february , , about a month after the robbery. it ran as follows, the letters of each word being carefully printed with a pen, so that there was little chance of identification through the handwriting: "dear sirs: when you are satisfied with detective skill you can make a proposition to us, the holders, and if you are liberal we may be able to do business with you. if you entertain any such ideas, please insert a personal in the new york 'herald.' address to xxx, and sign 'rufus,' to which due attention will be paid. to satisfy you that we hold papers, we send you a couple of pieces." [no signature.] no attention had been paid to this letter, although two certificates of stock accompanied it which had undoubtedly been in the bank's vault. three other letters of a similar nature had been received later. to one of these the bank people had sent a guarded reply, which had called forth the following response, dated new york, october , : "gentlemen: since you have seen fit to recognize the receipt of our letter, we will now send you our price for the return of the goods. the united states coupon bonds and money taken cannot be returned; but everything else--bonds, letters, and papers, to the smallest document--will be returned for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. if these figures suit you, we will make arrangements, according to our promise, and you may have the goods as soon as preliminaries can be arranged for the safe conduct of the business. if you agree to this price, insert in the new york 'herald' personal column the simple word 'agatha.' "respectfully, etc., "rufus." the special value of these letters was in helping the detectives to decide which one of several gangs of bank robbers then operating in the country was most likely to have committed the crime. being familiar with the methods of each gang, robert pinkerton was able to draw useful inferences from evidence that would otherwise have been insignificant. he knew, for instance, that the notorious gang headed by james dunlap would be more apt than any other to thus negotiate for the return of all the securities in a lump, since it was dunlap's invariable rule to insist upon personally controlling the proceeds of his robberies until final disposition was made of them. on the other hand, the gangs headed respectively by the notorious "jimmy" hope, "worcester sam," and george bliss might have divided the securities among the members, and then tried to negotiate a compromise on the individual portions. a fact of much significance to the pinkertons was the rather remarkable interest in the case, and apparent familiarity with it, shown by one j. g. evans, an expert in safes and vaults and the representative of one of the largest safe-manufactories in the country. the day after the robbery evans had been at bristol, connecticut, in the interest of his firm, who, on receipt of the news, had immediately wired him to proceed to northampton. his presence in northampton was regarded as nothing strange, for he had been there several times during the months just preceding the robbery, and once had inspected the lock and dials of the vault of the robbed bank. what did seem a little strange, however, was evans's evident interest in the negotiations for a compromise. on a dozen different occasions he talked with the president and other officers of the bank regarding the robbery, and insinuated quite plainly that he might be in a position to assist them in recovering their lost securities. a few months after the robbery he even went so far as to tell one of the directors that he could name the members of the gang. this disposition of evans to put himself forward in the negotiations had all the more significance to robert pinkerton from the fact that it had been rumored that a series of daring bank robberies lately committed in various parts of the country had owed their success to the participation of an expert in safes and locks, who had been able, through his position of trust, to reveal to the robbers many secrets of weak bank locks, safes, and vaults. up to this time these rumors had remained indefinite, and no one ventured to name the man. it was known, however, that the false expert was a man of high standing in his calling and generally regarded as above suspicion. it was also known that there was great jealousy in other gangs of bank robbers because of the amazing success of the gang with whom this man was working, and that overtures even had been made by the leaders of some other gangs to win over to their own gangs this desirable accomplice. robert pinkerton had already concluded that the gang so ably assisted was the dunlap gang; and he was now pretty well persuaded, also, that the northampton robbery had been committed by the dunlap gang. there was every reason, therefore, for keeping a sharp eye on the safe-expert evans. as he studied the case, mr. pinkerton recalled a circumstance that had happened in the fall of . on the night of november , , the first national bank of pittston, pennsylvania, had been robbed of sixty thousand dollars, and mr. pinkerton had gone there to investigate the case. he met a number of safe-men, it being a business custom with safe-men to flock to the scene of an important bank robbery in order to supply new safes for the ones that have been wrecked. while they were all examining the vault, still littered with debris of the explosion, the representative of one of the safe-companies picked up a small air-pump used by the robbers, and, looking at it critically, remarked that he would have sworn it belonged to his company, did he not know that was impossible. the air-pump was, he declared, of precisely his company's model, one that had been recently devised for a special purpose. at the time mr. pinkerton regarded this as merely a coincidence, but now the memory came to him as a flash of inspiration that the man who had remarked the similarity in the air-pump represented the same company that employed evans. in view of all the circumstances, it was decided to put evans under the closest questioning. he did not deny that he had made unusual efforts to effect the return of the securities, but professed that it was because he was sincerely sorry for the many people who had been ruined through the robbery. and he professed to believe, also, that he had been unjustly treated in the affair, though just how, and by whom, he would not say. to the detective's trained observation it was apparent that he was worried and apprehensive and not at all sure of himself. in november, , george h. bangs, superintendent of the pinkerton agency, a man possessed of very remarkable skill in eliciting confessions from suspected persons, had an interview with evans. he professed to evans that the detectives had secured evidence that practically cleared up the whole mystery; that they _knew_ (whereas they still only surmised) that the robbery had been committed by the dunlap and scott gang, and that evans was a confederate; that for weeks they had been shadowing scott and dunlap (which was true), and could arrest them at any moment; that there was no doubt that the gang had been trying to play evans false (a very shrewd guess), and would sacrifice him without the slightest compunction; and, finally, that there was open to evans one of two courses--either to suffer arrest on a charge of bank robbery, with the prospect of twenty years in prison, or save himself, and at the same time earn a substantial money reward, by making a clean confession of his connection with the crime. all this, delivered with an air of completest certainty, was more than evans could stand up against. he broke down completely, and told all he knew. the story told by evans is one of the most remarkable in the history of crime. he admitted the correctness of robert pinkerton's inference that the northampton bank had been robbed by scott and dunlap and their associates, and in order to explain his own connection with this formidable gang he went back to its organization in . the leader of the gang was james dunlap, _alias_ james barton, who, before he became a bank robber, had been a brakeman on the chicago, alton and st. louis railroad. his inborn criminal instincts led him to frequent the resorts of thieves in chicago, and thus he met "johnny" lamb and a man named perry, who took a liking to him and taught him all they knew about breaking safes. dunlap soon outstripped his masters, developing a genius for robbery and for organization that speedily proved him the most formidable of all the bank robbers then operating in the country, not even excepting "jimmy" hope, the notorious manhattan bank robber. he had the long-headedness and stubbornness of his scotch parents, united with the daring and ingenuity peculiar to americans. in the fall of he organized the most dangerous and best-equipped gang of bank robbers that the country had ever known. dunlap's right-hand man was robert c. scott, _alias_ "hustling bob," originally a deck-hand on a mississippi steamboat and afterward a hotel thief. scott was a big, powerful man, with a determination equal to anything. their associates were what one might expect from these two. other members of the gang were thomas doty, william conroy, "eddie" goody, john perry, james greer, a professional burglar originally from canada, and the notorious john leary, _alias_ "red" leary, of whom more will be said later on. in addition to these, the gang contained several members of less importance, men who acted merely as lookouts, or as go-betweens or messengers. the first large operation of dunlap's band occurred in , when they plundered the falls city bank in louisville, kentucky, of about two hundred thousand dollars, escaping with their booty. this was satisfactory as a beginning, but dunlap and scott dreamed of achievements beside which this was insignificant. they began a careful investigation through many states, to learn of banks of weak structure containing large treasure. one of the gang finally found precisely what they were in search of in the second national bank of elmira, new york, which institution, being a government depository, contained, as they learned on good authority, two hundred thousand dollars in greenbacks and six millions in bonds. a survey of the premises satisfied the gang that, massive though it appeared, with its ponderous iron walls and complicated locks, the vault of this bank was by no means impossible of access. the floor above the bank was occupied by the young men's christian association, one of the association's rooms being directly over the vault. there was the floor between, and under that four feet of solid masonry, some of the stones in it weighing a ton. and under the masonry was a layer of railroad iron, resting on a plate of hardened steel an inch and a half thick. all this, however, so far from discouraging the conspirators, gave them greater confidence in the success of their plan, once under way, since the very security of the vault, by structure, from overhead attack lessened the strictness of the surveillance. indeed, the most serious difficulty, in the estimation of the robbers, was to gain easy and unsuspected admission to the quarters of the young men's christian association, on the second floor. the secretary, a very prudent man, had put on the outside door of the association rooms an improved yale lock, which was then new upon the market and offered unusual obstacles to the lock-picker. neither dunlap, scott, nor any of their associates had skill enough to open this lock without breaking it, which would, of course, have been fatal to their plan. for days, therefore, after all the other details of the robbery had been arranged, the whole scheme seemed to be blocked by a troublesome lock on an ordinary wooden door. so serious a matter did this finally become that scott and dunlap went to the length of breaking into the secretary's house at night, and searching his pockets, in the hope of finding the keys and getting an impression of them. but here, again, the secretary had taken precautions that defeated their purpose, for he had hidden the keys under a carpet, where the robbers never thought of looking for them. disappointed in their search, they went away, making no attempt to carry off anything, a bit of forbearance which caused the excellent secretary much wonder the next morning, when he found that nothing was missing, although there were plain traces of intruders. the yale lock still continuing an insoluble difficulty, perry finally made a journey to new york, in the hope of finding some device by which to open it. there, in the course of his search, and in a curious way, he made the acquaintance of evans, then a salesman in the employ of a prominent safe-company. before entering the employ of the safe-manufacturers, evans had conducted an extensive mercantile business for himself in a large eastern city, where he was regarded as a man of wealth and integrity. he had large dealings through the south, with extensive credits; but the outbreak of the war had forced him into bankruptcy. it was hinted that there was some over-shrewd practice connected with his failure, and his subsequent sudden departure for canada gave color to the insinuation. at any rate, he compromised with his creditors on a basis advantageous to himself. on his return from canada, evans took up his residence in new york city, and began to cultivate habits far beyond his income, notably the taste for fast horses. perry heard of evans through one ryan, whom he had known as a "crook" years before, but who was then running a livery-stable in an up-town street. as a matter of fact, this livery-stable was merely a blind for the sale of unsound horses "doctored up" to deceive unsuspecting buyers. but of this evans knew nothing, and, in good faith, had stabled one of his own horses with ryan. this had led to an intimacy between him and ryan, and now, at perry's suggestion, ryan encouraged evans in his disposition to live beyond his means. before long evans found himself much cramped financially. being unable to pay ryan the money he owed him for stabling, he began to talk of selling his horse; and one day, when he was complaining of being short of money, ryan said, "if i had your position i'd never lack for money." evans asked him what he meant. "oh," said ryan, "there are plenty of people who would put up well to know some of the things you know about safes and banks." by degrees ryan made his meaning more clear, and evans grew properly indignant. the subject was dropped for the moment, but, in subsequent meetings, ryan kept reverting to it. meantime evans found himself growing more and more embarrassed, and one day he said, "what is it these people want to know?" "well," said ryan, "they would like to know, for one thing, if there is any way of beating these new yale locks?" "you can't pick a yale lock," answered evans--"that would take too long; but there is a way of getting one open." "how?" "we'll talk that over some day." having once nibbled, evans was not long in biting at the bait thus adroitly held before him. he consented to be introduced to perry, who shrewdly showed him what an easy matter it would be for a man who knew the secrets of safe-makers and could locate weak banks, to make a great deal of money, without danger to himself. "why," said perry, "you can make more in one night with us, without any one's suspecting it, than you can make in a year working for these safe-people." the result was that evans, in consideration of fifty thousand dollars, finally agreed to provide some means of opening the yale lock which barred the robbers from the coveted treasure at elmira. perry, in great delight, hurried back to elmira, and reported his success to dunlap and scott. in order to bring evans to elmira in a way not to excite suspicion, a letter was written to the company he served, containing a tempting proposition regarding the purchase of safes. evans was at once sent to elmira to look after the matter. he stopped at the rathbone house, where he was waited upon by scott, with whom he concerted a plan of operations. scott was to slip a thin piece of wood into the lock at night, so that the lock would not work. then, as evans's presence in the city had been made known, it was hoped that he would be called upon, as an expert in difficult locks, to find out what was the matter. this would give him an opportunity to secure an impression of the key. the plan worked only too perfectly; and within twenty-four hours the conspirators were able to pass in and out of the young men's christian association rooms as they pleased, without the knowledge of any one. it now remained, in order to achieve the robbery, to dig down into the vault--an immense task, for which the constant presence in elmira of the whole gang was necessary. it was also necessary that their presence should not be noticed, and to that end a woman from baltimore, who had been associated with one of the gang in previous undertakings, came on to elmira and took a house in the suburbs, giving out that she was the wife of a man whose business kept him traveling most of the time. the house was simply furnished, and every day, for the benefit of the neighbors, the woman made a great pretense of sweeping the steps, cleaning the windows, and busying herself about the yard in various ways. meantime, inside the house, in careful concealment, the members of the gang were living--scott, dunlap, "red" leary, conroy, and perry. they never went out in the daytime, and they left the place at night so cautiously, going one at a time, that, although they lived here for six weeks, their presence was never suspected. every night they gathered in the rooms of the young men's christian association after the young men had gone home, using their false keys to obtain admission; and they remained there hours at a time, doing what would ordinarily be the noisiest work; but their movements were so cautious and well planned that their presence in the building was never suspected. every night the carpet and flooring were taken up, and, after they had finished their excavations, were carefully relaid. tons of masonry and heavy stone were removed, shoveled into baskets, and carried up to the roof of the opera-house, adjoining the bank building, where there was small chance of the debris being discovered. thus the unwearying rascals worked downward through the layer of railroad iron, and at last found themselves separated from the inside of the vault by only the plate of steel. success seemed within their very grasp, when an unforeseen accident spoiled everything. one day the president of the bank, mr. pratt, was surprised, on entering the vault, to find the floor sprinkled with a fine white dust. an investigation was made, and the whole plot was uncovered. the members of the gang, however, got word in time, and all managed to escape except perry, who was convicted of attempted burglary and sent to the auburn prison for five years. undisturbed by the failure, scott and dunlap proceeded to scour the country again in search of another bank suited to their operations, and in february, , notified the gang, which now contained some new members, that they had "found something to go to work at" in quincy, illinois. the attack on the quincy bank was made in very much the same way as the attack on the bank at elmira. the baltimore woman again rented a house which afforded shelter and concealment to the men; access was obtained to rooms over the vault by false keys, as before; the flooring was taken up and put down every night without exciting suspicion; the masonry was removed, the iron plates of the vault were penetrated, and, finally, one night scott and dunlap were able to lower themselves through a jagged hole into the money-room beneath. it now remained to force open the safes inside the vault; and to accomplish this the robbers used, for the first time in the history of safe-wrecking in america, what is known as the air-pump method, which had been devised by evans, and carefully explained by him to scott and dunlap. evans's employers were at this time introducing a padding designed to make safes more secure; and evans had hit upon the idea of introducing powder into the seams of a safe-door by an air-pump, in the presence of a possible customer, in order to impress him with his need of the new padding. evans himself was not present at the breaking open of the quincy bank, and he had nothing to do with the robbery beyond furnishing instruction and the air-pump. scott and dunlap did the work. as a first step, all the seams of the safes formed by the doors were carefully puttied up, save two small holes, one at the top and one at the bottom. then, at the upper hole, scott held a funnel filled with fine powder, while dunlap applied the air-pump at the hole below. by the draft thus created, the powder was drawn into all the interstices between the heavy doors and the frames of the safes. then a little pistol, loaded simply with powder, was attached near the upper hole, and, by a string tied to the trigger, discharged from a safe distance above. there were several attempts made before a complete explosion was effected; but finally the safes were blown open and their contents secured, the robbers making good their escape with one hundred and twenty thousand dollars in money and about seven hundred thousand dollars in bonds. no part of this money was ever recovered by the bank, nor were any of the gang captured at this time. the securities were, however, afterward sold back to the bank. indeed, so cleverly had the whole affair been managed that no suspicion fell upon either scott, dunlap, or any of their associates. here were fortunes made easily enough, with plenty more to be made in the same way, and the gang were in high feather over their success. during the summer of scott and dunlap lived in princely style in new york. they attracted much attention at coney island during the season, where they drove fast horses. no one suspected that they were the leaders of the most desperate gang of bank robbers ever organized in this or any country. by fall their money began to run short, and they decided to look about for another job. in the quincy robbery they had broken their agreement with evans, paying him only a small sum for the use of the air-pump which he had furnished them. now, however, they called upon him again, and, partly by threats, partly by generous offers, induced him to assist them again. a series of unsuccessful attempts at robbery were made on banks in saratoga; nantucket; covington, kentucky; and rockville, connecticut. in several instances failure came at the very time when success seemed sure. in the case of the covington bank, for instance, nitroglycerin was used in blowing open the safe, and the explosion was so violent that the men became frightened and fled in a panic, leaving behind untouched, although exposed to view, two hundred thousand dollars in greenbacks and one million five hundred thousand dollars in negotiable bonds. in the case of the rockville bank their plans had worked out perfectly, and they had removed everything from the top of the vault but a thin layer of brick, when scott accidentally forced the jimmy with which he was working through the roof of the vault and let it fall inside. as it was too late to complete the work that night, and as the presence of the jimmy inside the vault would inevitably start an alarm the next day, they were obliged to abandon the attempt entirely. the gang's most desperate adventure befell in connection with the attempt on the first national bank of pittston, pennsylvania. this was made late in the fall of . the bank occupied a one-story building covered with a tin roof, and the robbers decided to make the attack from the roof. but there was a serious difficulty in the fact that in case of rain coming any time after they had begun operations, water might soak through the openings they had made and betray them. dunlap's ingenuity, however, was equal to this emergency; and each night, after finishing their excavation, they carefully relaid the sheets of tin that had been disturbed, protecting the joints with red putty, which matched the roof in color. so well did they put on this putty, that, although it rained heavily the very day after they began, not a drop leaked through. on the night of november only one layer of bricks separated them from the top of the vault, and it was decided to finish the work and do the robbery that night. two hours' hard labor with "drag" and "jack-screw" sufficed to effect an opening, and scott and dunlap were lowered into the vault. they found three marvin spherical safes protected by a burglar-alarm. but dunlap was somewhat of an electrical expert, and was able to so surround the burglar-alarm with heavy boards as to render it of little or no danger. they experienced much difficulty, though, in blowing open the safes. the first one attempted yielded on the second explosion, and they secured five hundred dollars in currency and sixty thousand dollars in bonds. the next one was far more troublesome, not less than ten explosions being required to make way into it. and just as the task was at last accomplished, and they were on the point of seizing a great sum of money, there came a warning call from conroy, who was doing sentry duty on the roof, and it was necessary to fly. when dunlap and scott had been dragged out of the vault by their associates, they were found scarcely able to run. during all the twelve explosions of powder and dynamite they had never left the vault, but, crouching behind the boards that guarded the burglar-alarm, had remained within arm's length of explosions so violent that they tore apart plates of welded steel and shook the whole building. worse than the shock of these explosions were the noxious gases generated by them, which scott and dunlap had to breathe. on coming out, their clothes were wringing wet with perspiration, and they were so weak that their legs tottered under them, and their comrades had to almost carry them for a time. but, nevertheless, they managed to walk thirty miles that night, to lehigh, where they boarded a train to new york. it was on this occasion that there was left behind in the vault the air-pump which robert pinkerton afterward recalled so shrewdly to evans's disadvantage. coming, in his confession, to the northampton bank robbery, evans said that the gang had considered making an attempt there for several months before the robbery was actually executed. for a time they had designed to rob the first national bank, where evans had been employed to put in new doors, but this scheme they afterward abandoned. enjoying the fullest confidence of the northampton bank officers, evans had made repeated visits to the bank and gained important information for his associates. it was through his influence that the bank directors decided to give the whole combination of the vault to the cashier, whittelsey, who had previously been intrusted with only half of it, the remainder being given to one of the clerks. on the night of the robbery evans was in new york, but he had gone to northampton a day or two after, as already stated. then, for the first time, he realized what immense wrong and suffering would be inflicted upon innocent people by the robbers, and he said it was this that had prompted him in his efforts to have the securities restored to the owners. returning to new york, he at once communicated with scott and dunlap by means of "herald" personals, and had several interviews with them in the city during the month of february. while they were anxious to dispose of the securities, it was plain from the first that they distrusted evans and proposed to lessen his share of the profits. while pretending to approve the steps he was taking for a compromise with the bank, they were really, without his knowledge, carrying on secret negotiations with the same object. the suspicion on either side grew until finally it could no longer be concealed. meeting scott in prospect park some time after the robbery, evans said, "when are you going to settle and give me my share?" "you'll never get a cent," answered scott; "you've given the whole gang away." for some time they did not meet again. evans continued his vain efforts for a settlement, growing more and more anxious as the months went by and he saw the danger to himself become more threatening. on the th of november he met scott, dunlap, and "red" leary on the outskirts of brooklyn, and a violent quarrel occurred about the division of the spoil. reproaches and threats were exchanged with stormy language, and at one time evans's life was actually in danger. it was soon after this interview that evans decided, under the management of superintendent bangs, to save himself by making a full confession. he had fewer scruples about betraying his associates, because he had become convinced that in the previous robberies, notably in the one at quincy, illinois, he had been treated most unfairly by scott and dunlap. evans said that for several weeks preceding the northampton robbery the gang had concealed themselves in the attic of a school-house which stood four or five rods from the highway and apart from other houses. his statement was substantiated by the discovery in this attic, after the robbery, of blankets, satchels, ropes, bits, pulleys, and provisions, including a bottle of whisky bearing the label of a new york firm. after the vault had been rifled, the money and securities were placed in a bag and a pillow-case, and carried to the school-house, where they were stowed away in places of concealment that had been previously prepared. one of these was underneath the platform where the teacher's desk stood. another was a recess made behind a blackboard, which was taken off for the purpose and then screwed carefully in place. for nearly two weeks this treasure, amounting to over a million dollars, lay unsuspected in the school-house, the teacher walking over a part of it, the children working out their sums on the blackboard which concealed another part. it was left there so long because the robbers were unable to return for it, owing to the strict watch for strangers that was kept at the railway-station and along all the roads. finally scott bought a team of horses for nine hundred dollars, and, with jim brady, drove over to northampton from springfield. after securing the booty, they had serious trouble in getting away. brady fell into the mill-race, which they were crossing on the ice, and this accident necessitated their camping out all night in a cabin in the woods. after hearing evans's story, the question foremost in mr. pinkerton's mind was where the stolen securities had been concealed. from what evans said, and from what he knew himself about the methods of the gang, he was satisfied that dunlap possessed this secret, and would intrust it to no one unless absolutely compelled to do so. the likeliest way of compelling him was to put him under arrest, which might very well be done now that evans had consented to turn state's evidence. for weeks pinkerton "shadows" had never been off scott and dunlap, who spent most of their time in new york, the former living with his wife at a fashionable boarding-house in washington square. instructions were accordingly given to the "shadows" to close in upon them, and on february , , both men were arrested in philadelphia, as they were on the point of taking a train for the south. despite the large sum of securities in their possession, the men had run short of ready money, and, while awaiting a compromise, were starting out to commit another robbery. they were taken to northampton, and committed to jail to await trial. it happened as mr. pinkerton foresaw. brought into confinement, dunlap and scott were compelled, in the conduct of their affairs, to reveal the hiding-place of the booty to some other member of the gang. they chose for their confidant "red" leary. the securities, as subsequently transpired, were at this time buried in a cellar on sixth avenue, near thirty-third street, new york. the precise spot was indicated to leary by mrs. scott, who, in doing so, reminded leary of an agreement entered into by the members of the gang before the robbery, that any one of their number who might get into trouble could, if he saw a necessity, call upon his confederates to dispose of all the securities on whatever terms were possible and use the proceeds in getting him and others--if others were in trouble also--free. at the time leary scoffed at this agreement, but was perfectly willing, even eager, to have it enforced a little later, when, by the orders of inspector byrnes, he was himself arrested on the charge of complicity in the memorable manhattan bank robbery, which had occurred some time before. having failed in a purpose of "shadowing" leary to the place where the securities were hidden, robert pinkerton decided that the best move to make next would be to arrest leary for complicity in the northampton robbery. steps were taken to have requisition papers prepared, and it was pending the arrival of these that leary was held on the other charge, for it was not thought that he had really taken part in the manhattan bank robbery. the criminal annals of the united states contain no more thrilling chapter than that of the adventures of "red" leary. he was a typical desperado in appearance, with his shock of red hair, and his bristling red mustache, and his ugly, heavy-jawed face, while his huge neck and shoulders, his big head, and powerful hairy hands impressed one with his enormous physical strength. he weighed nearly three hundred pounds, and his "pals" used to point with pride to the fact that he wore a bigger hat than any statesman in america--eight and a quarter. while much of leary's life had been spent in deeds of violence, he had shown on occasions such splendid bravery, and even heroism, as almost atoned for his crimes. there are few soldiers who would not be proud of leary's record on the battle-field. he was among the first to respond to his country's call in our own civil war, being a volunteer in the first kentucky regiment under colonel guthrie, and he was a good soldier from the time of his enlistment up to the moment of his honorable discharge. the ablest lawyers were now secured in his defense, and by every possible method of legal obstruction they kept alive a controversy in the new york courts until the early days of may, . meanwhile leary reposed in ludlow street jail, where he enjoyed all the privileges ever accorded to prisoners. in return he paid the warden the substantial sum of thirty dollars a week; and it was evident that, whether he had or had not been concerned in the northampton robbery, he had in some way obtained abundant money. he was visited constantly by his wife. on the afternoon of may mrs. leary called at about five o'clock with "butch" mccarthy, and the three were alone in leary's room until nearly eight o'clock. after that leary strolled about in the prison inclosure, and at about a quarter past ten keeper wendell, who had charge of the first tier, in which leary's room was located, saw him going up-stairs from the second to the third tier. although in this leary was going directly away from his own room, there was nothing to excite surprise, for leary had been accustomed to use the bath-room on the third tier. a quarter of an hour later wendell started on his rounds, according to the prison rule, to see that each one of the men in his tier was securely locked up for the night. when he came to leary's room he was a little surprised to find him still absent, but supposed he would be there shortly. but after waiting a few minutes and finding leary still absent, the keeper became alarmed, and began a search. he first went to the bath-room, and not finding leary there, searched in other places, high and low. then he returned to the bath-room, and there made a discovery which filled him with consternation. he saw in the brick wall, what at first had escaped his attention, a gaping hole, large enough to allow the passage of a man's body. the hole opened into a tunnel that seemed to lead downward. the alarm was at once given, and it soon appeared that the keeper's fears were only too well founded. "red" leary had escaped. it was found that the tunnel from the bath-room led into a room on the fifth floor of a tenement-house at no. ludlow street, adjoining the jail. the wall of the house added to the wall of the jail made a thickness of four feet and a half of solid masonry, which had been cut through. in the three rooms that had been rented in the house by leary's friends were found abundant evidences of the work. leary, after his escape, fled to europe, but was afterward arrested in brooklyn by robert pinkerton and three of his men, who "held him up" in a sleigh at the corner of twenty-seventh street and fourth avenue, brooklyn; and before leary could make use of a large revolver which he had on his person, the horse was grabbed by the head and pulled to a standstill, and leary was dragged out of the sleigh and handcuffed. he was taken immediately to northampton, and put in jail there. some time previous to this the pinkertons had located conroy, who had also escaped from ludlow street jail, in philadelphia; and immediately on the arrest of leary, robert pinkerton sent one of his detectives from new york to philadelphia, who was fortunate enough to arrest conroy at one of his resorts on the same night, and he was also delivered in jail at northampton. some months previous to this the pinkertons had also arrested thomas doty, another member of the band, and lodged him in the northampton jail. in the mean time, scott and dunlap, now in state prison, had made a confession as against leary, the holder of the securities; and when leary was brought to northampton, they wrote him a letter, notifying him that unless the securities were handed over to their proper owners, they would take the witness-stand against him and convict him, but that if he did turn over the necessary securities they would refuse to take the stand. this resulted in the recovery by the northampton bank of nearly all the securities stolen from the bank and its depositors, this not including, however, the government bonds and currency stolen at the time. some of these securities had depreciated in value upward of one hundred thousand dollars since they were stolen. the amount of the securities recovered represented seven hundred thousand dollars; they had been in the hands of the thieves upward of two years. after the securities were returned, scott and dunlap refusing to take the stand against leary and doty, the authorities were eventually obliged to release them, as evans had also refused to take the stand against them. conroy, who had simply been a go-between, and not an actual participant in the robbery, was released at the same time by order of the court. the trial of scott and dunlap took place at northampton in july, , a year and a half after the robbery. evans took the stand against them, his evidence making the case of the prosecution overwhelmingly strong. after three hours' deliberation the jury brought in a verdict of guilty, and the prisoners were sentenced to twenty years each in the state prison. scott died in prison, and dunlap, having been pardoned several years ago, is now living in a western city, a reformed man, and is earning an honest living. as far as is known, since leaving the penitentiary he has never returned to his evil ways. conroy also has taken to new ways, is honest, and is generally respected by all who know him. "red" leary came to his death in a curious way. one night in april, , he had been drinking with some friends at a well-known sporting-resort in new york, on sixth avenue, between twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth streets. in the party was "billy" train, an old bunko-man. they were all somewhat intoxicated and inclined to be uproarious. as they came out on the street, "billy" train picked up a brick and threw it up in the air, yelling: "look out for your heads, boys." to this warning leary paid no attention, and the brick came down on his head with full force, fracturing his skull. he was taken to the new york hospital, and died there, after much suffering, on april . as for the safe-expert, evans, he is engaged in legitimate business, and is prospering. in compiling this chapter from the records, the writer has, by request, changed some of the names of the parties, who since that time have reformed, and are now respected members in the communities where they reside, and the author has no desire to injure them. the susquehanna express robbery at susquehanna, pennsylvania, are located the great shops of the erie railroad, where fifteen hundred men work throughout the year. these men receive their wages on a fixed day toward the end of each month, the pay-roll amounting to many thousands of dollars. it was customary, fourteen years ago, for the company to have a sum of money sufficient for this purpose shipped from new york by express a day or two before the date when the wages were to be paid. following out this practice, on the night of june , , the marine national bank of new york shipped by the united states express company a sealed package containing forty thousand dollars for the erie railroad company, in care of the first national bank of susquehanna. the package contained united states currency and bank-notes, almost entirely in small bills, none larger than twenty dollars. the usual precautions were observed in shipment, a trusted clerk of the marine bank carrying the package to the express company's office and taking a receipt for it from the money-clerk, who examined it first to make sure that the seals of the bank were intact and that in all respects it presented a correct appearance. having satisfied himself on these points, the money-clerk placed the package in one of the canvas pouches used by the united states express company, sealed it carefully with the company's private seal, and attached a tag bearing the address of the company's agent at susquehanna. after a brief delay the pouch was delivered to express messenger van waganen, who saw it placed in one of the small iron safes used by express companies in conveying money from city to city. the messenger rode with the safe to the train, and then remained on guard in the express-car, where the safe was placed, as far as susquehanna, at which point he delivered the pouch to dwight chamberlain, a night-clerk and watchman in the joint employ of the erie railroad and the united states express company. the train left new york at p. m., and reached susquehanna about midnight. watchman chamberlain, having received the pouch at the station, carried it into the ticket-office and locked it inside a safe belonging to the erie railroad company. he remained on duty the rest of the night, and at seven o'clock the next morning a messenger from the first national bank of susquehanna came to get the package. chamberlain unlocked the safe, took out the pouch, opened it, and then emptied its contents on the table. to his great surprise the package containing the forty thousand dollars was gone, and in its place were several bundles of manila paper cut to the size of bank-bills and done up in small packages as money is done up. the agent of the company, clark evans, was immediately notified, and he at once telegraphed the news of the robbery to the officials of the united states express company in new york, who with very little delay placed the matter in the hands of the pinkerton detective agency. the direct supervision of the work was undertaken by the late george h. bangs, at that time general superintendent of the pinkerton agency, and a force of detectives at once started for susquehanna. an important discovery was made on closer examination of the pouch. it was found that this pouch was not the one that had been sealed up in the express office at new york, but a bogus pouch, so much like the other that the change might easily have escaped notice. the chief points of difference were the tag and the seal, the former having been addressed in a different hand from that of the new york money-clerk, and the latter being an old seal not in use by the company at that time. but the general appearance of the pouch was such that neither the messenger, van waganen, nor the watchman, chamberlain, could swear that it was not the one that he had handled. after going over the ground carefully and cross-examining van waganen and chamberlain, superintendent bangs concluded that the robbery had not been committed on the train and that the genuine money package had reached susquehanna and been locked in the railroad company's safe by the night-clerk. he was strengthened in this conclusion by the statement of chamberlain, who admitted that, after locking up the money, he had only been in the ticket-office at intervals during the night. for this he was in no way to blame, as he had other duties to perform about the station, notably those of way-bill clerk. thus the robbers would have had full opportunity to approach the safe unobserved and exercise their skill upon it, could they have secured entrance to the ticket-office. nor was this a difficult matter, since the door leading into it was known to have three keys, in the hands of various employees of the road, from whom they might have been procured or stolen. more important still was the fact, ascertained by mr. bangs, that the safe itself had three keys, intrusted to as many men, whose duties required them to have access to the safe. it subsequently transpired that two of these keys had been made by the men who carried them, for their own convenience and without the knowledge of their superiors. the door leading into the ticket-office opened from the men's waiting-room, where people had been coming and going during the entire night of the robbery. such of these people as could be found were questioned closely as to what they had observed on this night, but they could furnish no information that threw light upon the case. some significance was found in the coincidence that nine years before there had been a robbery at susquehanna, in which thirty thousand dollars had been stolen from the express company's safe. the pinkertons knew that for years a band of professional thieves had been traveling through the country, operating on safes that could be opened with a key. among them were experts in fitting locks, especially skilled in making keys from impressions, and known as professional "fitters." at first it was considered possible that the robbery had been committed by these men; but, after the most careful search and inquiry, superintendent bangs concluded that this was not the case and that the pouch had been stolen by some person or persons resident in susquehanna, presumably by one or more of the railroad employees who had access to the office, or by persons intimately acquainted with some of the men who had keys to the safe. "shadows" were put on all persons who might have had access to the ticket-office and the safe; but, although this was continued for weeks, nothing conclusive came to light. about this time a reorganization of the pinkerton agency became necessary, through the death of allan pinkerton, the founder, and george h. bangs, the general superintendent; and robert pinkerton assumed charge of the investigation at susquehanna. he undertook the difficult task of picking out one guilty man (or possibly two or three) from a body of fifteen hundred workmen. for, despite lack of evidence either way, there was no doubt in the detective's mind that the money had been taken by some of the employees of either the express or the railroad company. pinkerton men were taken to susquehanna and given employment in various positions for the railroad and express companies, their duty being to make friends and hear gossip, and, if possible, in an unguarded moment, at some saloon or boarding-house, or perhaps at the chatty noon hour in the works, secure some important secret. other detectives came with money in their pockets, and, under the guise of sporting men, made themselves popular at resorts where a poor man come dishonestly and suddenly into money would be apt to spend it. day after day, month after month, the watch was continued from many points of view, the conversations of hundreds of workmen were carefully noted, the gambling houses and their inmates were kept under constant scrutiny, the lives of this man and that man and scores of men were turned inside out, and all without any one in susquehanna suspecting it, the general opinion being that the robbery had been put aside along with many other unsolved mysteries. a whole year passed before any promise of success came to cheer the express company and the patient detectives. in the summer of , robert pinkerton, having received information that a professional burglar, who had been arrested some weeks previous for a burglary at milwaukee, had valuable information about an express robbery, immediately journeyed from new york to milwaukee to interview the man. he learned from the burglar that some years before he had operated with a man named john donahue; that about the time of the susquehanna robbery donahue had been away from home, and that shortly after the robbery he had returned with plenty of money and paid off several old debts. mr. pinkerton at once recognized in donahue a notorious thief who, to escape justice, had taken up his residence at fort erie, canada, where he had opened a hotel. the burglar also gave mr. pinkerton a description of a man who had visited donahue at his hotel on several occasions, and who had the general appearance of a workman. he suspected that this man had been in some way concerned with donahue in the susquehanna robbery; he knew that he had resided at one time in buffalo, new york, and worked in the shops there, and he thought that he might be then living in susquehanna, pennsylvania. from the description, mr. pinkerton was able, on going to susquehanna, to identify the suspected man with one george h. proctor, who had formerly been foreman in the railroad company's shops, but had resigned his position some months before and moved to buffalo. in the investigation that was at once begun it was found that proctor had recently been speculating largely in oil and spending money freely, although while living in susquehanna he was known to have had no resources besides his salary. it was learned further that proctor had deposited money with three buffalo banks and had accounts with various firms of brokers, and also that he was paying frequent visits to gambling-houses and in general leading a fast life. proctor's deposits, it was learned, had at one time amounted to about eleven thousand dollars, but most of this sum had been subsequently drawn out and lost in speculation. all of this was strong presumptive evidence against a man who was known to have been poor a few months before, and a more significant discovery was made a little later, when proctor went on a trip to canada, evidently on important business. the detective who followed him found that the men with whom he had dealings, and with whom he passed nearly the whole time of his visit, were professional thieves, well known to the police. in view of all that had come to light, it was decided to effect proctor's arrest. this was made easy by his habit of coming to susquehanna every few weeks to see his wife and three children, who had remained there. during these visits it had been remarked that he was especially intimate with employees of the railroad and express companies who were connected with the ticket-office. all unsuspicious of the danger that threatened him, proctor took the train from buffalo on the night of saturday, november , with a ticket for susquehanna. word was at once telegraphed to robert pinkerton, who, in company with e. w. mitchel, superintendent of the united states express company, started for susquehanna, reaching there monday morning. they learned that proctor was still in town, but keeping very closely to his house. it was not until ten o'clock in the evening that he appeared on the street, his purpose in going out being to purchase some groceries. as he came from the store robert pinkerton stepped forth from his place of waiting and took him into custody. he was taken to a private house, where mr. pinkerton passed nearly the whole night in conversation with him. before daylight proctor had made what purported to be a full confession. proctor stated that he had moved to susquehanna in , having resided in buffalo previous to that time. while in buffalo he had occasionally of a sunday visited fort erie, canada, and there had made the acquaintance of john donahue. at first he did not know that donahue was anything more than the keeper of a hotel. he found him an entertaining companion, a good story-teller and singer of comic songs, and very generous with his money. they came to see much of each other, and after proctor's removal to susquehanna they kept up an occasional correspondence. proctor, having a monthly pass over the erie railroad, and being able to procure passes on other roads, made several trips to fort erie, always stopping at donahue's hotel. on one of these visits he chanced to read aloud to his friend the newspaper account of a clever robbery in montreal, where a band of sneak-thieves had robbed a paymaster of a sum of money he had in a bag to pay off employees. this turned the conversation to criminal exploits, and proctor related the circumstances of the express robbery at susquehanna some years before. donahue showed great interest, and inquired how it happened that the express company had so large a sum of money at susquehanna. proctor explained about the extensive railroad shops there, and incidentally remarked that the same system of paying the hands was still in practice. donahue then requested proctor to ascertain for him how much money was being shipped each month at that time, the day of shipment, the train, the kind of safe used on that train, and full details about the lock--whether opened by a combination or a key. donahue professed that his only motive in seeking this information was curiosity, and proctor promised to learn what he could. it was about a fortnight after this that the two men met again, proctor having secured all the facts about the monthly transfer of money from new york to susquehanna. these he confided to donahue, who seemed greatly pleased at the report. he showed proctor the greatest attention, spending money freely. then he pressed proctor with further questions, asking how the money was wrapped up, what kind of pouch it was carried in, and so on. finally he came out bluntly with the opinion that proctor was a fool to waste his time working in a dirty shop when he might be living in luxury. then, seeing that the foreman took no great umbrage at this suggestion, he asked him if he could get an impression of the safe-key, and also one of the key to the door of the ticket-office. after some show of reluctance, proctor finally consented to try. returning to susquehanna, proctor took advantage of his friendship with employees about the ticket-office to get possession of the keys long enough to take the desired impressions, and these he mailed to donahue, in whose service he was now fully enlisted. donahue wrote back, expressing satisfaction, and saying that he and another man, named collins, had paid a secret visit to susquehanna, and had found everything as proctor had represented. a little later proctor went to canada again, and was introduced to collins. at this meeting it was arranged that donahue should procure a canvas bag like the one used by the express company, and that a dummy money package should be placed inside, so that a substitution might be effected on the arrival of the next shipment. proctor was to take no active part in the robbery, but was instructed to return home and continue at his work, showing no concern, whatever happened. "if there's an earthquake at susquehanna when pay-day comes around, you don't know anything about it, do you understand?" such was the final order given to proctor, and he obeyed it implicitly. a month passed, and, hearing nothing, proctor went to canada again, and had another talk with his two confederates. they told him that they had gone to susquehanna prepared to do the "job," but had learned, accidentally, that the money that month had been sent in gold, which would have been too heavy for them to carry away, and they had therefore decided to wait until a month later. this was in may, and the following month the robbery occurred. two weeks later proctor went to canada, and received eleven thousand dollars as his share of the plunder. donahue and collins explained to him that he did not receive more because they had been obliged to give a fourth share to another man who had worked with them. they cautioned him not to spend a dollar of the stolen money for months to come, as the detectives would be always on the lookout for suspicious circumstances. they also advised him to continue at his work, under no circumstances giving up his position within a year. proctor had strictly followed these suggestions, living and working as he had done before the robbery, and not spending any part of his portion. having changed the money into large bills and sealed it up in a fruit-jar, so that the moisture could not injure it, he buried the jar head downward in his garden. there it remained untouched for months. but when the severe weather of the following winter set in, he dug up the jar, and taking the money to buffalo, deposited it in three banks, in the name of his wife and his three children, with himself in each instance as trustee. although his trade became very irksome to him now that he had a small fortune in his possession, he prudently stuck to it until june, . then, a year having elapsed since the robbery, he decided that it would be safe for him to launch out into a pleasanter life. he accordingly went to buffalo, where he entered into oil speculations with a friend who claimed to have "inside information" from the standard oil company. although fortunate at the start, the failure of grant & ward brought them heavy losses, and soon their profits and their original capital were swept away. proctor assured mr. pinkerton that, at the time of their talk, he was ruined, and that he had intended, during this very visit to susquehanna which ended in his arrest, making application for his old position as foreman of the boiler-shops. having heard proctor's confession, mr. pinkerton took counsel with the officers of the express company. they, believing that proctor had been only a tool in the hands of two smart professional criminals, agreed with the detective that the ends of justice demanded rather the apprehension of his confederates than his punishment alone. proctor professed great penitence for his wrong-doing, and declared himself willing to do whatever was in his power to make amends. the first step necessary to the capture of donahue and collins was to get them both into the united states at some point where they could be arrested at the same time. donahue was still in canada, where he could not be taken. mr. pinkerton arranged with proctor to write to donahue that he had discovered another safe which offered a tempting opportunity, hoping in this way to induce him to cross the line into the united states. to give color to the story it was necessary to accord proctor apparent freedom of movement; but he pledged himself not to leave susquehanna without mr. pinkerton's permission, and to keep the detective informed by letter and telegraph of all developments. at the same time detectives were sent to canada to keep watch over donahue. collins, in the meantime, had been located in albany, but no attempt was made to arrest him until donahue could be brought over the line. should he cross without notifying proctor, the men "shadowing" him were to cause his arrest. it was arranged with proctor that, in case his letter failed of its purpose, he should go to canada himself, persuade donahue to send for collins, and then induce the two to come back with him, when they would be arrested the moment they crossed the line. on the th of november robert pinkerton received word by telegraph that proctor had left susquehanna suddenly in the night, telling the agent of the express company that he would return the next day. this looked very much as if proctor had played him false, since it had been expressly stipulated that he should not go away without mr. pinkerton's permission. days went by, and proctor did not return. then word came from one of the pinkerton men at fort erie that proctor had arrived at donahue's hotel and had been joined there by collins. this was a serious setback for the detectives. not only were the three robbers safe from arrest where they were, but being fully aware of the danger threatening them, and being men of shrewdness, it was fair to presume that they would now move with great caution. it soon became evident that donahue and collins were thoroughly alarmed by the news proctor had brought them; for they at once took energetic steps to mislead any one who might be watching them. having retired as usual one night, they arose later, and drove in a wagon to a station on the grand trunk railroad, where they boarded a freight train for toronto. after a brief stay in that city they went on to montreal, where they tried hard to lose themselves, but were unsuccessful, and returned to fort erie. meanwhile mr. pinkerton discovered that the story told him by proctor was entirely untrue. so far from having been an honest man before the robbery, it came to light that he was already at that time a hardened criminal, having committed burglaries both in the united states and canada, and having been sentenced, under another name, to a term in the massachusetts state prison. while in prison he had contrived to make keys that would unlock his own cell and those of three other prisoners, and the four had thus made their escape. one of them was the notorious charles bullard, who was at that time serving a term of twenty years for the robbery of the boylston bank of boston. proctor had also offered the privilege of escape to scott and dunlap, the northampton bank robbers, who were confined in the same prison, but they had distrusted his plan, and refused to avail themselves of it. it was now necessary for the detectives to devise a new plan. robert pinkerton knew that some three years earlier donahue had been concerned in the robbery of a bank at winnipeg, and also in the robbery of a hardware store at quebec. his brother, william pinkerton, he also knew, had a personal acquaintance with donahue, from having arrested him a number of years before. he therefore sent for william pinkerton to come to new york from chicago, and on his arrival proposed to him that he go to fort erie, get an interview with donahue, and tell him of proctor's treachery in betraying collins and himself; impress upon him that proctor was a dangerous man to have dealings with; and try to induce him to lend his aid in delivering proctor and collins over the line, just as robert pinkerton had sought to have proctor do in the case of donahue and collins. donahue was known as a "stanch" man,--that is, one who is true to his friends,--and it was thought probable that he would refuse to take part in any such scheme. but in that event william pinkerton was to threaten him with arrest for the old robberies at winnipeg and quebec. this plan was carried out by william pinkerton with greater success than had been expected. at first donahue stoutly refused to betray a comrade, but the danger threatening himself was made to appear so great that finally, seeing no other way out of his difficulties, he consented to do what was asked of him in regard to proctor. against collins, however, he declined to give any aid. by working on proctor's natural fear of arrest, he easily persuaded him that the immediate departure of all three of them--himself, proctor, and collins--for europe was advisable. it was arranged that they should not sail from quebec or halifax, since the steamers from those points were likely to be watched by detectives, but that they should leave fort erie stealthily by night, make their way separately to montreal, and meet there. this plan was carried out, and within a few days the three were in montreal, all apparently of one mind in their desire to escape the country, though in reality proctor was the only one of the three who thought himself in danger. donahue had taken collins into his confidence, and collins was quite of donahue's opinion that they were doing the proper thing in saving themselves by surrendering a man who had shown himself willing to betray them. it had been agreed between william pinkerton and donahue that at montreal tickets should be purchased to europe by way of portland, maine, and that the party should leave montreal at a certain time by the grand trunk road. the line of this road runs for a number of miles through northern vermont, and it was customary for the train the men were to take to wait over for an hour at island pond, a little place just across the canadian line. here, as it was arranged, robert pinkerton was to be waiting, ready to take proctor into custody, and also (though in this part of the arrangement donahue, of course, was not consulted) donahue and collins, should they be so imprudent as to stay on the train until it crossed the line. to the forwarding of this latter end, indeed, a special stratagem was resorted to. conceiving that donahue and collins, in order the more completely to allay proctor's suspicion, might remain with him until the last station was reached on the canadian side, the detectives arranged that on this particular night the train should not stop at that station, but push on at full speed to the american side. on a certain tuesday night, donahue, collins, and proctor took the : p. m. train at montreal for portland. no sooner had they left the station than a pinkerton representative, who had "shadowed" them aboard, telegraphed the fact to robert pinkerton at island pond. proctor went early to his berth in the sleeper. in another berth, not far distant, never closing his eyes through the night, but lying there fully dressed, with weapons ready, was a pinkerton detective, whose instructions were to accompany the three robbers as long as they were together, and to stay with proctor to the last. it was five o'clock in the morning when the train drew up at island pond. on the platform stood robert pinkerton, carrying a requisition from the governor of pennsylvania on the governor of vermont for the arrest of donahue, collins, and proctor, charged with robbing the united states express company of forty thousand dollars, at susquehanna, pennsylvania. the first man to leave the train was the "shadow," who informed his chief that proctor was sound asleep in berth no. . donahue and collins, he said, had left the train long before it reached the last station on the canadian side, so that the plan for their capture had fallen through. mr. pinkerton went aboard the sleeper at once, and going to berth no. , pushed aside the curtains. he could not see distinctly for the darkness, but borrowing a lantern from one of the trainmen, let the light fall on the face of the person within, and saw it was proctor, slumbering in complete unconsciousness that his hour of reckoning had come. a gentle push in the ribs awakened him with a start. recognizing mr. pinkerton, he said with admirable coolness: "you have spoiled the whole business. if you had not come in here to arrest me, i would have had those men across the line next week." when he said this, proctor supposed that donahue and collins were asleep in an adjoining berth; but, even to save himself, he never thought of betraying them, which goes to show that he was a "stancher" man than donahue and collins had been led to believe. for some time he endeavored to maintain his old character with mr. pinkerton; but on the way to susquehanna, realizing the hopelessness of his case, he acknowledged the deception he had practised, and his full responsibility with the others in the susquehanna robbery. he also admitted his previous criminal record. at susquehanna, proctor was placed in jail to await trial, and there mr. pinkerton visited him some time later. something in the prisoner's manner convinced the detective that all was not as it should be, and he urged the sheriff to put proctor in another cell and search his clothes and his cell thoroughly. this was done, and there were found a number of keys that fitted the locks of various doors in the jail, and also a large key fitting the gate from the jail-yard into the street. proctor's rare mechanical skill had enabled him to make these keys in his cell, from impressions furnished him by a woman who had been allowed to visit him. being a good talker, proctor had won this woman's sympathy, and had also made a strong appeal to her self-interest by promising, on his escape, to share with her a large sum of money he had buried. at his trial proctor pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to twelve years' imprisonment in the penitentiary at cherry hill, pennsylvania. here, again, he was caught in the act of making keys to aid him to escape. he laid various other plans for regaining his liberty, indeed, but all were frustrated. his imprisonment worked no reform in him. after he had served out his sentence, some burglaries committed in maine brought him again under arrest, and, having been identified as a convict from the massachusetts state prison, he was taken back to that institution, to serve out his unexpired sentence. the united states express company had not relaxed its efforts against his associates after proctor's capture. donahue and collins returned to montreal, well satisfied with the work they had done, and thinking themselves safe from pursuit. but president platt instructed robert pinkerton to take every measure possible against them, and it was decided that as donahue could not be reached and punished for the robbery at susquehanna, he should be made to suffer for the early robbery at quebec already referred to. donahue's complicity in this robbery was proved by the discovery of a part of the stolen goods in his hotel at fort erie. through the efforts of the express company and the pinkertons he was now arrested, and on trial was convicted and sentenced to five years' imprisonment in the kingston penitentiary. after his conviction donahue told the detectives that he was a fool to have had anything to do with such a dangerous project as an express robbery, but that the opportunity at susquehanna was so tempting that he could not resist it. after his arrest the express company attached all of his property, and, although they did not succeed in getting a judgment against him, they fought him in the courts until his wife, acting for him, was obliged to mortgage all their possessions up to the last dollar, so that they never derived any substantial benefit from the stolen money. as for collins, he remained a fugitive from justice for some time after the conviction of proctor and donahue. several years later, however, seeing himself constantly threatened by the express company and the detectives, he decided to placate his enemies by stepping out from the ranks of the law-breakers and trying to lead an honest life. and he has succeeded, as the pinkertons have reason to know; and his case goes to prove what is borne out by wide experience, that even the most desperate criminals are sometimes capable of genuine reform. the pollock diamond robbery there were thirteen men in the smoker of a train on the sioux city and pacific railroad when it drew out of omaha at six o'clock on friday evening, november , , and started on its eastward run. among these thirteen, sitting about half-way down the aisle, enjoying a good cigar, was mr. w. g. pollock of new york, a traveling salesman for w. l. pollock & co., of the same city, dealers in diamonds. in the inside pocket of his vest he carried fifteen thousand dollars' worth of uncut diamonds, while a leather satchel on the seat beside him contained a quantity of valuable stones in settings. on the front seat of the car, just behind the stove, sat a stolid-looking young man, who would have passed for a farmer's lad. he seemed scarcely over twenty, having neither beard nor mustache, and a stranger would have put him down as a rather stupid, inoffensive fellow. compared with mr. pollock, he was slighter in build, although an inch or so taller. as he sat there staring at the stove, the passenger in the seat behind him, j. h. shaw, an omaha well-digger, a bluff, hearty man of social instincts, tried to draw him into conversation; but the young fellow only shook his head sulkily, and the well-digger relapsed into silence. presently, as the train was approaching california junction, the young man on the front seat rose and started down the aisle. curiously enough, he now wore a full beard of black hair five or six inches long. no one paid any attention to him until he stopped at mr. pollock's seat, drew a revolver, and said loud enough for every one in the car to hear him: "give me them diamonds." then, without waiting for a reply, he shifted the revolver to his left hand, drew a slung-shot from his coat-pocket, and struck mr. pollock over the head such a heavy blow that the bag of the slung-shot burst, and the shot itself fell to the floor. then he said again: "give me them diamonds." realizing that the situation was desperate, mr. pollock took out his pocket-book and handed it to his assailant, saying: "i have only a hundred dollars; here it is." pushing back the pocket-book as if unworthy of his attention, the man coolly aimed his revolver at mr. pollock's right shoulder and fired. then he aimed at the left shoulder and fired. both bullets hit, and were followed by two more, which went whizzing by the diamond-merchant's head on either side, missing him, perhaps by accident, but probably by design, as the men were not three feet apart. by this the other people in the car had disappeared under the seats like rats into their holes. to all intents and purposes mr. pollock was alone with his assailant. the latter evidently knew where the diamonds were secreted, for, ripping open his victim's vest, he drew out the leather wallet in which they were inclosed, and stuffed it into his pocket. wounded though he was, mr. pollock now grappled with the thief, who, using the butt of his revolver as a cudgel, brought down fearful blows on pollock's head. the latter, however, getting into the aisle, fought the robber up and down the car; but a crushing blow at last laid him senseless on the floor. with perfect self-possession and without hurry the thief walked back down the aisle to mr. pollock's seat, and took one of the two leather bags lying there, by mistake choosing, though, the one that did not contain the mounted diamonds. then he went to the end of the car, pulled the bell-rope, and, as the train began to slacken its speed in response to this signal, jumped off the steps, rolled down a bank fifteen feet high, and disappeared. sharing, apparently, in the general consternation and terror inspired by the young fellow, the conductor, instead of holding the train to pursue the thief, signaled the engineer to go ahead, and no effort was made for a capture until the train reached california junction, several miles farther on. meanwhile the panic-stricken passengers recovered, at their leisure, their composure and their seats. had but one of his fellow-travelers gone to the assistance of mr. pollock, the robber might easily have been overpowered. as it was, he all but murdered his man, plundered him of his diamonds, and escaped without the slightest interference. when his pistol was picked up, near the spot where he left the train, it was found that in the struggle the cylinder had caught, so that it would have been impossible to discharge the two chambers remaining loaded. thus eleven able-bodied men were held in a state of abject terror by one slender lad, who at the last was practically unarmed. at california junction the wounded diamond-merchant was carried from the train, and that same night taken back to omaha. mr. pollock, being a member of the jewelers' protective union, a rich and powerful organization, established some years ago for the protection of jewelry salesmen against thieves, was entitled to its aid. when the detectives reached the scene of the robbery, the robber had vanished as completely as if he had been whisked off to another planet. to be sure, farmers in the neighborhood brought rumors of the stealing of horses, of a strange man sleeping in the woods, and of a desperate-looking character seen limping along the road. but all this came to nothing, except to establish, what seemed probable, that the diamond-thief had fled back to omaha. a patient and exhaustive search in omaha resulted in nothing. the man was gone, and the diamonds were gone; that was all anybody knew. what made the case more difficult was the uncertainty as to the robber's personal appearance; for some of the passengers testified to one thing, and some to another. the black beard was a cause of confusion; only one witness besides mr. pollock remembered that the man wore such a beard. mr. pollock, however, was positive as to this particular, and it seemed as if he ought to know. it was also impossible to decide, from conflicting statements, whether the robber had a mustache or not, and whether it was dark or light in color. the fact is, the passengers had been so thoroughly frightened at the time of the assault that the credibility of their testimony was much to be questioned. mr. pollock reported that for several weeks previous to the robbery he had suspected that he was being followed. he also reported that on the day of the robbery he had been in the shop of the largest pawnbroker in omaha, and that while he was there two noted western gamblers had entered the shop and been presented to him as possible customers. he had made a trade of some diamonds with one of the men, and, in the course of the negotiations, had shown his entire stock. while the trade was in progress a negro on the premises had noticed, lounging about the front of the shop, a man in a slouch-hat who suggested the robber. from these circumstances it was decided that the robbery might be the work of an organized gang, who had been waiting their opportunity for many days, and had selected one of their number to do the actual deed. all his life it had been mr. pinkerton's business to study criminals and understand their natures. he knew that a crime like this one was much beyond the power of an ordinary criminal. let a robber be ever so greedy of gold, reckless of human life, and indifferent to consequences, he would still think many times before declaring war to the death upon twelve men in a narrow car, on a swiftly moving train. this was surely no novice in crime, reasoned mr. pinkerton, but a man whose record would already show deeds of the greatest daring; a brave fellow, though a bad one. and even among the well-known experienced criminals there must be very few who were capable of this deed. mr. pinkerton, therefore, set himself to studying the bureau's records and rogues' gallery to first pick out these few. page after page of photographs was turned over, drawer after drawer of records was searched through, and at last a dozen or more men were decided upon as sufficiently preëminent to merit consideration in connection with the present case. photographs of these dozen or so were speedily struck off, and submitted by the detectives to all the men who had been in the smoking-car at the time of the robbery, to the conductor of the train and the trainmen, to other passengers, to farmers and others who might have seen the robber while making his escape, and to various people in omaha. the result was startling. conductor d. m. ashmore, without hesitation, selected from the dozen or more portraits one as that of the robber. mr. shaw, the omaha well-digger, who had sat just behind the robber, selected the same photograph, and was positive it pictured the man he had tried to talk to. other passengers also picked out this photograph, as did various persons who had caught sight of the man as he escaped. the portrait thus chosen by common accord was that of frank bruce, one of the most desperate burglars of the younger generation in the country, and it seemed only necessary now to find bruce, to have the problem solved. many days were spent, and hundreds of dollars, in searching for him. dozens of cities were visited, and every conceivable effort made to get on his track; but it was not until his pursuers were almost weary of the chase that he was finally discovered living quietly in chicago, on cottage grove avenue, near thirty-sixth street, where he was operating with another high-class burglar, "billy" boyce. requisition papers were at once procured from the governor of iowa on the governor of illinois, and men were sent to take bruce into custody, when the "shadows" reported that he and boyce had left for milwaukee, where, of course, the requisition papers were valueless. fortunately, that same night they attempted a burglary in milwaukee, for which they were arrested and held for ninety days. this gave the chicago detectives abundant time to identify bruce as the missing robber. mr. pinkerton himself went at once to milwaukee, saw bruce in the jail, heard his story, verified its essential facts, and within two days, to his own complete disappointment, and in spite of himself, had proved a complete alibi for bruce. to satisfy himself in this connection, mr. pinkerton brought conductor ashmore and mr. shaw to milwaukee, and pointed bruce out to them; and, after looking carefully at him, both men declared they had made a mistake in choosing his portrait, and that bruce was not the robber. with bruce clear, the detectives were again without a suspect, and almost without a clue. just here, however, mr. pinkerton recalled that on a trip to the west, some three years previous, to investigate the case of a man arrested at reno, nevada, on a charge of "holding up" a faro-bank, and while stopping over in salt lake city, utah, he had run across some sporting men in that city with whom he was well acquainted, and on his telling them where he was going and what his business was, one of them, whom mr. pinkerton had known for years, had said: "why, the man at reno is innocent. the men who committed that robbery are in this city. one of them is a smooth-faced boy, about twenty years of age, and the other is a heavy-set, dark-complexioned fellow, with a dark mustache. they are the intimate friends and companions of jack denton, the well-known gambler of salt lake; and only a short time ago, at salt lake, they entered a house one night, going in through a rear door, and compelled two ladies, who were just returned from a ball, to give up a large amount of diamonds." though not interested in this particular robbery, mr. pinkerton had mentally jotted down the intimacy of jack denton with this class of people; and he recalled it now in connection with the fact that jack denton was one of the two gamblers to whom pollock had exposed his diamonds at the pawnshop in omaha. he at once decided to secure definite information in regard to the boy who had been with denton at salt lake three years earlier. proceeding immediately to salt lake city, and making cautious inquiries, he learned that the boy in question, since he first heard of him, had been arrested and convicted of robbery at ogden, utah, and sentenced to one year's term in the penitentiary. an investigation at the penitentiary disclosed that the young man had given the name of james burke, had served out his sentence under that name, and had been released about one month previous to the pollock robbery. denton, in the meantime, had left salt lake and gone to omaha, there to make his home. the boy burke, argued the detective, had naturally followed his friend to that place. an accurate description of burke was got from the records of the utah penitentiary, and some idea of him and his friends was derived from the officials of the prison. but where to find him in the whole great west was a question. inquiries at salt lake developed the further fact that burke had had one intimate friend there, a man named marshall p. hooker. hooker had now, however, left salt lake and removed to denver. for a man of his class, hooker was unusually talkative, and was known by "crooks" throughout the country as "windy" hooker. plans were made for keeping a watch on him and on jack denton, in the hope, by "shadowing" the movements of these two, of ultimately locating burke. through the free talk of hooker, reported back to the detective, it was soon learned that burke was known by the alias of "kid" mccoy, and that he had recently been operating on the pacific coast in "holding up" faro-banks, and had also been concerned in two large robberies, one at lincoln, nebraska, and the other at sacramento, california. his whereabouts at that time, however, were unknown. much time had now elapsed since the robbery, and the sensation caused by it had died out. jack denton and his friends seldom spoke of it, and hooker never spoke of it unless the subject was introduced to him. both men were extremely shy of strangers, and it was almost impossible for a detective to draw them out, as anybody who introduced the subject of the robbery was at once looked upon with suspicion. for the purpose of creating further talk upon the subject, mr. pinkerton caused to be inserted in the omaha papers an advertisement as follows: "five hundred dollars will be paid for any information leading up to the identification of the party who robbed william g. pollock on the sioux city and pacific train, november , . "william a. pinkerton, "paxton house, omaha, nebraska." this at once attracted the attention of the local newspaper-men, and when mr. pinkerton arrived in omaha he was interviewed by all the papers in the city in regard to the robbery. thus interest in the robbery was at once renewed. denton and the other persons under suspicion commenced talking of the matter again, none more freely than hooker. the latter was then in denver. mr. pinkerton instructed mr. james mcparland, denver superintendent of the pinkerton agency, to send for him, and say to him that he had understood that he (hooker) could throw some light on the robbery, and that a large sum of money would be paid him for the information he gave. mr. pinkerton explained to mr. mcparland that hooker would lie to him and endeavor to get the money by giving him false information, but to listen patiently to what he had to say and lead him on as far as possible without giving him any money. this done, mr. pinkerton further predicted that hooker would go back to his cronies and boast of the way he was fooling pinkerton and how much money he expected to get; and that eventually, through his boastings, he would prove the means of locating burke, _alias_ mccoy. and so, precisely, it fell out. some of hooker's companions were pinkerton detectives, although hooker did not know them as such, and they in time reported back that burke was really the pollock robber; that after committing the robbery he had gone back to omaha, and from there had gone to denver. from denver he went to salt lake, and visited a prisoner in the salt lake penitentiary with whom he was intimate, gave this prisoner some money, and went from salt lake west to the pacific coast. mr. pinkerton next instructed that the record be examined for daring "hold-ups" that might have occurred in the country lately traversed by burke. it was then found that a faro-bank at colorado city, a small place between manitou springs and colorado springs, had been entered late at night by a masked robber, who compelled the dealer and other persons to hold up their hands, took the money in the drawer, and escaped; that later on a similar robbery had been perpetrated at san bernardino, california; that later still the pool-rooms of james malone, a noted gambler at tacoma, washington, had been treated in the same manner; and, finally, that a light or pane of glass in a jewelry store at sacramento had been broken in and a tray of diamonds snatched from the window by a daring thief. and all of these deeds, mr. pinkerton learned ultimately through hooker's talk, had been done by burke. the watch on denton at omaha developed little, if anything, except that a close companionship existed between him and the omaha pawnbroker. during the summer of , learning that an intimate friend of burke's, a burglar who had been in prison with him in the utah penitentiary, was confined in jail at georgetown, texas, mr. pinkerton decided to go and interview this man, and see if he could get any trace, through him, of the robber. in the meantime he instructed the detectives at omaha and denver to keep a particularly close watch on jack denton and hooker. on mr. pinkerton's arrival at austin, texas, he found awaiting him despatches from superintendent mcparland of the denver agency, stating that through hooker's talk they had learned that "kid" mccoy, or burke, had been arrested at eagle, colorado, with a kit of burglar tools in his possession, and was then in jail at leadville, colorado. mr. pinkerton at once telegraphed to have conductor ashmore and mr. shaw, the well-digger, go to leadville and see if they could identify the prisoner. word was also sent to new york for mr. pollock to do the same. he also instructed superintendent mcparland at denver to send his assistant, j. c. fraser, to watch the case, so that if mccoy gave bail, or attempted to escape from the leadville jail, they could be ready with a warrant for his arrest on account of the pollock robbery. having wired these instructions, mr. pinkerton proceeded on his journey to georgetown, texas, where he called on mccoy's former prison associate in the utah penitentiary, but was unable to get him to tell anything about mccoy, though he volunteered, if mr. pinkerton would furnish him a bond and get him out of his texas scrape, to go to omaha and compel the "fence" who had received the diamonds to turn back the property. but the rule of the jewelers' protective union was to get the thief first and the property afterward; so no treaty was made with the texas prisoner. mr. pinkerton now went to kansas city, and found awaiting him there despatches from superintendent mcparland of the denver agency, stating that conductor ashmore and messrs. shaw and pollock had positively identified the prisoner james burke, _alias_ "kid" mccoy, as the man who assaulted mr. pollock and robbed him of his diamonds. burke winced perceptibly when he saw conductor ashmore and mr. shaw, and went fairly wild when confronted by mr. pollock. requisition papers were obtained from the governor of the state of iowa on the governor of colorado, and the colorado offense being a minor one, burke was turned over to assistant superintendent fraser and another detective, to be taken to logan, harrison county, iowa. before leaving leadville, mr. fraser was confidentially warned by the sheriff of the county that he could not be too careful of his prisoner; for that burke, through a friend of the sheriff, had made a proposition to the latter to pay him a thousand dollars if he would secretly furnish him with a revolver when he left the jail, his design being, with this revolver, to either "hold up" or kill the two detectives who had him in custody and make his escape from the train. on trial at logan, iowa, the man was easily convicted, and was sentenced to imprisonment for a term of seventeen years. the rock island express [illustration: robert a. pinkerton] i the through express on the rock island road left chicago at : p. m., on march , , with twenty-two thousand dollars in fifty- and one-hundred-dollar bills in the keeping of kellogg nichols, an old-time messenger of the united states express company. this sum had been sent by a chicago bank to be delivered at the principal bank in davenport, iowa. in addition to the usual passenger-coaches, the train drew two express-cars: the first, for express only, just behind the engine; and, following this, one for express and baggage. these cars had end doors, which offer the best opportunity to train robbers. messenger nichols was in the first car, and was duly at his work when the train stopped at joliet, a town about forty miles west of chicago. but at the next stop, which was made at morris, harry schwartz, a brakeman, came running from nichols's car, crying, "the messenger is dead." the messenger's lifeless body was found lying on the floor of the car. the head had been crushed by some heavy weapon, and there was a pistol-wound in the right shoulder. apparently he had been overcome only after a hard fight. his face was set with fierce determination. his fists were clenched, and the hands and fingers cut and scratched in a curious way, while under the nails were found what proved to be bits of human flesh. the pistol-wound was from a weapon of caliber; but it was not the cause of the man's death. this, unmistakably, was the blow, or blows, on the head, probably after the shot was fired. all who knew messenger nichols were surprised at the desperate resistance he seemed to have made, for he was a small, light man, not more than five feet five in height, nor weighing over one hundred and thirty pounds, and of no great credit among his fellows for pluck and courage. the express-car was immediately detached from the train, and left at morris, guarded by all the train-crew except schwartz, who was sent on with the train to davenport. after the first cursory inspection no one was allowed to enter the car where nichols lay; and nothing was known precisely as to the extent of the robbery. the safe-door had been found open and the floor of the car littered with the contents of the safe. an urgent telegram was at once sent to chicago, and a force of detectives arrived at morris on a special train a few hours later. search-parties were at once sent out in all directions along the country roads, and up and down the tracks. hundreds of people joined in the search, for the news of the murder spread rapidly through the whole region, and not a square yard of territory for miles between morris and minooka station was left unexplored. it happened that the ground was covered with snow, but the keenest scrutiny failed to reveal any significant footprints, and the search-parties returned after many hours, having made only a single discovery. this was a mask found in a cattle-guard near minooka--a mask made of black cloth, with white strings fastened at either side, one of which had been torn out of the cloth as if in a struggle. meantime mr. pinkerton himself entered the car and made a careful investigation. his first discovery was a heavy poker, bearing stains of blood and bits of matted hair. it was hanging in its usual place, behind the stove. the significance of this last fact was great, in mr. pinkerton's opinion; from it he concluded that the crime had been committed by a railroad man, his reasoning being that the poker could have been restored to its usual place after such a use only mechanically and from force of habit and that an assailant who was not a railroad man would have left it on the floor or thrown it away. coming to the safe, mr. pinkerton found that the twenty-two thousand dollars were missing, and that other papers had been hastily searched over, but left behind as valueless. among these was a bundle of canceled drafts that had been roughly torn open and then thrown aside. mr. pinkerton scarcely noticed at the moment, but had occasion to remember subsequently, that a small piece of one of these drafts was missing, as if a corner had been torn off. all the train-hands were immediately questioned, but none of their stories was in any way significant, except that of newton watt, the man in charge of the second car. he said that while busy counting over his way-bills and receipts he had been startled by the crash of broken glass in the ventilator overhead, and that at the same moment a heavily built man, wearing a black mask, had entered the car and said, "if you move, the man up there will bore you." looking up, watt said further, he saw a hand thrust through the broken glass and holding a revolver. thus intimidated, he made no attempt to give an alarm, and the masked man presently left him under guard of the pistol overhead, which covered him until shortly before the train reached morris, when it was withdrawn. he was able to locate the place where the crime must have been committed, as he remembered that the engine was whistling for minooka when the stranger entered the car. this left about thirty minutes for the murder, robbery, and escape. returning to chicago, mr. pinkerton investigated the character of the man watt, and found that he had a clean record, was regarded as a trusty and efficient man, and had three brothers who had been railroad men for years and had always given perfect satisfaction. watt's good reputation and straightforward manner were strong points in his favor, and yet there was something questionable in his story of the mysterious hand. for one thing, no footprints were found in the snow on the top of the car. brakeman schwartz, the only man on the train who had not yet been questioned, "deadheaded" his way, in railway parlance, back from davenport the following night on conductor danforth's train, and reported to mr. pinkerton the next morning. he was a tall, fine-looking young fellow, about twenty-seven, with thin lips and a face that showed determination. he was rather dapper in dress, and kept on his gloves during the conversation. mr. pinkerton received him pleasantly, and, after they had been smoking and chatting for an hour or so, he suggested to schwartz that he would be more comfortable with his gloves off. schwartz accordingly removed them, and revealed red marks on the backs of his hands, such as might have been made by finger-nails digging into them. "how did you hurt your hands, schwartz?" asked mr. pinkerton. "oh, i did that handling baggage night before last," explained schwartz; and then he related incidentally that as he was on his way back to chicago, the conductor of the train, conductor danforth, had discovered a valise left by somebody in one of the toilet-rooms. later in the day mr. pinkerton summoned the conductor, who said that the valise was an old one, of no value; and, having no contents, he had thrown it out on an ash-pile. the only thing he had found in the valise was a piece of paper that attracted his attention because it was marked with red lines. examining this piece of paper carefully, mr. pinkerton saw that it had been torn from a money-draft, and at once thought of the package in the express messenger's safe. now it is a remarkable fact that no human power can tear two pieces of paper in exactly the same way; the ragged fibers will only fit perfectly when the two original parts are brought together. there remained no doubt, when this test was made in the present case, that the piece of paper found on conductor danforth's east-bound train had been torn from the draft in the express-car robbed the night before on the west-bound train. the edges fitted, the red lines corresponded, and unquestionably some one had carried that piece of paper from the one train to the other. in other words, some one connected with the crime of the previous night had ridden back to chicago twenty-four hours later with conductor danforth. mr. pinkerton at once ordered a search made for the missing valise, and also an inquiry regarding the passengers who had ridden on conductor danforth's train between davenport and chicago on the night following the murder. the valise was found on the ash-heap where the conductor had thrown it, and in the course of the next few days the detectives had located or accounted for all passengers on conductor danforth's train, with the exception of one man who had ridden on a free pass. the conductor could only recall this man's features vaguely; and, while some of the passengers remembered him well enough, there was no clue to his name or identity. as it appeared that no other of the passengers could have been connected with the crime, efforts were redoubled to discover the holder of this pass. ii so great was the public interest in the crime and the mystery surrounding it that three separate, well-organized investigations of it were undertaken. the rock island railroad officials, with their detectives, conducted one; a chicago newspaper, the "daily news," with its detectives, another; and the pinkertons, in the interest of the united states express company, a third. mr. pinkerton, as we have seen, concluded that the crime had been committed by railway men. the railway officials were naturally disinclined to believe ill of their employees, and an incident occurred about this time which turned the investigation in an entirely new direction and made them the more disposed to discredit mr. pinkerton's theory. this was the receipt of a letter from a convict in the michigan city penitentiary, named plunkett, who wrote the rock island railroad officials, saying that he could furnish them with important information. mr. st. john, the general manager of the road, went in person to the penitentiary to take plunkett's statement, which was in effect that he knew the men who had committed the robbery and killed nichols, and was willing to sell this information in exchange for a full pardon, which the railroad people could secure by using their influence. this they promised to do if his story proved true, and plunkett then told them of a plot that had been worked out a year or so before, when he had been "grafting" with a "mob" of pickpockets at county fairs. there were with him at that time "butch" mccoy, james connors (known as "yellowhammer"), and a man named "jeff," whose surname he did not know. these three men, plunkett said, had planned an express robbery on the rock island road, to be executed in precisely the same way, and at precisely the same point on the road, as in the case in question. the story was plausible, and won mr. st. john's belief. it won the belief, also, of mr. melville e. stone of the "daily news"; and forthwith the railway detectives, working with the newspaper detectives, were instructed to go ahead on new lines, regardless of trouble or expense. their first endeavor was to capture "butch" mccoy, the leader of the gang. "butch" was a pickpocket, burglar, and all-around thief, whose operations kept him traveling all over the united states. the police in various cities having been communicated with to no purpose, mr. stone finally decided to do a thing the like of which no newspaper proprietor, perhaps, ever undertook before--that is, start on a personal search for mccoy and his associates. with frank murray, one of the best detectives in chicago, and other detectives, he went to galesburg, where the gang was said to have a sort of headquarters. the party found there none of the men they were after, but they learned that "thatch" grady, a notorious criminal with whom "butch" mccoy was known to be in relations, was in omaha. so they hurried to omaha, but only to find that grady had gone to st. louis. then to st. louis went mr. stone and his detectives, hot on the scent, and spent several days in that city searching high and low. the method of locating a criminal in a great city is as interesting as it is little understood. the first step is to secure from the local police information as to the favorite haunts of criminals of the class under pursuit, paying special regard in the preliminary inquiries to the possibility of love-affairs; for thieves, even more than honest men, are swayed in their lives by the tender passion, and are often brought to justice through the agency of women. with so much of such information in their possession as they could gather, mr. stone and his detectives spent their time in likely resorts, picking up acquaintance with frequenters, and, whenever possible, turning the talk adroitly upon the man they were looking for. it is a mistake to suppose that in work like this detectives disguise themselves. false beards and mustaches, goggles and lightning changes of clothing, are never heard of except in the pages of badly informed story-writers. in his experience of over twenty-five years mr. murray never wore such a disguise, nor knew of any reputable detective who did. in this expedition the detectives simply assumed the characters and general style of the persons they were thrown with, passing for men of sporting tastes from the east; and, having satisfied the people they met that they meant no harm, they had no difficulty in obtaining such news of mccoy and the others as there was. unfortunately, this was not much. after going from one city to another on various clues, hearing of one member of the gang here and another there, and in each instance losing their man, the detectives finally brought up in new orleans. they had spent five or six weeks of time and a large amount of money, only to find themselves absolutely without a clue as to the whereabouts of the men they were pursuing. they were much discouraged when a telegram from mr. pinkerton told them that "butch" mccoy was back in galesburg, where they had first sought him. proceeding thither with all despatch, they traced mccoy into a saloon, and there three of them,--john smith, representing the rock island railroad; john mcginn, for the pinkerton agency; and frank murray, working for mr. stone,--with drawn revolvers, captured him, in spite of a desperate dash he made to escape. mccoy's capture was the occasion of much felicitation among the people interested in the matter. mr. st. john and mr. stone were confident that now the whole mystery of the express robbery could be solved and the murderer convicted. but mccoy showed on trial that he had left new orleans to come north only the night before the murder and had spent the whole of that night on the illinois central railroad. it also appeared that mccoy's associate, connors, was in jail at the time of the robbery, and that the man "jeff" was dead. thus the whole plunkett story was exploded. iii some time before this the man who had ridden on the free pass, and given the detectives so much trouble, had been accidentally found by jack mullins, a brakeman on conductor danforth's train. he proved to be an advertising solicitor, employed by no other than mr. melville e. stone, who would have given a thousand dollars to know what his agent knew; for the advertising man had seen the conductor bring out the valise containing the all-important fragment of the draft. but he had not realized the value of the news in his possession, and mr. pinkerton took good care to keep him from that knowledge. one hint of the truth to the "daily news" people, and the whole story would have been blazoned forth in its columns, and the murderer would have taken warning. not until he had seen the man safely on a train out from chicago did mr. pinkerton breathe easily; and it was not until months later that mr. stone learned how near he came to getting a splendid "scoop" on the whole city and country. the identification of the pass-holder removed the last possibility that the valise had been taken into the train by any of conductor danforth's passengers. and yet the valise was there! how came it there? in the course of their examination two of the passengers had testified to having seen schwartz enter the toilet-room during the run. brakeman jack mullins stated that he had been in the same room twice that night, that the second time he had noticed the valise, but that it was not there when he went in first. other witnesses in the car were positive that the person who entered the room last before the time when mullins saw the valise was schwartz. thus the chain of proof was tightening, and mr. pinkerton sent for schwartz. after talking with the brakeman in a semi-confidential way for some time, the detective began to question him about watt, his fellow-trainman. schwartz said he was a good fellow, and, in general, spoke highly of him. mr. pinkerton seemed to hesitate a little, and then said: "can i trust you, schwartz?" "yes, sir." "well, the fact is, i am a little suspicious of watt. you see, his story about that hand overhead does not exactly hang together. i don't want to do him any wrong, but he must be looked after. now, my idea is to have you go about with him as much as you can, see if he meets any strangers or spends much money, and let me know whatever happens. will you do it?" schwartz readily consented, on the assurance that the railroad people would give him leave of absence. the next day he reported that watt had met a man who wore a slouch-hat, had unkempt red hair, and in general looked like a border ruffian. he had overheard the two talking together in a saloon on cottage grove avenue, where the stranger had discussed the murder of nichols in great detail, showing a remarkable familiarity with the whole affair. schwartz had a sort of jesse james theory (which he seemed anxious to have accepted) that the crime had been committed by a gang of western desperados and that this fellow was connected with them. mr. pinkerton listened with interest to all this, but was less edified than schwartz imagined, since two of his most trusted "shadows," who had been following schwartz, had given him reports of the latter's movements, making it plain that the red-haired desperado was a myth, and that no such meeting as schwartz described had taken place. nevertheless, professing to be well pleased with schwartz's efforts, mr. pinkerton sent him out to track the fabulous desperado. schwartz continued to render false reports. finally, without a word to arouse his suspicion, he was allowed to resume his work on the railroad. the "shadows" put upon schwartz after this reported a suspicious intimacy between him and watt, and a detective of great tact, frank jones, was detailed to get into their confidence, if possible. he was given a "run" as brakeman between des moines and davenport, and it was arranged that he should come in from the west and lay over at davenport on the same days when schwartz and watt laid over there, coming in from the east. jones played his part cleverly, and was soon on intimate terms with schwartz and watt, taking his meals at their boarding-house and sleeping in a room adjoining theirs. they finally came to like him so well that they suggested his trying to get a transfer to their "run," between davenport and chicago. this was successfully arranged, and then the three men were together constantly, jones even going to board at schwartz's house in chicago. about this time schwartz began to talk of giving up railroad work and going to live in kansas or the far west. it was arranged that jones should join him and mrs. schwartz on a western trip. meantime schwartz applied to the company for leave of absence, on the plea that he wished to arrange some family matters in philadelphia. mr. pinkerton, being informed by jones of schwartz's application, used his influence to have it granted. when the young man started east he did not travel alone. his every movement was watched and reported, nor was he left unguarded for a moment, day or night, during an absence of several weeks, in new york, philadelphia, and other eastern cities. to one unfamiliar with the resources and organization of a great detective system it is incomprehensible how continuous "shadowing" day after day and week after week, through thousands of miles of journeying, can be accomplished. the matter is made none the simpler when you know that there must be a change of "shadows" every day. however adroit the detective, his continued presence in a locality would soon arouse suspicion. the daily change of "shadows" is easy when the man under watch remains in one place; for then it is only necessary to send a new "shadow" from the central office early each morning to replace the one who "put the man to bed" the night before. but it is very different when the subject is constantly traveling about on boats or railways, and perhaps sleeping in a different town each night. without the network of agencies, including large and small bureaus, that the pinkertons have gradually established all over the united states, the "shadowing" of a man in rapid flight would be impossible. as it is, nothing is easier. schwartz, for instance, spent several days in buffalo, where his actions were reported hour by hour until he bought his ticket for philadelphia. as he took the train a fresh "shadow" took it too, securing a section in the same sleeping-car with him, and taking his meals at the same time schwartz took his, either in the dining-car or at stations. no sooner had the train left the station than the pinkerton representative in buffalo reported by cipher-despatch to the bureau in philadelphia, whither schwartz was going. the exact form of the despatch, which well illustrates a system in constant use in the pinkerton bureaus, was as follows: "r. j. linden, " chestnut street, "philadelphia, pa. "anxious shoes sucker brown marbles man other dropping eight arrives put grand fifty marbles articles along or derby coat ship very tan seer wearing these have and is ribbon ink dust central tuesday for dust to rice hat and paper vest yellow ink get must jewelry morning depot on. "d. robertson." in despatches of this sort important information regarding criminals is constantly flashing over the wires, with no danger of any "leak." thus, from one city to another, and through every part of the country, any criminal may be "shadowed" to-day as schwartz was "shadowed," one set of detectives relieving another every twenty-four hours, and the man's every word and action be carefully noted down and reported, without his having the faintest suspicion that he is under observation. the task of "shadowing" a person who is traversing city streets is intrusted to men especially skilled in the art (for art it is) of seeing without being seen. this is, indeed, one of the most difficult tasks a detective is called upon to perform, and the few who excel in it are given little else to do. where a criminal like schwartz, upon whose final capture much depends, is being followed, two, three, or even four "shadows" are employed simultaneously, one keeping in advance, one in the rear, and two on either side. the advantage of this is that one relieves the other by change of position, thus lessening the chance of discovery, while, of course, it is scarcely possible for several "shadows" to be thrown off the trail at once. an adroit criminal might outwit one "shadow," but he could scarcely outwit four. a "shadow," on coming into a new town with a subject, reveals himself to the "shadow" who is to relieve him by some prearranged signal, like a handkerchief held in the left hand. the result of the "shadowing" in schwartz's case was conclusive. no sooner was the brakeman out of chicago than he began spending money far in excess of his income. he bought fine furniture, expensive clothing, articles of jewelry, presents for his wife, and laid in an elaborate supply of rifles, shot-guns, revolvers, and all sorts of ammunition, including a quantity of cartridges. the "shadows" found that in almost every case he paid for his purchases with fifty-or one-hundred-dollar bills. as far as possible these bills were secured by the detectives from the persons to whom they had been paid, immediately after schwartz's departure. it will be remembered that the money taken in the robbery consisted of fifty-and one-hundred-dollar bills. iv in addition to this, it was found, by the investigations of detectives at philadelphia, that schwartz was the son of a wealthy retired butcher there, a most respectable man, and that he had a wife and child in philadelphia, whom he had entirely deserted. this gave an opportunity to take him into custody and still conceal from him that he was suspected of committing a higher crime. the philadelphia wife and child were taken on to chicago, and schwartz was placed under arrest, charged with bigamy. mr. pinkerton went to the jail at once, and, wishing to keep schwartz's confidence as far as possible, assured him that this arrest was not his work at all, but that of detectives smith and murray, who were, as schwartz knew, working in the interests of the railroad people and of the chicago "daily news." mr. pinkerton told schwartz that he still believed, as he had done all along, that watt was the guilty man, and promised to do whatever he could to befriend schwartz. the latter did not appear to be very much alarmed, and said that a philadelphia lawyer was coming on to defend him. the lawyer did come a few days later, when a bond for two thousand dollars was furnished for schwartz's reappearance, and he was set at liberty. matters had gone so far, however, that it was not considered safe to leave schwartz out of jail, and he was immediately rearrested on the charge of murder. whether because of long preparation for this ordeal or because he was a man of strong character, schwartz received this blow without the slightest show of emotion, and went back into the jail as coolly as he had come out. he merely requested that he might have an interview with his wife as soon as possible. mr. pinkerton had evidence enough against schwartz to furnish a strong presumption of guilt; but it was all circumstantial, and, besides, it did not involve newton watt, whose complicity was more than suspected. from the first mr. pinkerton had been carefully conciliatory of the later mrs. schwartz. at just the right moment, and by adroit management, he got her under his direction, and by taking a train with her to morris, and then on the next morning taking another train back to chicago, he succeeded in preventing her from getting the advice of her husband's lawyer, who was meantime making the same double journey on pursuing trains with the design of cautioning her against speaking to mr. pinkerton. she had come to regard mr. pinkerton more as a protector than as an enemy, and he, during the hours they were together, used every device to draw from her some damaging admission. he told her that the evidence against her husband, although serious in its character, was not, in his opinion, sufficient to establish his guilt. he told her of the bills found in schwartz's possession, of the torn piece of the draft taken from the valise, of the marks on his hands and the lies he had told. all this, he said, proved that schwartz had some connection with the robbery, but not that he had committed the murder, or done more than assist watt, whom mr. pinkerton professed to regard as the chief criminal. the only hope of saving her husband now, he impressed upon her, was for her to make a plain statement of the truth, and trust that he would use this in her husband's interest. after listening to all that he said, and trying in many ways to evade the main question, mrs. schwartz at last admitted to mr. pinkerton that her husband had found a package containing five thousand dollars of the stolen money under one of the seats on conductor danforth's train, on the night of his return to chicago. he had kept this money and used it for his own purposes, but had been guilty of no other offense in the matter. mrs. schwartz stuck resolutely to this statement, and would admit nothing further. believing that he had drawn from her as much as he could, mr. pinkerton now accompanied mrs. schwartz to the jail, where she was to see her husband. the first words she said, on entering the room where he was, were: "harry, i have told mr. pinkerton the whole truth. i thought that was the best way, for he is your friend. i told him about your finding the five thousand dollars under the seat of the car, and that that was all you had to do with the business." for the first time schwartz's emotions nearly betrayed him. however, he braced himself, and only admitted in a general way that there was some truth in what his wife had said. he refused positively to go into details, seemed very nervous, and almost immediately asked to be left alone with his wife. mr. pinkerton had been expecting this, and was prepared for it. he realized the shock that would be caused in schwartz's mind by his wife's unexpected confession, and counted on this to lead to further admissions. it was, therefore, of the highest importance that credible witnesses should overhear all that transpired in the interview between schwartz and his wife. with this end in view, the room where the interview was to take place had been arranged so that a number of witnesses could see and hear without their presence being suspected; and the sheriff of the county, a leading merchant, and a leading banker of the town, were waiting there in readiness. as soon as the door had closed and the husband and wife were left alone, schwartz exclaimed: "you fool, you have put a rope around watt's and my neck!" "why, harry, i had to tell him something, he knew so much. you can trust him." "you ought to know better than to trust anybody." the man walked back and forth, a prey to the most violent emotions, his wife trying vainly to quiet him. at each affectionate touch he would brush her off roughly, with a curse, and go on pacing back and forth fiercely. suddenly he burst out: "what did you do with that coat--the one you cut the mask out of?" "oh, that's all right; it's in the woodshed, under the whole woodpile." they continued to talk for over an hour, referring to the murder and robbery repeatedly, and furnishing evidence enough to establish beyond any question the guilt of both schwartz and watt. meantime watt had been arrested in chicago, also charged with murder, and in several examinations had shown signs of breaking down and confessing, but in each instance had recovered himself and said nothing. the evidence of schwartz himself, however, in the interview at the jail, taken with the mass of other evidence that had accumulated, was sufficient to secure the conviction of both men, who were condemned at the trial to life-imprisonment in the joliet penitentiary. they would undoubtedly have been hanged but for the conscientious scruples of one juryman, who did not believe in capital punishment. watt has since died, but schwartz, at last accounts, was still in prison. about a year after the trial schwartz's chicago wife died of consumption. on her death-bed she made a full confession. she said that her husband's mind had been inflamed by the constant reading of sensational literature of the dime-novel order; and that under this evil influence he had planned the robbery, believing that it would be easy to intimidate a weak little man like nichols, and escape with the money without harming him. nichols, however, had fought like a tiger up and down the car, and had finally forced them to kill him. in the fight he had torn off the mask that mrs. schwartz had made out of one of her husband's old coats. it was watt who fired the pistol, while schwartz used the poker. schwartz had given watt five thousand dollars of the stolen money, and had kept the rest himself. he had carried the money away in an old satchel bought for the purpose. a most unusual place of concealment had been chosen, and one where the money had escaped discovery, although on several occasions, in searching the house, the detectives had literally held it in their hands. schwartz had taken a quantity of the cartridges he bought for his shot-gun, and emptying them, had put in each shell one of the fifty- or one-hundred-dollar bills, upon which he had then loaded in the powder and the shot in the usual way, so that the shells presented the ordinary appearance as they lay in the drawer. the detectives had even picked out some of the shot and powder in two or three of the shells; but, finding them so like other cartridges, had never thought of probing clear to the bottom of the shell for a crumpled-up bill. thus about thirteen thousand dollars lay for weeks in these ordinary-looking cartridges, and were finally removed in the following way: while schwartz was in jail, a well-known lawyer of philadelphia came to mrs. schwartz, one day, with an order from her husband to deliver the money over to him. she understood this was to defray the expenses of the trial and to pay the other lawyers. superintendent robertson remembers well the dying woman's emotion as she made this solemn declaration, one calculated to compromise seriously a man of some standing and belonging to an honored profession. her body was wasted with disease, and she knew that her end was near. there was a flush on her face, and her eyes were bright with hatred as she declared that not one dollar of that money was ever returned to her, or ever used in paying the costs of her husband's trial. nor was one dollar of it ever returned to the railroad company, or to the bank officials, who were the real owners. the destruction of the renos the first, and probably the most daring, band of train robbers that ever operated in the united states was the notorious reno gang, an association of desperate outlaws who, in the years immediately following the war, committed crimes without number in missouri and indiana, and for some years terrorized several counties in the region about seymour in the last-named state. the leaders of this band were four brothers, john reno, frank reno, "sim" reno, and william reno, who rivaled one another in a spirit of lawlessness that must have been born in their blood through the union of a hardy swiss emigrant with a woman sprung from the pennsylvania dutch. of the six children from this marriage only one escaped the restless, law-despising taint that made the others desperate characters, this single white sheep being "clint" reno, familiarly known as "honest" reno, and much despised by the rest of the family for his peaceful ways. even laura reno, the one daughter, famed throughout the west for her beauty, loved danger and adventure, was an expert horsewoman, an unerring shot, and as quick with her gun as any man. laura fairly worshiped her desperado brothers, whom she aided in more than one of their criminal undertakings, shielding them from justice when hard pressed, and swearing to avenge them when retribution overtook them after their day of triumph. during the war the renos had become notorious as bounty-jumpers; and at its close, with a fine scorn for the ways of commonplace industry, these fierce-hearted, dashing young fellows, all well-built, handsome boys, cast about for further means of excitement and opportunities to make an easy living. beginning their operations in a small way with house-breaking and store robberies, they soon proved themselves so reckless in their daring, so fertile in expedients, so successful in their coups, that they quickly extended their field until, in the early part of , they had placed a wide region under contribution, setting all forms of law at defiance. john reno and frank reno, the elder brothers, were at this time the dominating spirits of the band, and they soon associated with them several of the most skilful and notorious counterfeiters and safe-burglars in the country, among these being peter mccartney, james and robert rittenhouse, george mckay, john dean, _alias_ "california nelse," and william hopkins. the band soon came to be named with the greatest dread and awe, good citizens fearing to speak a word of censure, lest swift punishment be visited upon them. the reno influence made itself felt even in local politics, corrupt officials being elected at the instigation of the outlaws, so that their conviction became practically impossible. the renos, toward the end of , began a series of train robberies which were carried out with such perfection of organization, such amazing coolness, and such uniform success as to attract national attention. the first of these robberies took place on the ohio and mississippi railroad, being accomplished by only four men, frank and john reno, assisted by william sparks and charles gerroll. other train robberies followed in quick succession, the same methods being used in each, with the same immunity from capture, so that people in this region would say to one another, quite as a matter of course, "the reno boys got away with another train yesterday." but while indulging in its own acts of outlawry, the reno band strenuously objected to any rivalry or competition on the part of other highwaymen. a train robbery was perpetrated on the jeffersonville railroad early in . the renos had no connection with this robbery. it was accomplished by two young men named michael collins and walker hammond, the two men escaping with six thousand dollars, taken from a messenger of the adams express company. but their horses had carried them only a short distance from the looted train when they found themselves surrounded by the formidable renos, who had quietly watched the robbery from a place of concealment, and now unceremoniously relieved the robbers of their plunder. not content with this, and as if to intimidate others from like trespasses on their preserves, the renos used their influence to have their rivals arrested for the crime by which they had profited so little; and both were subsequently tried, convicted, and sentenced to long terms in the indiana penitentiary. the renos, meantime, although they were known to have secured and kept the six thousand dollars, were allowed to go unmolested, and continued their depredations. up to this time the reno gang had confined their operations, for the most part, to indiana; but now they began to make themselves felt in missouri, where a number of daring crimes were committed, notably the robbing of the county treasurer's safe at gallatin, in daviess county. in this last act john reno was known to have been personally concerned. the case was placed in the hands of allan pinkerton. taking up the investigation with his accustomed energy, mr. pinkerton traced john reno back to seymour, indiana, where the gang was so strongly intrenched in the midst of corrupt officials and an intimidated populace that any plan of open arrest was out of the question. recognizing this, allan pinkerton had recourse to the cunning of his craft. he began by stationing in seymour a trustworthy assistant, who was instructed, on a given day and at a given hour, to decoy john reno to the railroad-station on any pretense that might suggest itself. then he arranged to have half a dozen missourians, the biggest and most powerful fellows he could find, led by the sheriff of daviess county, board an express-train on the ohio and mississippi railroad at cincinnati, and ride through to seymour, arriving there at the time agreed upon with his assistant. along with them was to be a constable bearing all the papers necessary to execute a requisition. when the train reached seymour there was the usual crowd lounging about the station, and in it were john reno and mr. pinkerton's lieutenant, who had entirely succeeded in his task. while reno was staring at the passengers as they left the train, he was suddenly surrounded and seized by a dozen strong arms; and before his friends could rally to his aid, or realize what was happening, he was clapped in irons, carried aboard the train, and soon was rolling away to missouri, under arrest. reno's friends stoutly contested the case in the missouri courts, arguing that the prisoner had been kidnapped and that the law had therefore been violated by his captors. the courts decided against them on this point, however; and john reno, with several less important members of the gang, was tried and convicted. he was sentenced to twenty-five years of hard labor in the missouri penitentiary. this was the first break in the ranks of the band, the first instance in which they had suffered for their crimes. but the bold spirit of the organization was still unbroken. three brothers still remained to replace the one who was gone; and so far from learning caution, the band launched forthwith into still more daring and frequent offenses. trains were "held up" right and left; robberies were committed; and early in the gang made a famous raid across the country through indiana and illinois, robbing safes in county treasurers' offices in a number of places. in several instances some of the members were arrested; but they always managed to have the prosecution quashed, or in some way to escape conviction. in the spring of their operations became so outrageous, and the situation so serious, that allan pinkerton was again called upon to do something in the cause of public safety. in march of this year the safe of the county treasurer at magnolia, harrison county, iowa, was robbed of about fourteen thousand dollars; and allan pinkerton detailed his son, william a. pinkerton, and two assistants, to run down the burglars. arrived at the scene of the robbery, the detectives found that the thieves had made their escape on a hand-car and had gone in the direction of council bluffs. at this time in council bluffs there was a low saloon, kept by a man who had formerly lived in seymour and who was known as a bad character. it was decided to keep a sharp watch on this resort, mr. pinkerton reasoning that since seymour was the friendly refuge of the renos, it was altogether likely that the outlaws would have a friend, and perhaps an abettor, in the saloon-keeper who had once lived there. after two days' watching, the detectives observed a large man of dark complexion enter the saloon and engage in close conversation with the proprietor, having with him, evidently, some mysterious business. investigation disclosed this man to be michael rogers, a prominent and wealthy citizen of council bluffs, and the owner of an extensive property in the adjoining counties. puzzled, but still persuaded that he had found a clue, mr. pinkerton put a "shadow" on rogers, and hurried back to magnolia, where he learned that on the day preceding the robbery rogers had been seen in magnolia, where he had paid his taxes, and in doing so had loitered for some time in the treasurer's office. this also looked suspicious. but, on the other hand, search as he might, the detective could find nothing against rogers's character, every one testifying to his entire respectability. still unconvinced, mr. pinkerton returned to council bluffs, where he was informed by the man who had been "shadowing" rogers that several strange men had been seen to enter rogers's house and had not been seen to come out again. the watch was continued more closely than ever, and after four days of patient waiting, rogers, accompanied by three strangers, was seen to leave the house cautiously and take a west-bound train on the pacific railroad. one of these men, a brawny, athletic fellow nearly six feet tall, and about twenty-eight years of age, mr. pinkerton shrewdly suspected was frank reno, although he could not be certain, never having seen frank reno. feeling sure that if his suspicions were correct the men would ultimately return to rogers's house, mr. pinkerton did not follow them on the train, but contented himself with keeping the strictest watch for their return. the very next morning the same four men were discovered coming back to the house from the direction of the railroad. but at that hour no train was due, which was a little curious; and another curious point was that they were all covered with mud and bore marks of having been engaged in some severe, rough labor. the hour was early; the dwellers in council bluffs were not yet astir. a little later the city was thrown into a fever of excitement by the news that the safe of the county treasurer at glenwood, in mills county, about thirty miles distant, had been robbed the previous night. no trace had yet been got of the thieves, but everything indicated that they were the same men who had robbed the safe at magnolia. one remarkable point of similarity in the two cases was the means employed by the robbers in escaping, a hand-car having been used also by the glenwood thieves; and they, too, were believed to have fled in the direction of council bluffs. investigation soon made this absolutely certain, for the missing hand-car was found lying beside the railroad, a short distance from the council bluffs station. putting these new disclosures beside his previous suspicions and discoveries, mr. pinkerton was further strengthened in his distrust of the man rogers; and although the local authorities, to whom he revealed his suspicions, laughed at him, declaring that rogers was one of the most respectable citizens of the state, he resolved to attempt an arrest. proceeding to rogers's house with all the force he could command, he placed a guard at front and rear, and then, with a few attendants, made his way inside. the first person he met was mr. rogers himself, who affected to be very indignant at the intrusion. "who have you in this house?" asked mr. pinkerton. "nobody but my family," answered mr. rogers. "we'll see about that," answered mr. pinkerton; and then, turning to his men, he ordered them to search the premises. they did so, and soon came upon the three strangers, who were taken so completely by surprise that they made no effort at resistance. they were about to sit down to breakfast, which was spread for them in the kitchen. a comparison with photographs and descriptions left no doubt that one of the three was frank reno. a second--a man of dark complexion, tall, and well built--proved to be albert perkins, a well-known member of the reno gang. the third was none other than the notorious miles ogle, the youngest member of the band, who afterward came to be known as the most expert counterfeiter in the united states. ogle at this writing is in the ohio penitentiary, serving his third term of imprisonment. at his last capture there were found in his possession some of the best counterfeit plates ever made. while they were securing the four men the detectives noticed that smoke was curling out of the kitchen stove, accompanied by a sudden blaze. mr. pinkerton pulled off a lid, and found on the coals several packages of bank-notes, already on fire. fortunately the notes had been so tightly wrapped together that only a few of them were destroyed before the packages were got out. those that remained were afterward identified as of the money that had been stolen from the glenwood safe. there was thus no question that these were the robbers so long sought for. a further search of the house brought to light two sets of burglars' tools, which served as cumulative evidence. the men were carried to glenwood by the next train. they were met by a great and excited crowd, and for a time were in danger of lynching. better counsel prevailed, however, and they were placed in the jail to await trial. with the men in secure, safe custody, there was no doubt of their ultimate conviction; and every one was breathing easier at the thought that at last the reno gang was robbed of its terrors. then suddenly--no one will ever know how it happened--the prisoners made their escape. great was the surprise and chagrin of the sheriff of mills county when, on the morning of april , , he entered the jail, only to find their cells empty. a big hole sawed through the wall told by what way they had made their exit. they left behind the mocking salutation, "april fool," scrawled in chalk over the floors and walls of the jail. a large reward was offered for the capture of the robbers, but nothing was heard of them until two months later, when an express-car on the ohio and mississippi railroad was boarded at marshfield, indiana, by a gang of masked men, and robbed of ninety-eight thousand dollars. the messenger made a brave resistance, but could not cope with the robbers, who lifted him bodily and hurled him out of the car, down a steep embankment, while the train was running at high speed. all the facts in the case pointed to the reno brothers as the authors of this outrage, for by frequent repetition their methods of robbery had become familiar. allan pinkerton, furthermore, obtained precise evidence that it was the work of the renos from secret agents whom he had stationed at seymour to watch the doings of the gang. two of these agents engaged apparently in business at seymour, one setting up as a saloon-keeper in a rough part of the town, another taking railroad employment, which kept him constantly near the station. a third made a wide acquaintance by passing for a gambler and general good fellow. so successful were they that allan pinkerton was soon in possession of facts proving not only that the marshfield robbery had been committed by the renos, but that another train robbery which followed was executed by john moore, charles gerroll, william sparks, and three others, all members of the reno organization. moore, gerroll, and sparks were arrested shortly after, and placed on a train to be taken from seymour to brownstown, the county-seat. but they never reached their destination. as the train stopped at a small station some miles from brownstown, a band of masked men, well armed, rushed on board, overpowered the officers, hurried the three outlaws away to a neighboring farm-yard, and there strung them up to a beech-tree, while an old german who owned the farm looked on approvingly. this was the first act of retributive justice done by the secret vigilance committee of southern indiana, an organization as extraordinary as the situation it was created to deal with. the entire population of that part of indiana seemed to have risen in self-defense to crush out lawlessness. a second act followed several days later, when three other men who had been concerned in the latest train robbery, having been captured by the county officials, were taken from their hands and condemned to the same fate as their companions. each one, as he was about to be swung off, was asked by the maskers if he had anything to say. the first two shook their heads sullenly, and died without speaking. the third, standing on a barrel with the rope round his neck, looked over the crowd with contemptuous bravado, and addressing them as a lot of "mossback hoosiers," said he was glad he was not of their class, and was proud to die as a good republican. the barrel was kicked away, the rope stiffened with his weight, and there ended the career of the sixth member of the band. hard times followed for the surviving renos. realizing that their power was broken, they fled in various directions. the three brothers, frank, william, and "sim," though still at large, were not left long to enjoy their liberty. a large price was placed on their heads, and betrayal came quickly. william and "sim" were arrested soon after, in indianapolis, and turned over to the local authorities, who, in order to avoid the vigilance committee, took the prisoners to new albany, in an adjoining county, where they were placed in jail. the vigilance committee, growing stronger and more determined every day, now scoured the whole country for other members of the gang or for persons believed to be in sympathy with it. they literally went on the "war-path" through this whole region of indiana, and it went ill with any poor wretch who incurred their suspicion. like the "whitecaps" of a later day, they sent warnings to all who came on their black-list, and administered by night, and sometimes by day, such promiscuous floggings and other forms of punishment that the tough and criminal element of the region was entirely cowed, and feared to raise a hand in defense of the renos, as it had previously done. up to the time the vigilance committee was formed not a member of the reno gang had been convicted in that locality, largely because the people were afraid to testify against them. they knew that if they should testify, their stock would be killed, their barns burned, and they themselves waylaid and beaten. this was the reason offered for the formation of the vigilance committee of southern indiana. whether a justification or not, the committee must certainly be credited with having rid the state of a monstrous evil. in the excitement of other events the pinkertons had not forgotten the men who had escaped from the glenwood jail. they finally traced miles ogle and albert perkins to indianapolis; and there ogle was captured, but perkins escaped. frank reno was discovered a little later at windsor, canada, where he was living with charles anderson, a professional burglar, safe-blower, and "short-card" gambler, who had fled to canada to escape prosecution. reno, operating with anderson, made a practice of registering as "frank going" if the enterprise in which he was engaged was prospering, and as "frank coming" if it was not prospering. he and anderson were now arrested on a charge of robbery and of assault with intent to kill, in the case of the express messenger hurled from his car at marshfield, indiana. under this form their offense became extraditable; and after a long trial before the stipendiary or government magistrate, gilbert mcmicken, at windsor, the men were ordered for extradition. aided by the ablest lawyers, they carried their case, however, to the highest court in canada. but the decision of the lower court was affirmed; and in october, , the men were surrendered into the hands of allan pinkerton, who was delegated by the united states government to receive them. it was due to the patience and persistence of mr. alfred gaither, the western manager of the adams express company, and his then assistant, mr. l.c. weir, now president of the company, and to the general policy of the company to permit no compromise with thieves, that, regardless of cost and time, the prosecution was continued until it issued thus successfully. michael rogers was also discovered to be in windsor at this time, and he was known to have had a hand in the marshfield robbery; but he escaped arrest, and remained securely in windsor for a year or two. later, though, he reached the penitentiary, being brought to grief by a burglary done at tolono, illinois. on coming out, he joined the notorious mccartney gang of counterfeiters, and had many narrow escapes. the last known of him, grown an old man, he was living quietly on a farm in texas. made at last secure of reno and anderson, allan pinkerton chartered a tug to carry them to cleveland, and thus avoid the friends who, as he had reason to know, were waiting across the river in detroit to effect a rescue. when the tug had gone about twenty miles, it was run down by a large steamer and sunk, the passengers, including the prisoners, being saved from drowning with the greatest difficulty. the prisoners were carried on to cleveland by another boat, and from there were hurried on by rail to new albany, where they were placed in jail along with "sim" and william reno. the final passage in the history of the reno gang occurred about a month later, in the latter part of november, , when one day a passenger-car was dropped off at seymour, indiana, some distance from the station. there was nothing remarkable in this, nor did the car attract any attention. that night a train passing through seymour took up the car and drew it away. a few people about the station when the car was taken up remembered afterward that this car was filled with strange-looking men, who wore scotch caps and black cloth masks, and seemed to be under the command of a tall, dark-haired man addressed by every one as "no. ." although there were at least fifty of these men, it is a remarkable fact, developed in a subsequent investigation, that the conductor of the train could remember nothing about the incident, declaring that he did not enter the car and knew nothing of its being attached to his train. it is certain the company of masked men did everything in their power to avoid attention, scarcely speaking to one another during the ride and making all their movements as noiseless as possible. the train reached new albany at two o'clock in the morning. the car was detached, and was presently emptied of its fifty men as silently and mysteriously as it had been filled. a few hurried commands were given by "no. ," and then the company marched in quiet order to the jail. arrived there, they summoned the jailer to open the doors, but were met with a firm refusal and the shining barrel of a revolver. there followed an exchange of shots, in which the sheriff received a ball in the arm, and two local police officers were captured. without loss of time the jail doors were battered down; the company entered, and taking the three reno brothers and their friend, charles anderson, from their cells, placed nooses that they had ready around the men's necks, and hung them to the rafters in the corridors of the jail. then, having locked the doors of the jail, leaving the prisoners secure, they made their way silently back to the new albany station, reaching there in time to catch the train that drew out at : a. m. the same special car in which they had come was coupled to this train, and dropped off at the switch when seymour was reached. this was just before daybreak on a dreary november morning. who these fifty men were was never discovered, although, because of the fact that reno and anderson had been extradited from great britain, the general government made an investigation. it was rumored, however, and generally understood, that the company included some of the most prominent people in seymour, among others a number of railroad and express employees. it was found that at the time of the lynching all the telegraph wires leading from new albany had been cut, so that it was noon of the following day before the country learned of it. the newspapers described the leader of the party as a man of unusual stature, who wore a handsome diamond ring on the little finger of his right hand. later some significance was attached to the fact that a well-known railroad official who answered this description as to stature and who had always worn a handsome diamond ring previous to the lynching, ceased to wear his ring for several years afterward. after the execution of her brothers, it was rumored that laura reno had taken an oath to devote the rest of her life to avenging them; and for a moment there were threats and mutterings of reprisals from allies or surviving members of the gang. but these latter were not heard again after a certain morning, the third day after the execution, when the people of seymour, on leaving their homes, were startled to see on the walls and in other public places large posters proclaiming that if any property was injured or destroyed, or any persons molested or assaulted, or if there was any further talk in regard to recent happenings, some twenty-five persons, therein frankly named, who were known to be sympathizers with the renos, or to be more or less intimately connected with them, had better beware. and as for the sister's deadly oath, she did no act in proof of the violent intentions imputed to her, but instead subsequently became the wife of a respectable man and settled down to a useful life, though a much more commonplace one than she had previously known. john reno, after serving fifteen years in the missouri penitentiary, was released, and is said to be at present living on the old farm. "clint" reno, or "honest" reno, always stayed at the old homestead, and has never been willing to speak of his brothers or of what happened to them. seymour, purged of the evil influences that corrupted it, has grown into a thriving and beautiful little city, and is to-day one of the model towns of indiana. the american exchange bank robbery late in the afternoon of friday, may , , two messengers left the american exchange national bank, at the northeast corner of cedar street and broadway, new york city, and started down the busy thoroughfare for the office of the adams express company, a few blocks distant. they carried between them, each holding one of the handles, a valise made of canvas and leather, in which had just been placed, in the presence of the paying-teller, a package containing forty-one thousand dollars in greenbacks, to be transmitted to the united states treasury in washington for redemption. although the messengers--edward s. crawford and old "dominie" earle--were among the bank's most trusted employees, their honesty being considered above suspicion, they were nevertheless followed at a short distance by bank detective mcdougal, an old-time police detective, whose snow-white beard and ancient style of dress have long made him a personage of note on broadway. detective mcdougal followed the messengers, not because he had any fear that they were planning a robbery, but because it is an imperative rule of all great banking institutions that the transfer of large sums of money, even for very short distances, shall be watched over with the most scrupulous care. each messenger is supposed to act as a check on his fellow, while the detective walking in the rear is a check on both. in such cases all three men are armed, and would use their weapons without hesitation should an attack be made upon them. the messengers walked on through the hurrying crowd, keeping on the east sidewalk as far as wall street, where they turned across, and continued their way on the west sidewalk as far as the adams express company's building, which stands at no. broadway. having seen them safely inside the building, the detective turned back to the bank, where his services were required in other matters. passing down the large room strewn with boxes and packages ready for shipment, the two messengers turned to the right, and ascended the winding stairs that in those days led to the money department, on the second floor. no one paid much attention to them, as at this busy hour bank messengers were arriving and departing every few minutes. still, some of the clerks remembered afterward, or thought they did, that the old man, earle, ascended the stairs more slowly than his more active companion, who went ahead, carrying the valise alone. both messengers, however, were present at the receiving-window of the money department when the package was taken from the valise and handed to the clerk, who gave a receipt for it in the usual form: "received from the american exchange bank one package marked as containing forty-one thousand dollars, for transfer to washington"; or, at least, so far as has ever been proved, both messengers were present when the package was handed in. the two messengers, having performed their duty, went away, earle hurrying to the ferry to catch a train out into new jersey, where he lived, and crawford returning to the bank with the empty valise. the valuable package had meantime been ranged behind the heavily wired grating along with dozens of others, some of them containing much larger sums. the clerks in the money department of the adams express company become so accustomed to handling gold, silver, and bank-notes, fortunes done up in bags, boxes, or bundles, that they think little more of this precious merchandise than they might of so much coal or bricks. a quick glance, a touch of the hand, satisfies them that the seals, the wrappings, the labels, the general appearance, of the packages are correct; and having entered them duly on the way-bills and turned them over to the express messenger who is to forward them to their destination, they think no more about them. in this instance the forty-one-thousand-dollar package, after a brief delay, was locked in one of the small portable safes, a score of which are always lying about in readiness, and was lowered to the basement, where it was loaded on one of the company's wagons. the wagon was then driven to jersey city, guarded by the messenger in charge, his assistant, and the driver, all three men being armed, and was safely placed aboard the night express for washington. it is the company's rule that the messenger who starts with a through safe travels with it to its destination, though he has to make a journey of a thousand miles. sometimes the destination of money under transfer is so remote that the service of several express companies is required; and in that case the messenger of the adams company accompanies the money only to the point where it is delivered to the messenger of the next company, and so on. the next morning, when the package from the american exchange bank was delivered in washington, the experienced treasury clerk who received it perceived at once, from the condition of the package, that something was wrong. employees of the treasury department seem to gain a new sense, and to be able to distinguish bank-notes from ordinary paper merely by the "feel," even when done up in bundles. looking at the label mark of forty-one thousand dollars, the clerk shook his head, and called the united states treasurer, james w. hyatt, who also saw something suspicious in the package. mr. blanchard, the washington agent of the adams express company, was summoned, and in his presence the package was opened. it was found to contain nothing more valuable than slips of brown straw paper, the coarse variety used by butchers in wrapping up meat, neatly cut to the size of bank-notes. the forty-one thousand dollars were missing. it was evident that at some point between the bank and the treasury a bogus package had been substituted for the genuine one. the question was, where and by whom had the substitution been made? the robbery was discovered at the treasury in washington on saturday morning. the news was telegraphed to new york immediately, and on saturday afternoon anxious councils were held by the officials of the american exchange bank and the adams express company. inspector byrnes was notified; the pinkerton agency was notified; and urgent despatches were sent to mr. john hoey, president of the express company, and to robert pinkerton, who were both out of town, that their presence was required immediately in new york. meanwhile every one who had had any connection with the stolen package--the paying-teller of the bank, other bank clerks, the messengers, detective mcdougal, the receiving-clerks of the adams express company, and the express messenger--was closely examined. where and how the forty-one thousand dollars had been stolen was important to learn not only in itself, but also to fix responsibility for the sum lost as between the bank and the express company. three theories were at once suggested: the bogus package might have been substituted for the genuine one either at the bank, between the bank and the express office, or between the express office and the treasury. the first assumption threw suspicion on some of the bank employees, the second upon the two bank messengers, the third upon some one in the service of the express company. both the bank and the express company stoutly maintained the integrity of its own employees. an examination of the bogus package disclosed some points of significance. ordinarily, when bank-notes are done up for shipment by an experienced clerk, the bills are pressed together as tightly as possible in small bundles, which are secured with elastic bands, and then wrapped snugly in strong paper, until the whole makes a package almost as hard as a board. around this package the clerk knots strong twine, melts a drop of sealing-wax over each knot, and stamps it with the bank's seal. the finished package thus presents a neat and trim appearance. but in the present instance the package received at the treasury was loosely and slovenly wrapped, and the seals seemed to have been put on either in great haste or by an inexperienced hand. moreover, the label must have been cut from the stolen package and pasted on the other, for the brown paper of a previous wrapping showed plainly in a margin running around the label. the address on the package read: "$ , . "united states treasurer, "washington, "d. c." all this was printed, except the figures " , ," even the dollar-sign. the figures were in the writing of mr. watson, the paying-teller of the bank, whose business it was to oversee the sending of the money. his initials were also marked on the label, with the date of the sending; so that on examining the label mr. watson himself was positive that it was genuine. all this made it tolerably clear that the robbery had not been committed at the bank before the package was intrusted to the two messengers; for no bank clerk would have made up so clumsy a package, and the paying-teller himself, had he been a party to the crime, would not have cut the label written by himself from the genuine package and pasted it on the bogus one; he would simply have written out another label, thus lessening the chances of detection. furthermore, it was shown by testimony that during the short time between the sealing up of the package in the paying-teller's department and its delivery to dominie earle, who took it first, it was constantly under the observation of half a dozen bank employees; so that the work of cutting off the label and pasting it on the bogus package could scarcely have been accomplished then without detection. earle and crawford, the bank messengers, were submitted to repeated examinations; but their statements threw no light upon the mystery. both stuck persistently to the same story, which was that neither had loosed his hold on the handle of the valise from the moment they left the bank until they had delivered the package through the window of the express company's money department. accepting these statements as true, it was impossible that the package had been tampered with in this part of its journey; while the assumption that they were not true implied apparently a collusion between the two messengers, which was highly improbable, since dominie earle had been a servant of the bank for thirty-five years, and had never in that long term failed in his duty or done anything to arouse distrust. before entering the bank's employ he had been a preacher, and his whole life seemed to have been one of simplicity and honest dealing. as for crawford, who was, indeed, a new man, it was plain that if the dominie told the truth, and had really kept his hold on the valise-handle all the way to the express company's window, his companion, honest or dishonest, would have had no opportunity to cut off the label, paste it on the bogus package, and make the substitution. finally came the theory that the money package had been stolen while in the care of the express company. in considering this possibility it became necessary to know exactly what had happened to the package from the moment it was taken through the window of the money department up to the time of its delivery at the treasury. the package was first receipted for by the head of the money department, mr. j. c. young. having handed the receipt to the bank messengers, he passed the package to his assistant, mr. littlefield, who in turn passed it on to another clerk, mr. moody, who way-billed it in due form for washington, and then placed it in the iron safe which was to carry it on its journey. two or three hours may have elapsed between the receipt of the package and the shipment of the safe, but during this time the package was constantly in view of five or six clerks in the money department, and, unless they were all in collusion, it could scarcely have been stolen by any one there. as for the express messenger who accompanied the safe on the wagon to the train, and then on the train to washington, and then on another wagon to the treasury building, his innocence seemed clearly established, since the safe had been locked and sealed, according to custom, before its delivery to him, and showed no signs of having been tampered with when opened in washington the following morning by another representative of the express company. the messenger who accompanies a through safe to its destination, indeed, has small chance of getting inside, not only because of the protecting seal, but also because he is never allowed to have the key to the safe or to know its combination. recently, as a still further safeguard, the adams express company has introduced into its cars an equipment of large burglar-proof and fire-proof safes, especially as a guard against train robbers, who found it comparatively easy to break open the small safes once in use. in the present instance, of course, there was no question of train robbers. one important fact stood out plain and uncontrovertible: that a responsible clerk in the money department of the adams express company had receipted for a package supposed to contain forty-one thousand dollars intrusted to the company by the bank. this threw the responsibility on the company, at least until it could be shown that the package as delivered contained brown paper, and not bank-notes. in accordance with their usual policy of promptness and liberality, the adams people paid over to the american exchange bank the sum of forty-one thousand dollars, and said no more about it. but their silence did not mean inactivity. their instructions to their detectives in this case, as in all similar cases, were to spare neither time nor expense, but to continue the investigation until the thieves had been detected and brought to punishment, or until the last possibility of clearing up the mystery had certainly expired. hastening to new york in response to the telegram sent him, robert pinkerton examined the evidence already collected by his representative, and then himself questioned all persons in any way concerned in the handling of the money. mr. pinkerton, after his investigation, was not so sure as some persons were that the package had been stolen by employees of the express company. he inclined rather to the opinion that, in the rush of business in the express office, the false package, badly made up though it was, might have been passed by one of the clerks. this conclusion turned his suspicions first toward the two bank messengers. of these he was not long in deciding dominie earle to be, in all probability, innocent. while he had known of instances where old men, after years of unimpeachable life, had suddenly turned to crime, he knew such cases to be infrequent, and he decided that earle's was not one of them. of the innocence of the other messenger, crawford, he was not so sure. he began a careful study of his record. edward sturgis crawford at this time was about twenty-seven years old, a man of medium height, a decided blond, with large blue eyes, and of a rather effeminate type. he went scrupulously dressed, had white hands with carefully manicured nails, parted his hair in the middle, and altogether was somewhat of a dandy. he had entered the bank on the recommendation of a wealthy new-yorker, a young man about town, who, strange to say, had made crawford's acquaintance, and indeed struck up quite a friendship with him, while the latter was serving in the humble capacity of conductor on a broadway car. this was about a year before the time of the robbery. thus far crawford had attended to his work satisfactorily, doing nothing to arouse suspicion, unless it was indulging a tendency to extravagance in dress. his salary was but forty-two dollars a month, and yet he permitted himself such luxuries as silk underclothes, fine patent-leather shoes, and other apparel to correspond. pushing back further into crawford's record, mr. pinkerton learned that he had grown up in the town of hancock, new york, where he had been accused of stealing sixty dollars from his employer and afterward of perpetrating a fraud upon an insurance company. putting all these facts together, mr. pinkerton decided that, in spite of a perfectly self-possessed manner and the good opinion of his employers, crawford would stand further watching. his general conduct subsequent to the robbery was, however, such as to convince every one, except the dogged detective, that he was innocent of this crime. in vain did "shadows" follow him night and day, week after week; they discovered nothing. he retained his place in the bank, doing the humble duties of messenger with the same regularity as before, and living apparently in perfect content with the small salary he was drawing. his expenses were lightened, it is true, by an arrangement voluntarily offered by his friend, the young man about town, who invited him to live in his own home on thirty-eighth street, whereby not only was he saved the ordinary outlay for lodgings, but many comforts and luxuries were afforded him that would otherwise have been beyond his reach. thus three months went by with no result; then four, five, six months; and, finally, all but a year. then, suddenly, in april, , crawford took his departure for central america, giving out to his friends that he was going there to assume the management of a banana plantation of sixty thousand acres, owned by his wealthy friend and benefactor. before crawford sailed, however, the "shadows" had informed mr. pinkerton of crawford's intention, and asked instructions. should they arrest the man before he took flight, or should they let him go? mr. pinkerton realized that he was dealing with a man who, if guilty, was a criminal of unusual cleverness and cunning. his arrest would probably accomplish nothing, and might spoil everything. there was little likelihood that the stolen money would be found on crawford's person; he would probably arrange some safer way for its transmission. perhaps it had gone ahead of him to central america weeks before. "we'll let him go," said mr. pinkerton, with a grim smile; "only we'll have some one go with him." the pinkerton representative employed to shadow crawford on the voyage sent word, by the first mail after their arrival in central america, that the young man had rarely left his state-room, and that whenever forced to do so had employed a colored servant to stand on guard so that no one could go inside. nothing more occurred, however, to justify the suspicion against crawford until the early part of , when the persistent efforts of the detectives were rewarded by an important discovery. it was then that robert pinkerton learned that crawford had told a deliberate lie when examined before the bank officials in regard to his family relations in new york. he had stated that his only relative in new york was a brother, marvin crawford, who was then driving a streetcar on the bleecker street line. now it came to the knowledge of mr. pinkerton that crawford had in the city three married aunts and several cousins. the reason for crawford's having concealed this fact was presently brought to light through the testimony of one of the aunts, who, having been induced to speak, not without difficulty, stated that on sunday, may , , two days after the robbery, her nephew had called at her house, and given her a package which he said contained gloves, and which he wished her to keep for him. it was about this time that the papers contained the first news of the robbery, and, her suspicions having been aroused, she picked a hole in the paper covering of the package large enough to let her see that there was money inside. somewhat disturbed, she took the package to her husband, who opened it and found that it contained two thousand dollars in bank-notes. realizing the importance of this discovery, the husband told his wife that when crawford came back to claim the package she should refer him to him, which she did. some days later, on learning from his aunt that she had spoken to her husband about the package, crawford became greatly excited, and told her she had made a dreadful mistake. a stormy scene followed with his uncle, in which the latter positively refused to render him the money until he was satisfied that crawford was its rightful possessor. a few days later crawford's young friend, the man about town, called on the uncle, and stated that the money in the package belonged to him and must be surrendered. the uncle was still obdurate; and when crawford and his friend became violent in manner, he remarked meaningly that if they made any more trouble he would deliver the package of money to the adams express company and let the company decide to whom it belonged. this brought the angry claimants to their senses, and crawford's friend left the house and never returned. finally crawford's uncle compromised the contention by giving his nephew five hundred dollars out of the two thousand, and retaining the balance himself, in payment, one must suppose, for his silence. at any rate, he kept fifteen hundred dollars, and also a receipt in crawford's handwriting for the five hundred dollars paid to him. other members of the family recalled the fact that a few days after the robbery crawford had left in his aunt's store-room a valise, which he had subsequently called for and taken away. none of them had seen the contents of the valise, but they remembered that crawford on the second visit had remained alone in the store-room for quite a time, perhaps twenty minutes, and after his departure they found there a rubber band like those used at the bank. the detectives also discovered that on the th of may, , eleven days after the robbery, crawford had rented a safety-deposit box at a bank in the fifth avenue hotel building, under the name of eugene holt. on the th of may he had exchanged this box for a larger one. during the following months he made several visits to the box, but for what purpose, was not known. on presenting this accumulated evidence to the adams express company, along with his own deductions, robert pinkerton was not long in convincing his employers that the situation required in central america the presence of some more adroit detective than had yet been sent there. the difficulty of the case was heightened by the fact that crawford had established himself in british honduras, and that the extradition treaty between the united states and england did not then, as it does now, provide for the surrender of criminals guilty of such offenses as that which crawford was believed to have committed. crawford could be arrested, therefore, only by being gotten into another country by some clever manoeuver. the man best capable of carrying out such a manoeuver was robert pinkerton himself; and, accordingly, the express company, despite the very considerable expense involved, and fully aware that the result must be uncertain, authorized mr. pinkerton to go personally in pursuit of crawford. mr. pinkerton arrived at balize, the capital of british honduras, on february , , nearly two years after the date of the robbery. there he learned that crawford's plantation was about ninety miles down the coast, a little back of punta gorda. punta gorda lies near the line separating british honduras from guatemala, and is not more than a hundred miles from spanish honduras, or honduras proper, directly across the gulf of honduras. difficulties confronted mr. pinkerton from the very start. people were dying about him every day of yellow fever, and when he started for punta gorda on a little steamer, the engineer came aboard looking as yellow as saffron, and immediately began to vomit, so that he had to be taken ashore. then the engine broke down several times on the voyage, and the heat was insufferable. as the boat steamed slowly into punta gorda it passed a small steam craft loaded with bananas. "look," said one of the passengers to mr. pinkerton, not aware of the nature of mr. pinkerton's mission, "there goes crawford's launch now." landing at once, the detective waited for the launch to come to shore, which it presently did. the first man to come off was marvin crawford, whom mr. pinkerton recognized from a description, although he had never seen him. then he saw edward crawford step off, dressed smartly in a white helmet hat, a red sash, a fine plaited linen shirt, blue trousers, patent-leather shoes, and so on. mr. pinkerton approached and held out his hand. "i don't remember you," said crawford; but his face went white. "you used to know me in new york when i examined you before the bank officials," said the detective, pleasantly. crawford smiled in a sickly way and said, "oh, yes; i remember you now." mr. pinkerton explained that he had traveled five thousand miles to talk with him about the stolen money package. crawford expressed willingness to furnish any information he could, and invited mr. pinkerton to go up to his plantation, where they could talk the matter over more comfortably. seeing that his best course was to humor crawford, mr. pinkerton consented, though realizing that he thus put himself in crawford's power. they went aboard crawford's launch and steamed up the river, a very narrow, winding stream, arched quite over through most of its length by the thick tropical foliage, and in some parts so deep that no soundings had yet found bottom. the plantation was entirely inaccessible by land on account of impassable swamps, and the crooked course of the river made it a journey of twenty-three miles from punta gorda, although in a straight line it was only six miles away. mr. pinkerton was surprised at the unpretentious character of the house, which was built of cane and palm stocks and roofed with palm branches. originally it had been one large room, but it was now divided by muslin sheeting into two rooms, one at either end, with a hall in the middle. almost the first thing mr. pinkerton noticed on entering was a fire-proof safe standing in the hall. it was of medium size and seemed to be new. he knew he was powerless, under the laws of the country, to search the safe, but he made up his mind that while he was in the house he would keep his eyes as much as possible upon it. that night he did not sleep for watching. but crawford did not go near the safe until the next morning, when he went to get out some account-books. while the door was open mr. pinkerton saw only a small bag of silver inside, but he felt sure from crawford's manner that there was a larger amount of money there. mr. pinkerton remained at the plantation for forty-eight hours. on the second day he had a long interview with crawford, questioning him in the greatest detail as to his connection with the robbery. crawford persisted in denying that he had had any connection with it, or had any knowledge as to what had become of the stolen money. argue as he would, mr. pinkerton could not beat down the stubbornness of his denials. all direct approaches failing, at last he tried indirection. he spoke of burke, the absconding state treasurer of louisiana, who, along with a number of other american law-breakers, had fled to central america. "burke had a level head, hadn't he?" said he. "how do you mean?" asked crawford. "why, in going to spanish honduras. you know the united states has no extradition treaty there under which we could bring back a man who has absconded for embezzlement or grand larceny. burke is as safe there as if he owned the whole country." "is that so?" said crawford, looking significantly at his brother marvin, who was present. "yes," said mr. pinkerton, "it is. i only wish the fellow would come up here into british honduras; then we might do something with him." here the subject was dropped. next mr. pinkerton exhibited to crawford a sealed letter written by james g. blaine and addressed to the chief magistrate of british honduras, pointing to the seals of the state department to assure crawford of the letter's genuineness, and hinting mysteriously at the use he proposed making of this document and at the probable effect that would follow its delivery. with this the interview closed, and mr. pinkerton announced his intention of going back to punta gorda. crawford had practically told him to do his worst, and he had not concealed his intention of doing it. nevertheless their relations continued outwardly pleasant, and mr. pinkerton was treated with the hospitality that is usual in tropical countries. he saw no sign of any disposition on the part of either of the crawfords to do him harm, but he kept his revolvers always ready, and gave them no chance to catch him napping. toward evening of the second day crawford and his brother got the launch ready, and took mr. pinkerton down the river back to punta gorda, where they said good-by. at parting crawford made a brave show of treating the whole matter lightly. "i may see you in new york in a couple of months," he said to the detective as they shook hands. "if you see me in new york," said mr. pinkerton, "you will see yourself under arrest." on landing, mr. pinkerton proceeded, with all the obviousness possible, to call at the house of the british magistrate, which was so situated that crawford from the launch could not fail to see him enter. this seems to have confirmed the impression he had been striving to create, that british honduras, though in truth a perfect refuge for a criminal like crawford, was none. crawford, apparently thoroughly frightened, and thinking he had not an hour to lose, steamed back in all haste to his plantation, gathered together, as subsequently appeared, his money and other valuables, and then, under cover of night, dropped down the river again, put out to sea forthwith, and crossed the bay of honduras to puerto cortés, in spanish honduras, the country of all central america in which mr. pinkerton preferred to have him. in short, mr. pinkerton's stratagem had worked perfectly. mr. pinkerton's reason for wishing to get crawford into spanish honduras was not because the treaty arrangements were more favorable there than in british honduras, but because the pinkerton agency enjoyed unusual personal relations with the honduras government. several years before, when president bogram had in contemplation the federation of central american states under one government, he had applied to the pinkerton agency for reliable detectives for secret-service work. in consequence of this the present head of the honduras secret force was no other than a former pinkerton employee who had been recommended by the new york office to the honduras government, and upon whom mr. pinkerton knew he could rely absolutely. another man equally disposed to favor him was mr. bert cecil, a member of the cabinet, and at the head of the telegraph service, and thus in a position to render most valuable service in the apprehension of crawford. as soon as mr. pinkerton learned of crawford's flight, he hurried in pursuit, crossing the bay to livingston, in guatemala. in so doing he risked his life, first by putting out to sea in a little dory, and then by trusting his safety to a treacherous carib boatman, who, when they were several miles out, evinced a strong disposition to take possession of the detective's overcoat, in order, as he explained with a cunning look, to turn its silk lining into a pair of trousers. at this, mr. pinkerton carelessly produced his revolver, which had a quieting effect upon the fellow, and the voyage was completed in safety. but soon after landing mr. pinkerton suffered an attack of fever, and being warned by the doctors to return to a northern latitude, he got the government machinery in motion for the apprehension of crawford, had photographs of the former bank messenger spread broadcast through the country, and then having cabled the new york bureau to send responsible detectives to take his place, he sailed for new orleans. mr. pinkerton was succeeded in central america by detective george h. hotchkiss, one of the best men in the country, who arrived in balize on the th of march. a telegram from pinkerton's former employee, now chief of the secret police in honduras, informed him that crawford had been seen in san pedro, spanish honduras, on the previous saturday, and was being closely pursued by spanish soldiers accompanied by pinkerton men. hotchkiss sailed at once for puerto cortés, where he learned from the american vice-consul, dr. ruez, that crawford had left san pedro hastily the previous monday night. on further investigation the detective discovered that a san francisco bully and former prize-fighter, "mike" neiland, had called at crawford's boarding-house on monday, and warned him that detectives were pursuing him from puerto cortés on a hand-car. neiland had pretended to be crawford's friend, and said he would keep him out of the hands of the detectives. crawford, very much frightened, grabbed up some of his luggage and left the house with neiland. it was generally believed that neiland had designs on crawford's money, and would not hesitate to kill him, if need were, in order to get it. hotchkiss immediately requested mr. bert cecil, at tegucigalpa, the capital, to cover all telegraphic points, and, if possible, have crawford and his companion arrested on some trivial charge. the day after he reached san pedro, on march , he received a telegram saying that crawford and neiland had been arrested and taken before the governor at santa barbara. they had been searched, and about thirty-two thousand dollars had been found on crawford's person. the money was in old and worn bills that in every way resembled those in the stolen package. whether they were the identical bills or not it was impossible to say, as the bank had not recorded the numbers. on receipt of this news, hotchkiss, accompanied by jack hall, a guide, set out across the country for santa barbara. the journey was accomplished, but only after the most terrible suffering and many privations and dangers. moreover, the fever got its deadly clutches upon detective hotchkiss; and when he had finally dragged himself into santa barbara, he cabled the new york office: "crawford and money held for extradition. am sick. cannot remain. coming on steamer tuesday. my associate takes charge." before sailing for new orleans detective hotchkiss had an interview with crawford, in the presence of the spanish officials, and obtained from him a written confession of his guilt. while admitting that he had been a party to the robbery, the absconder tried to lessen his own crime by declaring that the plan to plunder the bank had been suggested to him by two men, named brown and bowen, whom he had met accidentally on a railway-train in new york, and with whom he had afterward become very friendly. these men had taken him to brown's house on thirty-eighth street, somewhere between eighth and ninth avenues (crawford could not locate the place more precisely), and introduced him to a fine-looking woman presented as mrs. brown, who was also in the conspiracy. they told him that he was earning very little money for a man in such a responsible position, and that he might easily make a fortune if he would put his interests in their hands and be guided by their advice. the outcome of several conversations was a plan to get possession of a valuable money package on some day when crawford should know a large sum was to be sent away from the bank. he claimed that on the day of the robbery one of his fellow-conspirators, bowen, followed behind himself and earle after they entered the adams express offices, and managed to substitute a bogus package for the real one while the two messengers were going up the stairs. he did not make this attempt until he saw the bank detective mcdougal turn back up broadway. crawford said that he managed it so as to precede earle in going up the stairs, which gave bowen, who was standing at the first turn, in the shadow, an opportunity to open the satchel and quickly make the substitution. crawford declared that the conspirators gave him only twenty-five hundred dollars as his share of the booty, although promising him more. this sum he put in two envelops and sent to his aunt, the one to whom he afterward intrusted the package supposed to contain gloves. crawford stated further that brown and bowen, having been forced to flee the country, sent him word from paris, some time later, in a letter written by mrs. brown, that the greater part of the stolen money had been buried in a flower-bed in the southeast corner of a yard on west thirty-eighth street, and asked him to dig it up and send it to them. a remarkable fact in this connection is that the yard referred to on west thirty-eighth street belonged to the house of the friend and benefactor with whom crawford was living at the time of the robbery. crawford claimed to have carried out these instructions, and deposited the package of money taken from the flower-bed in the safe-deposit vaults in the fifth avenue hotel building, where, as a matter of fact, he was known to have rented a box. he gave as his reason for not sending the money to paris that he was in trouble himself, being under constant surveillance, and thought it best to keep the money secreted for the time. he admitted that he had carried this money with him to honduras, and that it was the same found on his person by the detectives. by his description of brown and bowen, the former was a man about twenty-five years old, of slight build and light complexion, while the latter was ten years older, two or three inches taller, with a sandy mustache and very fat hands. mrs. brown crawford described as about twenty-five years old, a blonde, with regular features. he had no idea what had become of these people since he left america, having had no further communication with them. none of the alleged conspirators has ever been found, and they are believed to be purely mythical. detective hotchkiss also had an interview with "mike" neiland, crawford's companion in flight, who described his first meeting with crawford at his boarding-house in san pedro, and acknowledged that he had deliberately frightened crawford into running away by his story of the pursuing detectives. he described their adventures and hardships in trying to escape over the rough country, the difficulties they experienced in buying mules, their sufferings from exposure in the swamps, and finally their capture by the soldiers. neiland said that crawford gave him three thousand dollars in fifty-dollar bills, and also allowed him to carry, a part of the time, a large package wrapped in oil-cloth paper and sewed up tightly. crawford had told him to throw this package away rather than let any one capture it; for, he said, it contained money which would send him to prison if found upon him. as they pushed along in their flight, crawford declared repeatedly that he would put an end to his life rather than be taken prisoner; and when the soldiers surrounded them he drew his revolver and tried to blow his brains out. one of the soldiers, however, was too quick for him, and struck the weapon out of his hand. after the capture crawford vainly tried to bribe the guards to let him escape, offering them as much as ten thousand dollars. when the large package was opened, it was found to contain bundles of bills sewed together with black thread, and with about a dozen rubber bands wrapped around them, and a stout covering of buckskin under the oiled paper. the money amounted to thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars, all in united states bills--fives, tens, twenties, fifties, and hundreds, but mostly fives. ultimately the money was returned to the american exchange bank. when organizing the pursuit of crawford, detective hotchkiss had arranged with the honduras government that any letters and telegrams that might come addressed to the absconder should be delivered to him. several letters were thus secured from the young man about town in new york who had befriended crawford so constantly in the past, and who seemed now disposed to stand by him even in adversity and disgrace. the letters contained counsel and reproaches, and seemed to indicate that relations of unusual familiarity had existed between the two men. besides these letters, two cablegrams were intercepted from the same source, both being sent through an intermediary. the first was dated march , , and read: "tell crawford go back. papers bluff. no treaty exists." the second, sent two days later, read: "inform crawford will meet him in puerto cortés." it is needless to say that the young man did not carry out his intention of joining crawford in honduras, for the same mail which would have brought him crawford's reply carried the startling news that his protégé and friend was under arrest in santa barbara, a self-confessed bank robber. the government of honduras consented, thanks to their friendly relations with the pinkertons, to deliver crawford over to one of the representatives of the agency, and superintendent e. s. gaylor, who had meantime replaced detective hotchkiss, took him in charge. a guard of spanish soldiers brought the prisoner to puerto cortés, where he was placed in a hotel pending his transfer to a vessel sailing for the united states. superintendent gaylor himself was present to see that everything was managed properly, and he was seconded in his oversight by the former pinkerton employee, the head of the secret police in honduras. the final arrangements had been made, the government having taken advantage of a law authorizing the expulsion of "pernicious foreigners" in order to get rid of crawford. the superintendent had actually taken passage for himself and crawford, and selected berths, on an american vessel that was to sail on the morning of may , ; but the night before crawford made his escape from the hotel, going without the money, which remained in the detective's keeping. how he escaped is still a matter of conjecture. the hotel stood on the water's edge, and from a balcony to which crawford had access he may have managed to spring down to a wall built on piles. from there he may have reached the hotel yard at the back, and escaped over one of the picket fences that separated the hotel from the adjoining property. there is also a possibility that the spanish soldiers were bribed; but this has never been proved, and is scarcely probable, as crawford at the time of his escape had not more than seventy-five dollars in honduras bills in his possession. during the following days and weeks untiring efforts were made to recapture him. the swamps were searched for miles, and soldiers were sent out in all directions. mr. gaylor believed that crawford succeeded in making his escape into guatemala, which was only thirty miles distant. he was undoubtedly assisted in his escape by the fact that people in the surrounding region sympathized strongly with him and would have done anything in their power to conceal him from his pursuers. at any rate, the man was never recovered. seven years have passed since crawford's escape, and all this time he has been left undisturbed in central america, where he has been frequently seen by people who know him, and where he seems to be thriving. at last accounts he and his brother were engaged in business on one of the islands in the mosquito reservation of nicaragua, where they were regarded as dangerous men by the government, likely to incite revolution. so strong was this feeling on the part of the nicaraguan officials that some years ago advances were made to the united states government to have crawford surrendered, the nicaraguan officials declaring that they would gladly give him up if a demand for his extradition was made by the proper authorities in washington. for some reason the demand has never been made, and probably never will be. immediately after crawford had made confession, the american exchange bank, realizing that there was no longer any doubt that the robbery was committed by one of its employees, voluntarily refunded to the adams express company the forty-one thousand dollars that had previously been paid to it by the company, together with interest thereon for two years, and a large part of the expenses. therefore the only complainant in the case now available would be the bank officials, who, for some reason, have seen fit to let the matter drop. mr. pinkerton's theory of the way in which this robbery was committed is that crawford had an accomplice who had previously prepared the bogus package, and who, by previous appointment, was standing on the stairs in the express office when the two messengers arrived. it has always been a question in mr. pinkerton's mind whether the old man dominie earle told the exact truth in his testimony before the bank officials. not that he suspected earle of having been implicated in the crime, but he has wondered whether earle might not have been simply negligent to the extent of leaving crawford in sole possession of the valise at some time after they entered the office. there is no doubt that earle was very anxious to catch a four-o'clock train at one of the new jersey ferries, in order to get home early. he may, in his haste, have allowed crawford to go up-stairs with the valise unaccompanied. this would explain how crawford found opportunity to open the valise and make substitution of the bogus for the genuine package. assuming that the accomplice was standing at a turn of the stairs, which are winding and rather dusky, it is perfectly conceivable that such a change of packages might have been effected with scarcely a moment's delay. but consenting that earle told the exact truth, he admitted that he lingered behind crawford a little in ascending the stairs, and in so doing he may have furnished sufficient opportunity for the substitution. an old man going up rather steep stairs naturally bends his head forward to relieve the ascent, and in such position he might fail to see what a man close in front of him even was doing. the trouble with this theory is that it supposes the label on the bogus package to have been a forgery. there is still another theory suggested by mr. pinkerton to account for the presence of the bogus money package in the valise when the two messengers reached the counter of the receiving department. it is that crawford's confederate had provided himself with a second valise, similar in all respects to the one used by the bank, and that in this had been placed the bogus package with a forged label, making the substitution a matter of merely changing valises, which could have been accomplished in a second. it has also been suggested that crawford might have managed the whole scheme himself, by having prepared a valise like the one he carried daily, arranged with two compartments, in one of which was placed the genuine package received from the paying-teller at the bank, while out of the other compartment was taken at the express office a bogus package previously placed there. what makes it the more reasonable to suppose that crawford accomplished the theft single-handed is the fact that when arrested in honduras the bulk of the stolen money was found on his person, while it was known that, in addition to the thirty-two thousand dollars then recovered, he had previously spent considerable sums in various ways. his voyage, for instance, must have been expensive; and it was found that he had given at various times to members of his family sums ranging from twenty to fifty dollars. this would have left out of the original forty-one thousand dollars a very meager remuneration for a confederate. perhaps the most reasonable explanation of the robbery lies in the assumption that dominie earle, honest, but simple-minded, did not go up-stairs at all with crawford, but left him at the foot of the stairs, influenced by his eagerness to get home. granting this supposition, what would have been easier than for crawford, left alone at the foot of the stairs, to have turned back with the valise and gone into the back room of some neighboring saloon, or other convenient place, where he could manipulate the label and substitute the bogus package? there is reason to think that the bogus package had been prepared weeks before, which would have accounted in a measure for its worn and slovenly appearance. the time occupied in doing all this need not have been over fifteen minutes, which would not have been noticed at the bank, especially as the robbery occurred after banking hours. it is highly improbable, however, that crawford could have accomplished the substitution on the stairs of the express office; for, while these are winding and somewhat in the shadow, they are by no means dark, and are plainly in view of clerks and officials who are constantly passing. besides that, crawford could not have carried the dummy package concealed about his person without attracting attention, for the original package was quite bulky, being about twenty inches long, twenty inches wide, and fourteen inches thick. the bogus package was not quite so thick, and more oblong, but could not easily have been hidden under a man's coat. finally, even supposing crawford did carry the bogus package with him in some manner, he would never have dared to expose himself to almost certain detection by cutting off the label from the genuine package, pasting it on the bogus package, placing the latter in the valise, and hiding the genuine one in his clothes--and doing all this on the busy stairs of an express office where at that hour of the day a dozen men are going up and down every minute. the sum of all these theories is, however, that, in spite of the fact that the author of the robbery is known and the bulk of the money has been recovered, the manner of the robbery is to this day a mystery. * * * * * a modern wizard by rodrigues ottolengui author of "an artist in crime," "a conflict of evidence," etc. g. p. putnam's sons new york london west twenty-third street bedford street, strand the knickerbocker press copyright, by g. p. putnam's sons entered at stationers' hall, london electrotyped, printed and bound by the knickerbocker press, new york g. p. putnam's sons to hon. george p. andrews justice of the supreme court of the state of new york who is recognized, not only as an eminent jurist but as a type of human justice and legal integrity this work is respectfully dedicated contents. book first. chapter page i.--lawyer and client ii.--jack barnes investigates iii.--a wizard's trick iv.--dr. medjora surrenders v.--for the prosecution vi.--damaging testimony vii.--the prosecution rests viii.--for the defence ix.--the defence closes x.--mr. bliss makes his speech xi.--termination of the great case book second. i.--one night ii.--a friend in need iii.--selling a new england farm iv.--an ominous welcome v.--a face from the past vi.--agnes dudley vii.--a wizard's teaching viii.--the faithful dog ix.--a wizard's knowledge x.--the betrothal xi.--the genesis of love xii.--the marquis of lossy xiii.--the discovery xiv.--sanatoxine a modern wizard. book first. chapter i. lawyer and client. early one morning, in the spring of eighteen hundred and seventy-three, two young lawyers were seated in their private office. the firm name, painted in gilt letters upon the glass of the door, was dudley & bliss. mortimer dudley was the senior member, though not over thirty years old. robert bliss was two years younger. mr. dudley was sorting some papers and deftly tying them into bundles with red tape. why lawyers will persist in using tape of a sanguine color is an unsolvable mystery to me, unless it may be that they are loath to disturb the many old adages in which the significant couplet of words appears. however that may be, mr. dudley paused in his occupation, attracted by an exclamation from his partner, who had been reading a morning paper. "what is it, robert?" asked mr. dudley. "oh! only another sensational murder case, destined, i imagine, to add more lustre to the name of some lawyer who doesn't need it. mortimer, i wonder when our turn will come. here we have been in these rooms for three months, and not a criminal case has come to us yet." "don't be impatient, robert. we must not give up hope. look at munson. he was in the same class with us at college, and we all considered him a dunce. by accident he was engaged to defend that fellow who was accused of poisoning his landlady. munson actually studied chemistry in order to defend the case. his cross-examination of the prosecution's experts made him famous. who knows! we may get an opportunity like that some day." "some day! yes, some day! i believe there is a song that begins that way. i always detested it. i do not like that word 'some day.' it's so beastly indefinite. i prefer 'to-day' or even 'to-morrow.' but let me read to you the account of this case. it is about that young woman who died so mysteriously, up in the boarding-house on west twenty-sixth street." "i don't know anything about it, robert. i haven't read the papers for three days. tell me the main facts." "well, it is really a very curious story. it seems there was a young girl, twenty or thereabouts, living in town temporarily, whilst she studied music. her name was mabel sloane. she is described as pretty, though that is a detail that the reporters always add. but, pretty or ugly, she died last sunday morning, under rather peculiar circumstances. the doctors differed as to the cause of death." "why, there is nothing odd about that, is there?" mr. dudley smiled at his own wit. "doctors disagree and the patient dies. that is the old adage. you have only reversed it. your patient died, and the doctors then disagreed. where's the odds?" "the odds amount to this, mortimer. one doctor signed a certificate of death, naming diphtheria as the cause. the other physician reported to the board of health that there were suspicious circumstances which led him to think that the woman might have died from poison." "poison? this is interesting." "the more you hear, the more you will think so. in yesterday's papers it was announced that the coroner had taken up the case, and that an autopsy would be held." "does this morning's paper give the result of the post-mortem?" "yes. listen! 'the autopsy upon the body of mabel sloane, the beautiful young musician'--you see they still harp on the beautiful--'young musician, whose mysterious death was reported yesterday, shows conclusively that the girl was poisoned. the doctors claim to have found morphine enough to kill three men. thus the caution of dr. meredith, in notifying the health board of his suspicions, is to be commended. it is but just to say, however, that the doctors who made the post-mortem, entirely exonerate dr. fisher, the physician who certified that the death was caused by diphtheria, for they claim, curiously enough, that the woman would undoubtedly have died of that disease even if the morphine had not been administered. this opens up a most interesting set of complications. why should any one poison a person who is about to die a natural death? it might be claimed that the murderer did not know that a fatal termination of the disease would ensue. this brings us to the most interesting fact, that the one who is suspected by the police is no other than the girl's sweetheart, who is himself a physician. thus it is plain that he should have known that the disease would probably prove fatal, and under these circumstances it is almost inconceivable that he should have resorted to poison. nevertheless, the detectives claim that they have incontestible evidence of his guilt, although they refuse to reveal what their proofs are. however, some facts leaked out yesterday which certainly tend to incriminate dr. emanuel medjora, the suspected man. in the first place, dr. medjora has suddenly and completely disappeared. inquiry at his office elicited the statement that he has not been there since the day before yesterday, which it will be remembered was the time when the coroner first came into the case. dr. medjora has not been at his residence, and none of his friends has seen him. in short, if he had been swallowed by an earthquake he could not have vanished more swiftly. he was supposed to have been engaged to marry miss sloane, and as she was a beautiful girl, accomplished, and altogether charming, it has puzzled all who knew her, to understand why he should wish to destroy her. some light may be thrown upon this, however, by the discovery at the autopsy, that she has been a mother. what has become of the child, or where it was born, is still a part of the mystery. miss sloane has lived at the twenty-sixth street house about three months, and as she has always been cheerful and happy, the boarders cannot reconcile this report of the doctors with what they knew of the woman. they claim, with much reason, that if her baby had died she should have had moments of despondency when her grief would have been noticeable. or if the child were alive, then why did she never allude to it? another significant fact is, that dr. medjora has been seen driving in the park, recently, with a handsome woman, stylishly dressed, and evidently wealthy, as the coachman and footman wore expensive livery. did the doctor tire of his pretty little musician, and wish to marry his rich friend who owns the carriage and horses? his disappearance lends color to the theory.' there, what do you think of that?" said mr. bliss, throwing aside the newspaper. "what do i think?" answered his partner. "i think that this will be a great case. a chance for young men like us to make fame and fortune. if we could only be retained by that man----" the door from the outer office opened and young jack barnes, the assistant, entered and handed mr. dudley a visiting card. the lawyer looked at it, seemed astonished, said "show the gentleman in," and when barnes had left the office, turned to his partner, handing him the card, and, slightly excited, exclaimed: "in heaven's name, robert, look at that!" mr. bliss took the card and read the name: emanuel medjora, m.d. the two young men looked at each other in silence, startled by the coincidence, and wondering whether at last dame fortune was about to smile upon them. a moment later dr. medjora entered. dr. emanuel medjora was no ordinary personage. his commanding stature would attract attention anywhere, and the more he was observed the more he incited curiosity. first as to his nationality. to what clime did he owe allegiance by birth? one could scarcely decide. his name might lead to the conclusion that he was spanish, but save that his skin was swarthy there was little to identify him with that type. perhaps, more than anything, he looked like the ideals which have been given to us of othello, though again his color was at fault, not being so deep as the moor's. he wore a black beard, close trimmed, and pointed beneath the chin. his hair, also jetty, was longer than is usually seen in new york, and quite straight, combed back from the forehead without a part. the skull was large, the brain cavity being remarkably well developed. any phrenologist would have revelled in the task of fingering his bumps. the physiognomist, also, would have delighted to read the character of the man from the expressiveness of his features, every one of which evidenced refined and cultured intellectuality. the two, summing up their findings, would probably have accredited the doctor with all the virtues and half of the vices that go to make up the modern man, not to mention many of the talents commonly allotted to the rare geniuses of the world. but according these scientists the freest scope in their examinations, and giving them besides the assistance of the palmist, clairvoyant, astrologist, chirographist, and all the other modern savants who advertise to read our inmost thoughts, for sums varying in proportion to the credulity of the applicant, and when all was told, it could not be truthfully said that either, or all, had discovered about dr. medjora aught save that which he may have permitted them to learn. probably no one thoroughly understood dr. medjora, except dr. medjora himself. that he did comprehend himself, appreciating exactly his abilities and his limitations, there cannot be a shadow of a doubt. and it was this that made him such a master of men, being as he was so completely the master of himself. those who felt bound to admit that in his presence they dwindled even in their own estimation, attributed it to various causes, all erroneous, the true secret being what i have stated. some said that it was a certain magnetic power which he exerted through his eyes. the doctor's eyes certainly were remarkable. deep set in the head, and thus hidden by the beautifully arched brows, they seemed to lurk in the shadow, and from their point of vantage to look out at, and i may say into, the individual confronting him. i remember the almost weird attraction of those eyes when i first met him. being at the time interested in an investigation of the phenomena which have been attributed to mesmerism, hypnotism, and other "isms" which are but different terms for the same thing, i could not resist the impulse to ask him whether he had ever attempted any such experiments. evading my question, without apparently meaning to shirk a reply, he merely smiled and said, "do you believe in that sort of thing?" then he passed on and spoke to some one else. i relate the incident merely to show the manner of the man. but on the point, raised by some, that he controlled men by supernatural means, i think that we must dismiss that hypothesis as untenable in the main. of course those who believed that he possessed some uncanny or mysterious power of the eyes, might be influenced by his keen scrutiny, and would probably reveal whatever he were endeavoring to extort from them. but a true analysis would show that this was but an exhibition of their weakness, rather than of his strength. yet, after all, the man was excessively intellectual, and as the eyes have been aptly called the "windows of the soul," what more natural than that so self-centred and wilful a man should find his lustrous orbs a great advantage to him through life? at the moment of his entrance into the private office of messrs. dudley & bliss, those two young men had partly decided that he was a murderer. at sight of him, they both abandoned the conclusion. thus it will be seen that, if brought to the bar of justice, his presence might equally affect the jury in his behalf. he held his polished silk hat in his gloved hand, and looked keenly at each of the lawyers in turn. then turning towards mr. dudley he said: "you are mr. dudley, i believe? the senior member of your firm?" mr. bliss was insensibly annoyed, although very fond of his partner. being only two years his junior, he did not relish being so easily relegated to the secondary status. "my name is dudley," replied the elder lawyer, "but unless you have met me before, i cannot understand how you guessed my identity, as my partner is scarcely at all younger than i am." mr. dudley understood his partner's character very well, and wished to soothe any irritation that may have been aroused. dr. medjora grasped the situation instantly. turning to mr. bliss he said with his most fascinating manner: "i am sure you are not offended at my ready discrimination as to your respective ages. it is a habit of mine to observe closely. but youth is nothing to be ashamed of surely, or if so, then i am the lesser light here, for i am perhaps even younger than yourself, mr. bliss, being but twenty-seven." "oh, not at all!" exclaimed mr. bliss, much mollified, and telling the conventional lie with the easy grace which we all have acquired in this nineteenth century. "you were quite right to choose between us. mr. dudley is my superior----" "in the firm name only, i am sure," interjected the doctor. "will you shake hands, as a sign that you forgive my unintentional rudeness? but stop. i am forgetting. i see that you have just been reading the announcement"--he pointed to the newspaper lying where mr. bliss had dropped it on a chair, folded so that the glaring head-lines were easily read--"that i am a murderer!" he paused a moment and both lawyers colored deeply. before they could speak, the doctor again addressed them. "you have read the particulars, and you have decided that i am guilty. am i not right?" "really, dr. medjora, i should hardly say that. you see----" mr. dudley hesitated, and dr. medjora interrupted him, speaking sharply: "come! tell me the truth! i want no polite lying. stop!" mr. dudley had started up, angry at the word "lying." "i do not intend any insult; but understand me thoroughly. i have come here to consult you in your professional capacity. i am prepared to pay you a handsome retainer. but before i do so, i must be satisfied that you are the sort of men in whose hands i may place my life. it is no light thing for a man in my position to intrust such an important case to young men who have their reputations to earn." "if you do not think we are capable, why have you come to us?" asked mr. bliss, hotly. "you are mistaken. i do think you capable. but think is a very indefinite word. i must know before i go further. that is why i asked, and why i ask again, have you decided, from what you have read of my case, that i am guilty? upon your answer i will begin to estimate your capability to manage my case." the two young lawyers looked at each other a moment, embarrassed, and remained silent. dr. medjora scrutinized them keenly. finally, mr. dudley decided upon his course, and spoke. "dr. medjora, i will confess to you that before you came in, and, as you have guessed, from reading what the newspaper says, i had decided that you are guilty. but that was not a juridical deduction. that is, it was not an opinion adopted after careful weighing of the evidence, for, as it is here, it is all on one side. i regret now that i should have formed an opinion so rashly, even though you were one in whom, at the time, i supposed i would have no interest." "very good, mr. dudley," said the doctor. "i like your candor. of course, it was not the decision of the lawyer, but simply that of the citizen affected by his morning newspaper. as such, i do not object to your having entertained it. but now, speaking as a lawyer, and without hearing anything of my defence, tell me what value is to be put upon the evidence against me, always supposing that the prosecution can bring good evidence to sustain their position." "well," replied mr. dudley, "the evidence is purely circumstantial, though circumstantial evidence often convinces a jury, and convicts a man. it is claimed against you that you have disappeared. from this it is argued that you are hiding from the police. the next deduction is, that if you fear the police, you are guilty. per contra, whilst these deductions may be true and logical, they are not necessarily so; consequently, they are good only until refuted. for example, were you to go now to the district attorney and surrender yourself, making the claim that you have been avoiding the police only to prevent arrest, preferring to present yourself to the law officers voluntarily, the whole theory of the police, from this one standpoint, falls to the ground utterly worthless." "very well argued. do you then advise me to surrender myself? but wait! we will take that up later. let me hear your views on the next fact against me. i refer to the statement that poison was found in the body." "several interesting points occur to me," replied mr. dudley, speaking slowly. "let me read the newspaper account again." he took up the paper, and after a minute read aloud: "'the result of the autopsy, etc., etc., shows conclusively that the girl was poisoned. the doctors claim to have discovered morphine enough to kill three men.' that is upon the face of it a premature statement. the woman died on sunday morning. the autopsy was held yesterday. i believe it will require a chemical analysis before it can be asserted that morphine is present. am i not correct?" the doctor made one of his non-committal replies. "let us suppose that at the trial, expert chemists swear that they found morphine in poisonous quantities." "even then, the burden of proof would be upon the prosecution. they must prove not merely that morphine was present in quantities sufficient to cause death, but that in this case it did actually kill. that is, they must show that mabel sloane died from poison, and not from diphtheria. that will be their great difficulty. we can have celebrated experts, as many as you can afford, and even though poison did produce the death, we can create such a doubt from the contradictions of the experts, that the jury would give you the verdict." "very satisfactorily reasoned. i am encouraged. now then, the next point. the drives with the rich unknown." "oh! that is a newspaper's argument, and would have no place in a court of law, unless----" "yes! unless----?" "unless the prosecution tried to prove that the motive for the crime was to rid yourself of your _fiancée_ in order to marry a richer woman. of course we should fight against the admission of any such evidence as tending to prejudice the jury against you, and untenable because the proof would only be presumptive." "presumptive. that is as to my desire to marry the woman with whom i am said to have been out driving. now then, suppose that it could be shown that, since the death of mabel sloane, and prior to the trial, i had actually married this rich woman?" "i should say that such an act would damage your case very materially." "i only wished to have your opinion upon the point. nothing of the sort has occurred. well, gentlemen, i have decided to place my case in your hands. will five hundred dollars satisfy you as a retaining fee?" "certainly." mr. dudley tried hard not to let it appear that he had never received so large a fee before. dr. medjora took a wallet from his pocket and counted out the amount. mr. bliss arose from his chair and started to leave the room, but as he touched the door knob the doctor turned sharply and said: "will you oblige me by not leaving the room?" "oh! certainly!" replied mr. bliss, mystified, and returning to his seat. "here, gentlemen, is the sum. i will take your receipt, if you please. now then, as to your advice. shall i surrender myself to the district attorney, and so destroy argument number one, as you suggested?" "but, doctor," said mr. dudley, "you have not told us your defence." "i am satisfied with the one which you have outlined. should future developments require it, i will tell you whatever you need to know, in order to perfect your case. for the present i prefer to keep silent." "well, but really, unless you confide in your lawyers you materially weaken your case." "i have more at stake than you have, gentlemen! you will gain in reputation, whatever may be the result. i risk my life. you must permit me therefore to conduct myself as i think best." "oh! certainly, if that is your wish. as to your surrendering yourself, i strongly advise it, as you probably could not escape from the city, and even if you did, you would undoubtedly be recaptured." "there you are entirely wrong. not only can i escape, as you term it, but i would never be retaken." "then why take the risk of a trial? innocent men have been convicted, even when ably defended!" "yes, and guilty ones have escaped. but you ask why i do not leave new york. i answer, because i wish to remain here. were i to run away from these charges, of course i should never be able to return." "then, doctor, i advise you to surrender." "i will adopt your advice. but not until the day after to-morrow. i have some affairs to settle first." "but you risk being captured by the detectives." "i think not," said the doctor, with a smile. "should we wish to communicate with you, where may we be able to find you, doctor?" doctor medjora appeared not to have heard the question. he said: "oh! by the way, gentlemen, you need not either of you study up chemistry, as did mr. munson. you remember the case? i know enough chemistry for any experts that they may introduce, and will formulate the main lines of their cross-examination myself. let me refer to a point that you made. did i understand you that if we can show that mabel died of diphtheria, our case is won?" "why, certainly, doctor. if we can prove that, we show that she died a natural death." "of course, i understood that. i merely wished to show you what a simple thing our defence is. we will convince the jury of that. i will meet you at the office of the district attorney at eleven o'clock on the day after to-morrow. good-morning, gentlemen." the doctor bowed and left the room. the two lawyers looked at one another a moment, and then mr. dudley spoke: "what a singular man!" "the most extraordinary man i ever met!" "robert, why did you start to leave the room?" "mortimer, that is a very curious thing. i had a sort of premonition that he would go away without leaving his address. i meant to instruct barnes to shadow him, when he should leave. i wonder if he read my thoughts?" "rubbish! but why not send jack after him now? he will catch up with him easily enough." acting upon the suggestion, mr. bliss went into the outer office, and was annoyed to be told by the office boy that jack barnes had gone out half an hour before. chapter ii. jack barnes investigates. jack barnes, at this time, had just attained his majority. he was studying law with messrs. dudley & bliss, and acting as their office assistant. but it was by no means his intention ever to practise the profession, which he was acquiring with much assiduity. his one ambition was to be a detective. gifted with a keen, logical mind, a strong disposition to study and solve problems, and possessing the rare faculty of never forgetting a face, or a voice, he thought himself endowed by nature with exactly the faculties necessary to make a successful detective. his study of law was but a preliminary, which, he rightly deemed, would be of value to him. anxious, as he was, to try his wits against some noted criminal, the chance had never been his to make the effort. he had indeed ferreted out one or two so-called "mysterious cases," but these had been in a small country village, where a victory over the dull-witted constabulary had counted for little in his own estimation. naturally he had read with avidity all the various newspaper accounts of the supposed murder of mabel sloane, and it was with considerable satisfaction that he had read the name upon the card intrusted to him to be taken to his employers. it seemed to him that at last fortune had placed an opportunity within his grasp. here was a man, suspected of a great crime, whom the great metropolitan detective force had entirely failed to locate. from what he had read of dr. medjora, he quickly decided that, though he might consult messrs. dudley & bliss, he would not intrust them with his address. jack barnes determined to follow the doctor when he should leave the office. thus it was, that he was absent when mr. bliss inquired for him. descending by the elevator--a contrivance oddly named, since it takes one down as well as up,--he stationed himself in a secluded corner, whence he could keep watch upon the several exits from the building. presently, he saw dr. medjora step from the elevator, and leave the building, after casting his eyes keenly about him, from which circumstance barnes thought it best not to follow his man too closely. when, therefore, he saw the doctor jump upon a third avenue horse-car, he contented himself with taking the next one following, and riding upon the front platform. he saw nothing of dr. medjora until the harlem terminus was reached. here his man alighted and walked rapidly across the bridge over the river, barnes following by the footpath on the opposite side, keeping the heavy timbers of the span between them as a screen. but, however careful dr. medjora had been to look behind him when leaving the lawyers' offices, he evidently felt secure now, for he cast no anxious glances backward. thus barnes shadowed him with comparative ease, several blocks uptown, and then down a cross street, until at last he disappeared in a house surrounded by many large trees. barnes stopped at the tumbled-down gate, which, swinging on one hinge, offered little hindrance to one who wished to enter. he looked at the house with curiosity. old colonial in architecture, it had evidently once been the summer home of wealthy folks. now the sashless windows and rotting eaves marked it scarcely more than a habitat for crows or night owls. wondering why dr. medjora should visit such a place, he was suddenly astonished to hear the sound of wheels rapidly approaching. peeping back, he saw a stylish turn-out coming towards him, and it flashed across his mind that this might be the equipage in which the doctor had been said to drive in the park. not wishing to be seen, he entered the grounds, ran quickly to the house, and admitted himself through a broken-down doorway that led to what had been the kitchen. he had scarcely concealed himself when the carriage stopped, a woman alighted, and walking up to the house, entered by the same door through which the doctor had passed. barnes was satisfied now that this meeting was pre-arranged, and that it would interest him greatly to overhear the conversation which would occur. seeking a means of reaching the upper floor, he soon found a stairway from which several steps were absent, but he readily ascended. at the top, he stopped to listen, and soon heard low voices still farther up. the staircase in the main hall was in a fair state of preservation, and there was even the remains of an old carpet. carefully stepping, so as to avoid creaking boards, he soon reached a level from which he could peep into the room at the head of the stairs, and there he saw the two whom he was following. but though he could hear their voices, he could not distinguish their words. to do so he concluded that he must get into the adjoining room, but he could not go farther upstairs without being detected, as the door was open affording the doctor a clear view of the top of the stairway. barnes formed his plan quickly. reaching up with his hands, he took hold of the balustrade which ran along the hallway, and then, dangling in the air, he worked his way slowly from baluster to baluster, until he had passed the open doorway, and finally hung opposite the room which he wished to enter. then he drew himself up, until he could rest a foot upon the floor of the hall, after which he quickly and noiselessly swung himself over and passed into the front room. that he succeeded, astonished him, after it had been done, for he could not but recognize that a single rotten baluster would either have precipitated him to the floor below, or at least by the noise of its breaking have attracted the attention of dr. medjora, who, be it remembered, was suspected of no less a crime than murder. looking about the room in which he then stood, he took little note of the decaying furniture, but went at once to a door which he thought must communicate with the adjoining room. opening this very gently, he disclosed a narrow passageway, from which another door evidently opened into the room beyond. stealthily he passed on, and pressing his ear against a wide crack, was pleased to find that he could easily hear what was said by the two in the next room. the conversation seemed to have reached the very point of greatest interest to him. the woman said: "i wish to know exactly your connection with this mabel sloane." "so do the police," replied the doctor, succinctly. "but i am not the police," came next in petulant tones. "exactly! and not being the police you are out of your province, when investigating a matter supposed to be criminal." barnes learned two things: first that the doctor would not lose his temper, and therefore would not be likely to betray himself by revealing anything beyond what his companion might already know; and second, that she knew little as to his relation with mabel sloane. this was not very promising, yet he still hoped that something might transpire, which would repay all the trouble that he had taken. the woman spoke again quickly. "then you are not going to explain this thing to me?" "certainly not, since you have not the right to question me." "i have not the right? i, whom you expect to marry? i have not the right to investigate your relations with other women?" "not with one who is dead!" "dead or alive, i must know what this mabel sloane was to you, or else----" she hesitated. "or else?" queried the doctor, without altering his tone. "or else i will not marry you." "oh! yes, you will!" replied the doctor, with such a tone of certainty that his companion became exasperated and stamped her feet as she replied in anger: "i will not! i will not! i will not!" then, as though her asseveration had slightly mollified her, she added: "or if i do----" and, then paused. "continue!" exclaimed the doctor, still calm. "you pause at a most interesting period. or if you do----" "or if i do," wrathfully rejoined the woman--"i'll make your whole life a burden to you!" "no, my wife that is to be, you will not even do that. perhaps you might try, but i should not permit you to succeed in any such an undertaking. no, my dear friend, you and i are going to be a model couple, provided----" "provided what?" "that you curb your curiosity as to things that do not concern you." "but this does concern me." "as i have intimated already, mabel sloane being dead, you can have no interest whatever in knowing what relations existed between us." "not even if, as the newspapers claim, she had a child?" "not even in that case." "well, is there a child?" "i have told you that it does not concern you." "do you deny it?" "i neither deny it, nor affirm it. you have read the evidence, and may believe it or not as you please." "oh! i hate you! i hate you!" she was again enraged. "i wonder why i am such a fool as to marry you?" "ah! this time you show curiosity upon a subject which does concern you. therefore i will enlighten you. you intend to marry me, first, because, in spite of the assertion just made, you love me. that is to say, you love me as much as you can love any one other than yourself. second, you are ambitious to be the wife of a celebrated man. you have been keen enough to recognize that i have genius, and that i will be a great man. do you follow me?" "you are the most supreme egotist that i have ever met." the words, meant as a sort of reproach, yet were spoken in tones which betokened admiration. "thank you. i see you appreciate me for what i am. all egotists are but men who have more than the average ego, more than ordinary individuality. the supreme egotist, therefore, has most of all. now, to continue the reasons for our marriage, perhaps you would like to know why i intend to marry you?" "if your august majesty would condescend so far." the doctor took no notice of the sneer, but said simply: "i too have my ambitions, but i need money with which to achieve success. you have money!" "you dare to tell me that! you are going to marry me for my money! never, you demon! never!" "i thought you had concluded to be sensible and leave off theatricals. you look very charming when you are angry, but it prolongs this conversation to dangerous lengths. we may be interrupted at any moment by the police." "by the police! in heaven's name how?" in a moment she showed a transition from that emotion which spurned him, to that love for him which trembled for his safety. thus wisely could this crafty physician play upon the feelings of those whom he wished to influence. "it is very simple. as much as you love me, you love your own comfort more. i asked you to come up here quietly. you came in your carriage, with driver and footman in full livery. is that your idea of a quiet trip?" "but i thought----" "no! you did not think." the doctor spoke sternly, and the woman was silent, completely awed. "if you had thought for one moment, you would have readily seen that the police are probably watching you, hoping that, through you, they might find me. fortunately, however, i have thought of the contingency, and am prepared for it. but let us waste no more time. no! do not speak. listen, and heed what i have to say. i have decided not to follow your suggestion. you wrote to me advising flight. that was another indiscretion, since your messenger might have been followed. however, i forgave you, for you not only offered to accompany me, but you expressed a willingness to furnish the funds, as an earnest of which i found a thousand dollars in your envelope. a token, you see, of a love more intense than that jealousy which a moment ago whispered to you to abandon me. from this, and other similar circumstances, i readily deduce that after all you will marry me. but to come to the point. i have consulted a firm of lawyers, and by their advice i shall surrender myself on the day after to-morrow." "you will surrender to the police?" the woman was thoroughly alarmed. "they will convict you. they will----ugh!" she shuddered. "no," said the doctor more kindly than he had as yet spoken. "do not be afraid. they will neither convict me, nor hang me. i will stand my trial, and come out of it a freed man." "but if not? even innocent men have been convicted." "even innocent men! why do you say even? do you doubt that i am innocent?" "no! no! but this is what i mean. although innocent you might be brought in guilty." "well, even so, i must take the chance. all my hopes, all my ambitions, all that i care for in life depend upon my being a free man. i cannot ostracize myself, and reach my goal. so the die is cast. but there is another thing that i must tell you. we cannot be married at present." "not married? why not? why delay? i wish to marry you now, when you are accused, to prove to you how much i love you!" thus she showed the vacillation of her impulsive, passionate nature. "i appreciate your love, and your generosity. but it cannot be. my lawyers advise against it, and i agree with them that it would be hazardous. next, i must have money with which to carry on my defence. when can you give it to me? you must procure cash. it would not be well for me to present your check at my bankers. the circumstances forbid it, lest the prosecution twist it into evidence against me." "when i received your note bidding me to meet you here, i thought that you contemplated flight. i have brought some money with me. here are five thousand dollars. if you need more i will get it." "this will suffice for the present. i thank you. will you kiss me?" a sound followed which showed that this woman, eager for affection, gladly embraced the opportunity accorded to her. at the same moment there was a loud noise heard in the hall below, from which it was plain that several persons had entered. "the police!" exclaimed the doctor. then there was a pause as though he might be listening, and then he continued, speaking rapidly: "as i warned you, they have followed you. hush! have no fear. i shall not be taken. i am prepared. but you! you must wait up here undisturbed. when they find you, you must explain that you came here to look at the property, which you contemplate buying. and now, whatever may happen, have no fear for my safety. keep cool and play your part like the brave little woman that i know you to be." there was the sound of a hurried kiss, and then barnes was horrified to see the door at which he was listening, open, and to find himself confronted by dr. medjora. but if barnes was taken by surprise, the doctor was even more astonished. his perturbation however passed in a moment, for he recognized barnes quickly, and thus knew that at least he was not one of the police. stepping through the door, he pulled it shut after him, and turned a key which was in the lock, and, placing the key in his pocket, thus closed one exit. barnes retreated into the next room and would have darted out into the hall, had not the strong arm of the doctor clutched him, and detained him. the doctor then locked that door also, after which he dragged barnes back into the passage between the two rooms. here he shook him until his teeth chattered, and though barnes was not lacking in courage, he felt himself so completely mastered, that he was thoroughly frightened. "you young viper," hissed the doctor through his teeth. "you will play the spy upon me, will you? how long have you been listening here? but wait. there will be time enough later for your explanations. you remain in here, or i will take your life as mercilessly as i would grind a rat with my heel." as though to prove that he was not trifling, he pressed the cold barrel of a revolver against barnes's temple, until the young man began to realize that tracking murderers was not the safest employment in the world. leaving barnes in the passageway the doctor went into the front room, and barnes was horrified by what he saw next. taking some matches from his pocket he deliberately set fire to the old hangings at the windows, and then lighted the half rotten mattress which rested upon a bedstead, doubly inflammable from age. despite his fear barnes darted out, only to be stopped by dr. medjora, who forcibly dragged him back into the passageway, and then stood in the doorway watching the flames as they swiftly fed upon the dry material. "dr. medjora," cried barnes, "you are committing a crime in setting this house afire!" "you are mistaken. this house is mine, and not insured." "but there are people in it!" "they will have ample time to escape!" "but i? how shall i escape?" "i do not intend that you shall escape." "do you mean to murder me?" "have patience and you will see. there, i guess that fire will not be easily extinguished." then to the amazement of young barnes the doctor stepped back into the passageway, and closed and locked the door. thus they were in total darkness, in a small passageway having no exit save the doors at each end, both of which were locked. already the fire could be heard roaring, and bright gleams of light appeared through the chinks in the oak door. at this moment voices were heard in the next room. the doctor brushed barnes to one side and took the place near the crevice to hear what passed. "madam," said the voice of a man evidently a policeman, "where is dr. medjora?" "dr. medjora?" replied the woman. "why, how should i know?" "you came here to meet him. it is useless to try to deceive me. we tracked you to this house, and, what is more, the man himself was seen to enter just before you did. we only waited long enough to surround the grounds so that there would be no chance to escape. now that you see how useless it is for him to hide, you may as well tell us where he is, and save time!" "i know nothing of the man for whom you are seeking. i came here merely to look over the property, with a view to buying it." "what, buy this old rookery! that's a likely yarn." "i should not buy it for the house, but for the beautiful grounds." "well, i can't stop to argue with you. if you won't help us, we'll get along without you. he is in the house. i know that much." "sarjent! sarjent! git outer this! the house is on fire!" this announcement, made in breathless tones by another man who had run in, caused a commotion, and, coming so unexpectedly, entirely unnerved the woman, who hysterically cried out: "he is in there! open that door! save him! save him!" dr. medjora smothered an ejaculation of anger, as in response to the information thus received, the police began hammering upon the door. old as it was, it was of heavy oak and quite thick. the lock, too, was a good one and gave no signs of yielding. "where is the fire?" exclaimed the sergeant. "in the front room," answered the other man. "get the men up here. bring axes, or anything that can be found to break in with." the man hurried off, in obedience to this order, and the policeman said to the woman: "madam, you'd better get out of this. it is going to be hot work!" "no! no! i'll stay here." barnes wondered what was to be the outcome of the situation, and was surprised to hear the sound of bolts being pushed through rusty bearings. dr. medjora was further fortifying the door against the coming attack. barnes would have assailed the other door, but from the roar of the flames he knew that no safety lay in that direction. presently heavy blows were rained upon the door, showing that an axe had been found. in a few moments the panel splintered, and through a gap thus made could be seen the figure of the man wielding the axe. it seemed as though he would soon batter down the barrier which separated barnes from safety, when at the next blow the handle of the axe broke in twain. a moment more, and a deafening crash and a rush of smoke into the passageway indicated that a part of the roof had fallen in. the sergeant grasped the woman by the shoulders, and dragged her shrieking, from the doomed house, which was now a mass of flames. the little knot of policemen stood apart and watched the destruction, waiting to see some sign of dr. medjora. but they saw nothing of the doctor, nor of barnes, of whom, indeed, they did not know. chapter iii. a wizard's trick. all new york, that afternoon, was treated to a sensational account in the afternoon "extra" newspapers, of the supposed holocaust of the suspected murderer of mabel sloane. yet in truth not only was dr. medjora safe and well, but he had never been in any serious danger. as soon as the police had abandoned the effort to batter in the door, dr. medjora turned and said to young barnes: "it would serve you right were i to leave you in here to be burned, in punishment for your audacity in spying upon me. instead of that, i shall take you out with me, if only to convince you that i am not a murderer. give me your hand!" barnes obeyed, satisfied that even though treachery were intended, his predicament could not be made worse than it already was. by the dim light which occasionally illuminated the passageway, as the flames flared up, momentarily freed from the smoke, and shone through the crack in the door, already burned considerably, barnes now saw the doctor stoop and feel along the wainscoting, finally lifting up a sliding panel, which disclosed a dark opening beyond. "fear nothing, but follow me," said the doctor. "step lightly though, as these stairs are old and rickety." much astonished, barnes followed the doctor into the opening, and cautiously descended the narrow winding stairs, still holding one hand of the man who preceded him. he counted the steps, and calculated that he must be nearing the basement, when a terrible crash overhead made him look up. for one moment he caught a glimpse of blue sky, which in a second was hidden by lurid flames, and then darkness ensued, whilst a shower of debris falling about him plainly indicated that the burning building was tumbling in. the hand which held his, gripped it more tightly and their descent became more rapid, but beyond that, there was no sign from the doctor that he was disturbed by the destroying element above them. in a few more moments they stood upon a flat cemented floor. "it seems odd," said the doctor, with a laugh that sounded ghoulish, considering their position, "that i should need to ask you for a match when there is so much fire about us. but i used my last one upstairs." barnes fumbled in his pocket, and finding one, drew it along his trouser leg until it ignited. as the flame flared up, a dull red glare illumined the face of dr. medjora, making him seem in his companion's fancy the prototype of mephistopheles himself. again the doctor laughed. "afraid to trust me with fire, eh? is that why you lighted it yourself? never mind. i only wished to get my bearings. it is long since i have been in this place. see, here is a door to the right." he grasped the iron handle, and after some exertion the bolt shot back, but when he pushed against it the door did not yield. at the same moment the match spluttered and the flame died. "help me push this door," said the doctor. barnes obeyed most willingly, but their combined efforts still failed to move it. "well," said the doctor, "my young friend, it looks as though we were doomed, after all. in case we should fail to escape, when we are thus unexpectedly hurried into the presence of the secretary of the other world, in making your statement, i trust you will not forget that you cannot blame me for the accident which curtails your earthly existence. it was no fault of mine that you were in the passageway above, nor could i foresee that we could not open this door." this sacrilegious speech, made in a tone of voice which showed in what contempt the speaker held the great mystery of life and death, chilled young barnes so that he shivered. it made him more than convinced that this man was fully capable of committing the murder which had been attributed to him. at the same time, as the doctor appeared to have abandoned the effort to escape, despair rendered barnes more courageous and sharpened his senses so that he could think for himself. freeing his hand from the other's grasp, he felt about until he found the edge of the door, and rapidly searched for the hinges. in a few moments a cry of gladness escaped from him. "it is all right, doctor. the hinges are on our side. we must pull the door to open it, and not push it as we have been doing." "good!" said the doctor. "i knew that. i was only trying you. you are clever. and courageous. too much so for me to run any risks." the last words were spoken as though to himself. he continued: "come. we must get out of this before it is too late!" he opened the door, which moved so easily that barnes readily comprehended that the doctor must have held it firmly shut whilst the two had been trying to open it, else his own shaking would have disclosed the fact that it opened inward. thus he saw that dr. medjora spoke truly, and had only been submitting him to a test. he followed through the door, glad once more to have hope before him, for had the doctor intended to destroy him, it would have been easy enough to shut the door, leaving him behind, fastening it, as he did now, with a heavy bolt. "there is little chance of our being followed," said the doctor, as he thus barred the way behind them, "but it is as well to be careful. and now that we are safe, for this vault is fire-proof, i will let you see where you are." in a moment the doctor had found a match and lighted a lamp, and barnes gazed about him bewildered. at most he had expected to find himself in some forgotten vault or old wine-cellar. what he saw was quite different. the apartment, if such a term may be employed was spacious, and formed in a perfect circle, with a hemispherical roof. this dome was covered with what, in the dim light, appeared to be hieroglyphical sculpture. what puzzled barnes most was that no seams appeared, from which he concluded that the entire cavern must have been hewn out of the solid rock. the floor also was of stone, elaborately carved, and, appearing continuous with the ceiling, at once presented an impossible problem in engineering. for the door through which they had entered evidently had no connection with the original design of the structure, since it was of modern style, and, moreover, the doorway, cut for its insertion, had destroyed the continuity of the carvings on the wall, which, to the height of this doorway, represented a seemingly endless procession, interrupted only by the cutting of the opening, which thus showed curiously divided bodies of men and women along its two edges. in the centre of the place was a singular stone, elaborately carved, with a polished upper surface. upon this dr. medjora seated himself, after having lighted the lamp which hung like a censer from the centre of the roof. barnes looked at him, awed into silence. allowing him a few minutes to contemplate his surroundings, the doctor said: "you are jack barnes, the assistant of dudley & bliss. you are ambitious to become a detective. therefore, when you read my name on my card this morning, you thought it a good opportunity to track a murderer, did you not? answer me, and tell me no lies!" "yes," said barnes, surprised to find that a curious sensation in his throat, as though he were parching, precluded his saying more. "well, you have tracked the murderer to his den. what do you think of the place. safe enough from the police, eh!" the doctor laughed in a soft congratulatory way, which grated upon his hearer's ear. he continued, as though to himself: "and dudley & bliss warned me that i could not escape from the police. i, emanuel medjora! i could not escape!" then he burst out into a prolonged ringing peal of laughter which made barnes tremble affrighted, as a hundred echoes for the moment made his imagination picture myriads of demons chiming in with the merriment of their master. "come here," cried the doctor, checking his laugh. barnes hesitated and then retreated. "come here, you coward!" said the doctor, in a sterner voice. the taunt made the blood course more swiftly through the young man's veins, and the laugh of the demon echo having died away, he threw his head up and approached the stone, stopping within a few feet of dr. medjora, and looking him in the eye. "ah! as i thought. a strong will, for a youngster. i must use strategy." this so softly that barnes did not comprehend the sense of the words. then the doctor spoke in his most alluring manner: "you are plucky, mr. barnes. this is a gruesome place, and i have brought you here under such peculiar circumstances that you might well be alarmed. but i see that you are not, and i admire you for your courage. it is his courage that has made man the master of all the animal world. by that he controls beasts, who could rend him to a thousand bits, with ease: only they dare not. so, for your courage, i forgive your impudence, and i might say imprudence, in following me this morning." barnes was mystified by this alteration of manner, and was not such a fool that he did not suspect that it boded him no special favor. he did not reply, not knowing what to say. the doctor jumped up from his seat, saying pleasantly: "i am forgetting my politeness. you are my guest, and i am occupying the only available seat. pardon me, and be seated." barnes hesitated, and the doctor said, "oblige me!" in a tone which made barnes think it wise to comply. he therefore seated himself on the stone, and the doctor muttered low to himself: "how innocently he goes to the sacrifice," words which barnes did not hear and would not have understood had he done so. then the doctor laughed with a muffled, gurgling sound, which, answered by the echoes, again made barnes feel uncomfortable. "now then, mr. barnes," began dr. medjora, "i have no doubt that your curiosity has been aroused, and that you would like to know what sort of place this is, and how it came here. it is a very curious story altogether, and as we shall find time hang heavily on our hands whilst the fire is burning upstairs, i cannot entertain you better, perhaps, than with the tale. you know, of course, or you have heard, that i am a physician. but no one knows how thoroughly entitled i am to the name. i am a lineal descendant of the great �sculapius himself." barnes stared, wondering whether the man were mad. having begun his recital, dr. medjora apparently took no more notice of barnes than though he had not been present. but whilst he spoke, with his hands clasped behind his back, he began to pace around the room, thus walking in a circle about barnes, as he sat upon the stone in the centre. "the ancient mexicans worshipped a god to whom they built pyramids. this was no other than my great ancestor �sculapius. he was also known to many of the races that inhabited the great north country. here in this place, a powerful tribe built a great pyramid, the top of which was this dome, hewn from a single rock, and carved, as you see, with characters which, translated would tell secrets which would astound the world. the man who acquires all the knowledge here inscribed, may well call himself the master of this century. i will be that man!" he had increased his pace as he walked around, so that during this speech he had made three circles about barnes, who, astonished as much by his actions as by his words, had followed him with his eyes, turning his head as far as possible in one direction to accomplish this, and then rapidly turning it to the opposite side so that he might not lose sight of the doctor. as the last words were uttered, the doctor stopped suddenly before him, and hurled the words at him as though they contained a menace. but barnes flinched only slightly, and the doctor continued his walk and his narrative. "yes, for here on these rocks are graven the sum of all the knowledge of the past, which the great cataclysm lost to us for so many centuries. this dome was the summit of the great temple. this floor was a hundred feet below it, and was the floor of the edifice. then came the flood. the earth quaked, the waters rose, the earth parted, the temple was riven, and the dome fell, here upon this floor, and the record of the greatest wisdom in the world was buried beneath the earth. lost! lost! lost!!" his gyrations had increased in rapidity, so that he had run around barnes six times during the above speech, and, as before, he stopped to confront him, fairly screaming the last words. barnes began to feel odd in his head from turning it to watch this man who, he had now decided, was surely a madman, and as the doctor screamed out "lost! lost! lost!" almost in his face, he started to his feet, standing upon the stone and prepared to defend himself if necessary. as though much amused at this action, dr. medjora threw back his head and laughed. laughed long and loud! laughed until the answering echoes reverberated through the place as though a million tongues had been hidden in the recesses. stopping suddenly, he began racing around again, and resumed his story: "and so came that great cataclysm which all corners of the world record as the flood. so the great atlantis, the centre of the civilization of the world, was lost for centuries, until at last re-discovered and re-christened america. �sculapius perished, and his wisdom died. his records were hidden. but he left a son, and that son another, and from him sprung another, and another, and another, and so on, and on, as time sped, until to-day i am the last of the great line. ha! you doubt it. you think that i am lying. then how comes it that i am here? here in the treasure house of my great ancestor? because among my people there are traditions, and one told of this temple. i studied it, and worked it out, until i located it. then i came here and found this old house built over it. and i knew that it covered the greatest secret in all the world. but it contained another secret too. a simple, easy secret for a man like me to solve. a secret staircase, built by some stupid old colonist, to lead him down to a secret wine-cellar, which is on the other side of that stairway. but providence would not permit the old drunkard to turn to the right, in digging for his vault, or he would have entered this chamber, as i have done. i found this staircase, and cut my way into this place, which i closed with that iron door. and you, you fool, thought that i did not know how to open a door that i had built myself." his laugh rang out again, and the piercing shrieks, coming back from the echoes, darted through barnes's brain, confused by his pivotal turning on the stone as he tried to follow the doctor racing around the chamber, and as the man now rushed at him screaming: "now! now! you fool, you are mine! mine! all mine!" barnes felt as though something in his brain had snapped, and, tottering, he threw up his arms, and then sank down, to be caught by dr. medjora, who lifted him as though he had been a child, and laid him upon the floor. placing his ear to his heart a moment, the doctor arose to his feet with a satisfied expression and speaking low, said: "he is now thoroughly frightened, but the shock will not kill him. when he wakes he will be mine indeed! i will play the little trick, and i can be safe without fear from this." he kicked the prostrate form lightly with his foot, and then lifted barnes up and sat him upon the stone as he slowly revived, supporting him until he had sufficiently recovered not to need assistance. then he placed himself in front of barnes, and as soon as the young man seemed to have regained his senses he folded his arms and said sternly: "look at me!" barnes obeyed for a moment and then turned away and would have risen, but the doctor called out authoritatively: "you cannot get up! you have no legs!" barnes reached down with his hands towards his legs, only to be stopped by the words: "you cannot feel! you have no hands! now look at me! look! i command you!" barnes gazed helplessly into the doctor's eyes, and the latter continued, in a voice of peremptory sternness: "now answer me when i speak to you. do you understand?" "yes, i understand. i will answer!" the voice did not seem to be the normal tones of the young man, and a smile passed over the doctor's face as he went on. "do you know who you are? if so, tell me!" "i am jack barnes!" "and who am i?" "doctor medjora!" "do you know where you are?" "yes! in the chamber of �sculapius!" "if i let you go from here, what will you do?" "i would tell the police what i know!" "good! now listen to me!" "i am listening!" "you wish to escape?" "yes!" "i am your master?" "you are my master!" "you must obey my commands! you understand that?" "i must obey your commands. i understand that!" "you are asleep now?" "yes, i am asleep!" "but if i give you a command now when you are asleep, you will obey it when i allow you to awaken?" "what you command when i am asleep, i will do when you let me be awake!" "you followed me to-day?" "i followed you." "you will forget that?" no answer came from the sleeper. the crucial test had come. the contest of wills. the doctor, however, was determined to succeed. success meant a great deal to him, for he must either kill this man, or else control him. he did not consider the first expedient. murder was not even in his thought. he stepped up to barnes and took his two hands. "you will forget that you followed me?" still no reply. the doctor gently closed the open eyes of the sleeper, and rubbed them with a rotary movement of the thumb. again he ventured: "you will forget that you followed me? you--will--forget--that--you--followed--dr. medjora?" a pause, a quiver of the released eyelids, which opened slowly, allowing the eyes to gaze at the doctor; then the lids closed again, a shiver passed over the sleeper's body, and the voice spoke: "i will obey! i will forget!" "you will forget that you followed me?" "i will forget!" "repeat what i say. you will forget that you followed me?" "i will forget that i followed you!" "you will forget that you saw me and heard me speaking to a woman?" "i will forget that you were speaking to a woman!" "you will forget that there was a fire?" "i will forget the fire!" "you will forget the secret staircase?" "i will forget the staircase!" "the secret staircase!" the doctor was determined to take no risk. "i will forget the secret staircase!" said the sleeper. "you will forget this room?" "i will forget this room!" "finally, you will forget that you have been asleep?" "finally, i will forget that i have been asleep!" "good! that ought to be safe enough!" this the doctor said to himself, but the sleeper replied: "good! that ought to be safe enough!" "pah! he is a mere automaton," said the doctor. "a mere automaton!" repeated barnes. at this last sally the doctor burst out into uncontrolled laughter, so much heartier than before that it was plain that his previous laughing had been but a part of his scheme to overawe the strong young will of his companion, by raising up the affrighting echoes. the sleeper joined in with this laughing, imitating it almost note for note, and the answering echoes adding to the bedlam, made the place indeed like some dwelling-place of evil spirits. the doctor's hilarity passed, and placing one hand upon barnes's shoulder, in a voice of command he cried! "silence!" at once the stillness of death ensued, as though each gibbering demon had scurried back into his hiding-place. the doctor took the young man's head in both hands, the palms open against the temples, and a thumb over each eye. rubbing the closed lids gently, at the same time pressing the temples, he spoke in deep resonant tones. "sleep! sleep more deeply! sleep unconscious! sleep oblivious! sleep as though dead, but awaken when i call upon you to awaken!" he continued his manipulations a few moments, and then removed his hands. the eyelids released, slowly opened, and the sleeper gazed at him. then as slowly they closed again, and being shut, twitched and fluttered as the heart of a dying bird might do. more and more quiet the movements became, till at length all was still. then the erect head sank gently down, until it rested upon the breast, and the body swayed, and slipped by easy stages from the stone to the floor, where, as it turned over and lay prone upon the face, a long-drawn sigh escaped, and barnes lay as one dead. the doctor gazed silent, satisfied, yet as though awed by his own work. then he lost himself in reverie. "and this thing is a man. a strong healthy body encasing a powerful will. yet where now is that will? what has become of the soul that tenants this shell, which now seems empty, dead. escaped, gone, and at my bidding! 'he sleeps, he is not dead,' says the scientist. what wily excuses men make for their ignorance. if he sleeps, he is dead, for sleep is death, different only because there is an awakening. yet in the true death is there not an awakening? all analogy cries out 'yes!' now this man sleeps, and i have made him thus temporarily dead. except at my bidding there can be no awakening on this earth. then if i do not bid him rise, am i a murderer? the law would say so. the law! the law! pah! the law that says that, is but a written token of man's ignorance. for if i leave him here, he still must awaken. and who can say that if i leave him to awaken in another world he might not thank me so much, that his spirit in gratitude would become my attendant guardian, until his foolish fellow-men, having hanged my body to a gibbet, by a rope, should send my soul into eternity beside him. my soul! have i a soul? yes! and not yet is it prepared to pass beyond the limit of this life. no, despite the laws, and the minions of the laws, i will live to reap the harvest which my great ancestor has garnered here. so this fellow must be awakened and restored to his place amongst his kind! will it be safe? i have made his mind a blank. but will it so remain? his will is strong. he offered more resistance than any upon whom i have tried my power. had i not first numbed his brain by twisting it into knots, i doubt that i should have controlled him. so if i release him, to-morrow in his waking senses he will perceive that several hours of his life are as a blank. he will realize that during that time something must have occurred that he has forgotten, and all his energy will be aroused to force remembrance. there is a vivid danger should he recall his experience, before my trial occurs and ends. and with our stupid laws who may say when that may be? ah! i have the trick. his mind is now a blank, and these few hours will be a void. i have charged him to forget. now i must bid him to remember, and furnish him with the incidents with which to account for the lapse of time. i will take him near the truth. so near that fluctuating recollection will be unable to disentangle fact from fiction. thus what he recalls will bear no menace to my safety, and yet will so satisfy his will to know what has passed, that no great effort will be made to delve deeper into the records of this day. but first i must take him from this sacred place. it will be safer." he opened the iron door, lifted the body of the sleeper in his arms and bore it into the passage at the foot of the stairs. immediately opposite, there was another door, dimly shown by the light from the swinging lamp. this he kicked open with his foot, without dropping his burden. he walked straight across, through the darkness of this old wine cellar, towards a dim ray of light which penetrated at the opposite end, presently coming to a low arch through which he passed with lowered head, emerging into a greater light. they were now in an old cistern, and a circular opening above permitted the moonlight to enter. here the doctor laid the sleeper gently down, and retraced his steps. re-entering the domed chamber, he extinguished the lamp, and then again emerged, closing the door behind him. from a corner under the stairway he procured a long-handled, heavy, iron hammer, such as men use who break large rocks. he next went into the wine cellar, closing the door behind him, and thence passed on through the archway into the cistern. taking one glance at the still sleeping form of jack barnes, he threw off his coat, and attacked the brick-work of the arch, raining upon it heavy blows, each of which demolished a part of the thick wall. at the end of half an hour the opening was choked with fallen debris, and the entrance into the wine vault thus effectually concealed. this task accomplished, the doctor resumed his coat, and turned to examine the sleeper. he raised him up, and stood him against that side of the wall upon which the most light was shed. as the body was thus supported, the head hanging, and the weird half-light making the face more ghastly, one might readily have supposed that this was a corpse. but the doctor presently cried out: "awaken! awaken! not entirely, but so that you may hear and speak!" in an instant the head was lifted, the eyes opened, and the voice said: "i am awake! i can hear and speak!" "good!" exclaimed the doctor. "tell me, what do you remember?" "you commanded me to remember nothing!" "true! i commanded! but do you remember?" "you are the master! i have forgotten!" "i am the master. now i tell you to remember!" "it is impossible! i cannot remember what i have forgotten, unless you tell it to me again!" "very true. i will tell you what you have forgotten, and you will then remember it. you will remember even after you are awakened!" "i will obey. i will remember what you tell me!" "you left your office this afternoon to follow dr. medjora?" "yes! i followed dr. medjora!" "he took a car, and you took another?" "he took a car, and i took another!" "he left the car, and you followed him to a house and saw him enter?" "i saw him enter a house!" "then there was a fire and you watched the house burning?" "i saw the house burning!" "then you rushed forward and fell into this well?" "i rushed forward and fell into the well!" "you will remember all this?" "yes, i will remember!" "everything else you have forgotten? nothing else occurred?" "nothing else occurred!" "now sleep!" the doctor passed his hands over the eyes and the deep sleep was resumed. the doctor pressed his lips near the sleeper's ears, and said: "you will awaken completely in two hours, climb out of this place, and return to your home!" to this there was no reply, but the doctor had no doubt that the injunction would be followed. he laid barnes down upon the bottom of the cistern so that his opening eyes would gaze directly at the orifice above, and then, climbing upon a lot of loose rubbish, he easily reached the edge of the hole, and clutching it with his strong hands drew himself out. exactly two hours later, barnes opened his eyes and slowly awakened to a sense of stiffness and pain in his limbs. he staggered up, and soon was sufficiently aroused to see that he must climb out of the place where he was. this he did with some difficulty, and after wandering about for nearly an hour he found his way to the bridge and crossed the river. thence he went home, threw himself on his bed, and was soon wrapped in deep, but natural slumber. in the morning he wondered why he had slept in his clothing. his head ached, and his limbs felt bruised. slowly he seemed to recall his following dr. medjora, his tracking him across the bridge, the house afire, and his tumble into a well, from which he had climbed out late at night. in fact nothing remained in his recollection except what had been suggested by dr. medjora whilst he had been hypnotized. still in a vague way he half doubted, until at breakfast he found seeming corroboration in the newspaper account, which told that the suspected man had been burned to death. how could he reject so good an authority as his morning paper? chapter iv. dr. medjora surrenders. madam cora corona watched the destruction of the old mansion in which she had last seen her lover, with mingled feelings of horror and of hope. at one moment it seems impossible that the doctor could find a means of escaping from the flames, whilst at the next she could but remember the manner of man that he was, and that having told her of his intention to surrender to the police, he would scarcely have chosen so horrible a death whilst immediate safety was attainable by simply opening the door of the passageway before the flames enveloped the whole building. besides, how did the fire occur? he must have started it himself, and, if so, with what object, except to cover up his escape? but love, such as she bore this man, could never be entirely free from its anxiety, until the most probable reasoning should become assured facts. so, with a dull pain of dread gnawing at her heart, she drove her horses home, holding the reins herself, and lashing the animals into a swift gait, which made their chains clank as they strained every nerve to obey their mistress's behest. reaching her sumptuous home on madison avenue, she hurried to her own room, passing servants, who moved out of her way awed by her appearance, for those who dwelt with her had learned to recognize the signs which portended storm, and were wise enough to avoid the violence of her anger. tossing aside her bonnet and mantle, regardless of where they fell, madam corona dropped into a large, well-cushioned arm-chair, and gazed into vacancy, with a hopeless despair depicted on her features. the death of dr. medjora would mean much to this woman, and as the minutes sped by, the conviction that he must have perished, slowly burned itself into her brain. she was the widow of a wealthy central american. her husband had been shot as a traitor, having been captured in one of those ever-recurring revolutions, whose leaders are killed if defeated, but made governors if they succeed; rulers until such time when another revolutionary party may become strong enough to depose the last victors. thus the chance of a battle makes men heroes, or criminals. she had never loved her husband, and, with a sensual, passionate temperament, which had never been satisfied by her marriage, she welcomed her freedom and her husband's wealth as a possible step towards that love for which she longed. exiled from her own country, because of the politics of her dead husband, she had come to the united states, the home of all aliens. her estates had not been confiscated, for fear that the fires of the revolution, smothered but not quenched, might have been again stirred by a seeming warring against the woman. but the president had said to his council: "madam corona is too rich, and she talks too much." so the hint had been given to her to depart, and she had acquiesced, glad enough to retain her fortune. in new york she had been welcomed amidst the spanish-americans, and with a different temperament might readily have endeared to herself a host of true friends. but her selfish desire for a despotic sway over all who came near, and her extreme jealousy of attentions to others, imbued those who made her acquaintance with an aversion which was scarcely concealed by the thin veneer of the polite formalities of social life. so she knew that in the new, as in the old home, she had no friends. one day she was taken ill, and sent for dr. medjora, of whom she had heard, though she had not met him. his skill brought about her rapid recovery, and, being attracted by his fine appearance, she invited him to visit her as a friend. he availed himself of this opportunity to become intimate with a wealthy patron, and called often. very soon she became aware of the fact that here was a man over whom she could never hope to dominate, and so, as she could not make him her slave, she became his. her whole fiery nature went out to him, and she courted him with a wealth of passion which should have melted ice, but which from the doctor earned but little more than a warm hand-clasp at parting. finally, to her utter amazement, as she was about to despair of ever attracting him, he came to her and asked her to marry him. she consented joyously, and for twenty-four hours lived in rapture. then her morning paper told of the death of mabel sloane, and connected the doctor with the tragedy. she hurried to his office and heaped upon him vituperation and reproach, such as only could emanate from a heart capable of the deepest jealousy. he met the storm unflinchingly, and turned it away from himself by reminding her that he would probably be tried for murder, and that thus she would be rid of him. at once she changed her threats to entreaties. she begged him to fly with her. her wealth would suffice, and in some other clime they could be safe, and she would forget, forgive, and love him. he appeared to yield, and bade her be ready to come to him at his bidding. she returned home, only to write him a long urgent letter, containing money; the letter to which the doctor had alluded during the conversation overheard by young barnes. then she had been summoned and had gone to him. and now? now the longer she thought, the more certain did it appear to her, as the hours went by, that her lover was dead. and such a death! she shuddered and closed her eyes. but she could not shut out the vision of her beloved doctor standing bravely, with folded arms, as the flames crept upon him, surrounded him, and destroyed him. she could not shut out the sound of a last despairing cry wrung from his unwilling lips, as with a final upflaring of the flame, the whole structure fell in. maddened by her thoughts, at length she started up and turned towards her basin, intending to lave her fevered brow, when with a cry she sprang back, for there, in her room, with arms folded as in her vision, stood what she could but suppose to be the wraith of the dead. she shrieked, and fell forward in a swoon, to be caught in the arms of dr. medjora, who had admitted himself, unknown to the sleeping servants, by a latch key furnished to him by her, when she had begged him to join her in flight. when she recovered consciousness and realized that this was no spectre which had intruded upon her, she lavished upon him a wealth of kisses and caresses, which should have assured him of the intensity of her love and joy. she laughed and cried alternately, petted him and patted his cheeks, kissed him upon the hands, upon his face, his hair, his lips. she threw her arms around him and pressed him to her palpitating heart, the while crying: "alive! thank heaven! alive! alive!" "and did you think me dead, cara mia?" he folded his arms about her, touched by the evident genuineness of her feelings, and moved to some slight response. "yes! i thought so! no! i did not! i knew you were too clever to die so. but then the flames! they ate up the whole building, and i did not see how--i could not imagine--and i was afraid! but now you are safe again! you are with me, and i love you a million times more that i have mourned your death!" "come, come, dear heart! i am alive and unhurt. i never was in danger. i would not kill myself, you know. i love my life too well! and it was i who set the fire!" "i thought that too at times! you did it to baffle the police! i see it all! oh, you are so clever! now they will think you dead, and we can go away together and live without fear! is it not so?" "no, cora! as i told you this afternoon, i shall give myself up to the police!" "no, no, no! you must not! you shall not! what, risk your precious life again? you will not, say that you will not! if you love me, say it!" she twined her arms about his neck, and held him tight as though he meditated going away at once. in the fear of this new danger, an agony welled up about her heart, and tears choked her utterance. but the doctor remained impassive. he gently, but forcibly, disengaged himself from her embrace, and seating himself, drew her down to her knees beside him. then he took her head in his hands, compelling her to look at him, and spoke to her in measured tones. "cora! calm yourself! you are growing hysterical. you know me too well, to suppose that i would swerve from a fixed purpose. i will not leave this city. as i have told you, all my hopes for the future bind me here. elsewhere i should be as nothing, here i will grow into greatness,--greatness which you shall share with me, if you be but brave!" "but this trial! suppose--suppose--oh! the horror of it!" she dropped her head upon his lap and wept. he stroked her beautiful black hair, which had become disengaged and now fell down her back, completely covering her shoulders. presently when she was more quiet, only an occasional sob indicating that she was yet disturbed, he spoke to her, soothingly, caressingly, so that under the magic of his tones she gradually recovered her self-possession. "my little one, have no fear! this trial is but an incident which scarcely gives me a troublesome thought. the worst is that i shall probably be in prison for some time awaiting trial. a meddlesome interference with the liberty of a man, which the law takes, offering no recompense when the accused is proven to have been innocent. this is one of the anomalies of a system which claims to administer equal rights and justice to all. i am accused of a crime. i am arrested and incarcerated for weeks, or months. i am tried and acquitted. i spend thousands of dollars in my defence. when i am released, i am in no way repaid for my loss of liberty and money. indeed, innocent though i be, i am congratulated by a host of sympathizers because i was not hanged. but i have had full justice. i have been accorded an expensive trial, with learned talent against me, etc., etc. the law is not to blame, nor those who enforce the laws. i am the victim of circumstances, that is all. well, so be it. a stupid doctor has warned the authorities that a woman has died of morphine poisoning, despite the fact that a more competent man has signed a certificate that she died of a natural disease. so i have been accused, and will undoubtedly be indicted and tried. but do you not see, that i have but to show that diphtheria caused death, and my innocence will be admitted?" "yes, but----!" "no! there is no but? now show me to a room, where i may rest unobserved, until the day after to-morrow. we must not rob the public of its sensation too soon. think of it, i read my own holocaust in an afternoon paper!" madam corona shivered at this, not yet fully unmindful of her own recent forebodings. obediently she took him to a room, and left him, the single comforting thought abiding with her, that she would have him all to herself during the whole of the following day. when messrs. dudley and bliss learned from barnes that he had followed dr. medjora, and had seen him go into the building which had been destroyed by fire, their hope that possibly the newspaper accounts were erroneous, was dissipated. "i knew it!" began the junior member. "i knew that it was too good to be true. think of that man's permitting himself to be burned to death just as we were about to get our chance. it's too exasperating." "it is annoying, robert, of course," said mr. dudley. "yet there is some comfort in the thought that he had the courtesy to pay us a retainer. that five hundred is most acceptable." "oh! certainly, the money will come handy, but what is five hundred dollars to an opportunity such as this would have been?" mr. bliss was in a very bad humor. "robert," began his partner, speaking seriously, "you must not be so impatient. we are no worse off, at any rate, than before the man called upon us, so far as our profession goes, and we are better off than we would be if he had not called at all. you should be grateful for the good received, and not cry after lost possibilities." "oh! well! i suppose you are right!" and throwing up both arms in a gesture of disgust, he went to his desk and began writing furiously. a long silence was maintained. these two men contrasted greatly. they had met each other during their law-school days, and were mutually attracted. mr. dudley was a hard student who had realized early in life that the best fruit comes to him, who climbs, rather than to him who shakes the tree; whilst that man who lies at ease, basking in the sunshine and waiting for ripe plums to fall into his mouth, is likely to go hungry. he was methodical, persistent, patient, energetic. he wasted no time. even during his office hours, if there were nothing else to occupy him, he would continue his studies, delving into the calf-bound tomes as though determined to be a thorough master of their contents. mr. bliss was his antithesis, and yet he had just those qualifications which made him complement his partner, so that he strengthened the firm. he was a brilliant, rather than a deep student. he read rapidly, and had a remarkable memory, so that he had a superficial comprehension of many things, rather than a positive knowledge of a lesser number. he could be both rhetorical and oratorical, and, at a pinch, could blind a jury with a neat metaphor, where surer logic might have made a smaller impression, being less attractive. when addressing the jury, he would become so earnest, that by suggesting to his hearers that he himself was convinced of the truth of his utterances, he often swayed them to his wishes. he was quick, too, and keen, so that he eventually became justly celebrated for his cross-examinations. but at this time his greatness had scarcely begun to bud, and so he sat like a schoolboy in the dumps, whilst his graver partner, though equally disappointed at the prospect of losing a good case, showed not so much of his annoyance. presently barnes entered with a telegram, which mr. bliss took, glad of anything to divert his thoughts. a moment after reading it he was greatly excited, and handing the message to his partner, exclaimed: "mortimer, in heaven's name read that!" mr. dudley took the despatch and read as follows: "be at office district attorney to-morrow ten o'clock. i will take your advice and surrender. medjora." "well, robert, what of it?" "what of it? has the western union an office in the other world now, that dead men may send telegrams?" "certainly not. therefore this was sent before he died." "before he died!" this unthought-of possibility shattered the rising hopes of mr. bliss. he made one more effort, however, saying: "what is the date?" "why, the date is to-day!" said mr. dudley, slowly. "singular! but it is an error, of course." "why do you say 'of course'?" asked his partner, testily. "you seem to be anxious to lose this case. now, how do you know that medjora is dead after all?" "why barnes saw him go into the building, and he could not have escaped, for the place was surrounded by the police." "there is no telling what that man can do. i verily believe that he is more than human, after the way in which he read my thoughts yesterday. i am going to probe this thing to the bottom." and before his partner could detain him, he had taken down his hat and rushed off. two hours later, he returned discouraged. at the main office he had been referred to a branch, far uptown. arriving there he found that the operator who had sent the despatch had gone off duty. the original blank upon which the message had been written was undated. so he learned practically nothing. "never mind," said he, doggedly, after relating his ill-success, "i will go to the district-attorney's office to-morrow, and wait for that man whether he come, or his ghost. i firmly believe that one or the other will do so." "i will go with you," said mr. dudley. "only promise me to say nothing, unless our man turns up." at half-past nine on the next morning, both of the young lawyers were at the appointed place. mr. dudley sat down and read, or appeared to read, the paper. mr. bliss walked about impatiently, leaving the room occasionally to go out into the hall and stand at the main doorway, looking into the street. a few moments before ten o'clock the district attorney himself arrived and nodded pleasantly to the young men, with whom he was acquainted. "waiting for me?" he asked of mr. dudley. "no! i am waiting for a client," was the quiet rejoinder. mr. bliss started to speak, but a signal from his partner reminded him of his injunction. "strange news in the morning paper," remarked the district attorney, evidently full of his topic. "that man medjora, the fellow who poisoned his sweetheart you know, was burned to death trying to escape the detectives. served him right, only it is a great case missed by us lawyers, eh?" "why do you say it served him right?" asked mr. bliss, quickly. he still hoped that the doctor would appear, and it occurred to him instantly, that he might learn something from the prosecution, thus taken unawares, supposing the case to be ended. "oh, well!" said the old lawyer, careful of speech by habit rather than because he saw any necessity for caution in the present instance; "had the case come to trial, we had abundant evidence upon which to convict, for medjora certainly murdered the girl." "your are mistaken!" said a clear voice behind them, and as the three men turned and faced dr. medjora, the clock struck ten. without waiting for them to recover from their surprise the doctor continued: "mr. district attorney, i am emanuel medjora, the man whom you have just accused of a hideous crime; the murder of a young girl, by making use of his knowledge of medicine. to my mind there can scarcely be a murder more fiendish, than where a physician, who has been taught the use of poisons for beneficent purposes, prostitutes his knowledge to compass the death of a human being; especially of one who loved him." he uttered the last words with a touch of pathos which moved his hearers. quickly recovering he continued: "therefore, both as a man, and as a physician, i must challenge you to prove your slanderous statement. i have come here to-day, sir, to surrender myself to you as the law's representative, that i may show my willingness to answer in person the charges which have been made against me. messrs. dudley & bliss here, are my counsel." the district attorney was very much astonished. not only was he amazed to see the man alive, when he had been reported dead, but he was entirely unprepared to find this suspected criminal to be a man of cultured refinement, both of speech and of manner. he was thus, for the moment, more leniently inclined than he would have been, were he alone considering the mass of evidence which his office had already collected against the doctor. turning to him therefore he said: "so you are dr. medjora! well, sir, i am delighted to see you. that you have voluntarily surrendered yourself will certainly tell in your favor. you must pardon my hasty remark. but i thought that you were dead, and----" "and as you could not hurt the dead, you saw no harm in calling an unconvicted man a murderer. i see!" there was a vein of satirical reproach beneath the polished manner of saying these words, which stung the old lawyer, and restored him at once to his wonted craftiness. "perhaps you are right, doctor, and i ought not to have used the words about you, dead or alive. of course, in this office the prisoner is only the accused. never more than that, even in our thoughts. that is an imperative injunction which i place upon all of my assistants. you see, gentlemen," he addressed them all collectively, with the purpose of bringing the doctor to the conclusion that he was not specially thinking of him. thus he prepared to spring a trap. "you see, the district attorney is a prosecuting officer, but he should never persecute. it is his duty to represent and guard the liberties of the whole community. he should be as jealous of the rights of the accused, as of the accuser. more so, perhaps, for the prisoner stands to an extent alone, whilst the whole commonwealth is against him. and so, dr. medjora, if you are an innocent man, as you seem to be, it would be my most pleasing duty to free you from the stigma cast upon you. and should you come to trial, you must believe that the more forcible my arguments may be against you, the more do i espouse your cause, for the more thorough would be your acquittal if you obtained the verdict." then having, as he thought, led his man away from his defence, he asked quickly, "but tell me, why have you not surrendered before?" if he hoped to see the doctor stammer and splutter, seeking for some plausible explanation, he was doomed to disappointment. dr. medjora replied at once, ignoring a signal from mr. bliss not to speak. "mr. district attorney, i will reply most candidly. whilst, as you have just said, it is your duty to guard the interests of the accused as well as of the commonwealth, i regret to be compelled to say that such is not your reputation. people say, and i see now that they must be wrong,"--the doctor bowed and smiled most politely,--"but they do say that with you it is conviction at any cost. thus even an innocent man might well hesitate to withstand the attacks of so eminent and skilful a jurist as yourself. circumstantial evidence, whilst most reliable when thoroughly comprehended, may sometimes entrap the guiltless. so whilst my blood boiled in anger at the disgraceful charges which were made against me, my innate love of liberty, and my caution, bade me think first. not satisfied with my own counsel, i deemed it wise to consult legal authority, which i did two days ago. messrs. dudley & bliss advised me to surrender, confident that my innocence will be made so apparent that i do not materially jeopardize my life. in compliance with the understanding entered into two days ago, as these gentlemen will testify, i am at your service." "but why did you not come here two days ago?" "because i had some affairs of a private nature to arrange." "what about the incident of the fire reported in the papers?" "why, i see nothing in that but poor reportorial work. i did not choose to be arrested when i had decided voluntarily to surrender, as such a mischance would have injured my case. i therefore escaped during the confusion. that i was unobserved, and was reported to have perished, is not my fault certainly." "very well, doctor. you have not been indicted, and there is no warrant out for your arrest; still, as you have surrendered, are you willing to be taken to prison?" "that is what i expect. i am entirely ready." "may i ask," said mr. dudley, addressing the district attorney, "in view of the fact that our client has voluntarily surrendered himself, that his confinement in prison may be as brief as possible? we claim that the doctor is an innocent man, deprived of his liberty whilst awaiting trial, through the blundering accusations of a stupid physician. we venture to suggest that common justice demands that his trial should be as soon as possible." "i shall arrange to have the trial at as early a date as is consistent with my duty to the commonwealth!" "and to the accused?" interjected dr. medjora, with a twinkle in his eye. "and to the accused, of course," said the old lawyer, with a smile, unwilling to be outdone. and so dr. emanuel medjora was taken to prison to await his trial, and the public was treated to another sensation through the newspapers. chapter v. for the prosecution. in spite of the promises of the district attorney, several months passed before the great murder trial was commenced. the public at last were delighted to hear that their love for the harrowing details of a celebrated crime was to be satisfied. a few of the newspapers of the sensational stamp announced that they, and they only, would have the fullest accounts, illustrated with life-like portraiture of the accused, the lawyers, the judge, the jury, and the chief witnesses. this promise was so well fulfilled that on the opening day there appeared several alleged portraits of dr. medjora, which resembled him about as little as they did one another. several days were consumed before the jury was impanelled, and then at length the prosecution opened its case, which was mainly in charge of mr. george munson, a newly appointed assistant district attorney, the very man of whom mr. dudley had spoken, when his partner had bewailed their unfortunate lot, because they had never been intrusted with a criminal case. mr. munson was a rising man. he had attracted attention, and was receiving a reward of merit by his promotion to the office which he now filled. it was hinted somewhere, that his appointment had been largely dependent upon his conduct of that murder case, during which he had shown a wonderful knowledge of chemistry, for one not actually a chemist. and his having charge of this most important case, in which chemical expert testimony seemed likely to play an important part, substantiated the statement. he was well versed in law, was keen and quick at cross-examination, and merciless in probing the private lives of witnesses, when such action promised to aid his cause. he was not, however, a very brilliant speaker, but it was expected that the district attorney would himself sum up. thus the prosecution seemed to be in able hands. opposed to them were messrs. dudley & bliss, two young, unknown men, and people wondered why the doctor, reputed to have wealth, had not engaged more prominent counsel. mr. munson's opening speech was not lengthy. he confined himself to a brief statement of his case, summarizing in the most general fashion what he expected to prove; in brief, that mabel sloane had died of morphine poisoning, and not of diphtheria, that the poison had been administered by dr. medjora, and that his object had been to rid himself of a woman who stood in his path, an obstacle to the advancement of his ambition. mr. munson thus avoided the mistake so often made by lawyers, where, following the temptation to make a speech, they tell so much that they weaken their cause, by affording their opponents time to prepare a more thorough defence. a few witnesses were called to establish in a general way the death of the girl, her place of residence, and such other facts as are essential in the preparation of a case, in order that no legal technicality may be neglected. but as it is manifest that i cannot, in the scope of this narration, give you a full account of the trial, i shall confine myself to compiling from the records just so much of the evidence as shall seem to me likely to attract your interest, and to be necessary to a full comprehension of the doctor's position, and relation to this supposed crime. the first important witness, then, was dr. meredith, the physician who had aroused suspicion by reporting to the board of health that the girl had, in his opinion, died of opium narcosis. it was apparent, when he took the stand, that he was extremely nervous, and disliked exceedingly the position in which he found himself. indeed it is a very trying predicament for a physician to be called upon to testify in a court of law, unless he is not only an expert in his profession, but also an expert witness. he finds himself confronted by an array of medical and legal experts, all conspiring to disprove his assertions, and to show how little his knowledge is worth. generally, he has little to gain, whereas he may lose much in the estimation of his patrons by being made to appear ridiculous on the stand. after taking the oath, dr. meredith sat with his eyes upon the floor until mr. munson began to question him. then he looked straight at the lawyer, as though upon him he relied for protection. "you attended miss mabel sloane in her last illness, i believe?" began mr. munson. "i did." "how were you called in to the case?" "i was called in consultation by dr. fisher." "you were sent for by dr. fisher! then i am to understand that you and he were good friends?" "the best of friends." "and are so still?" "i think so. yes." "and dr. medjora. did you know him before your connection with this case?" "only slightly." "were you present when miss sloane died?" "i was present for half an hour before she died." "exactly! and you remained with her until she was actually dead?" "yes, sir. i saw her die." "of what did she die?" "i object!" cried mr. bliss, springing to his feet and interrupting the prosecution for the first time. "state your objection," said the recorder, tersely. "your honor," began mr. bliss, "i object to the form of the question. the whole point at issue is contained in it, and i contend that this witness is not qualified to answer. if he were, the trial might end upon his doing so." "the witness is only expected to testify to the best of his belief," said the recorder. "very true, your honor. i only wish it to go to the jury in the proper form. if they understand that this witness does not know of what miss sloane died, but simply states what he thinks, i shall be perfectly satisfied." "you may as well modify your question, mr. munson," said the recorder. thus mr. bliss scored a little victory, which at once convinced the older lawyers present that, though young, he would prove to be shrewd to grasp the smallest advantage. his object had evidently been to belittle the value of the answer, before it was made, by thus calling attention so prominently to the fact that dr. meredith could not know positively what he was about to charge. "in your opinion, what caused the death of miss sloane?" this was the new question formulated to meet the objection raised. "she died of morphine poisoning!" replied dr. meredith. "you mean you think she died of morphine poisoning?" interjected mr. bliss. "kindly wait until you get the witness before you begin your cross-examination!" said mr. munson, with a touch of asperity. mr. bliss merely smiled and kept silent, satisfied that he had produced his effect upon the jury. "will you state why you conclude that miss sloane died of morphine poisoning?" continued mr. munson. "i observed all the characteristic symptoms of morphine narcosis prior to her death, and the nature of the death itself was consistent with my theory." "please explain what the symptoms of morphine poisoning are?" "cold sweat, slow pulse, stertorous breathing, a gradually deepening coma, contracted pupils, which, however, slowly dilate at the approach of death, which is caused by a paralysis of the respiratory centres." "did you observe any of these symptoms in miss sloane?" "yes. practically all of them." "and would these same symptoms occur in any other form of death, except from morphine poisoning?" "they would not. of course they do not apply to morphine only. they are generally diagnostic of opium poisoning." "but morphine is a form of opium, is it not?" "yes. it is one of the alkaloids." "now, doctor, one more question. you have testified that you attended this girl in her last illness; as a physician you are familiar with death from diphtheria; you have stated what are the symptoms of morphine, or opium poisoning, and that you observed them in this case; further, that an identical set of symptoms would not occur in any other disease known to you; now, from these facts, what would you say caused the death of miss mabel sloane?" "i should say that she died of a poisonous dose of some form of opium, probably morphine." "you may take the witness," said mr. munson, as he sat down. mr. bliss spoke a word to doctor medjora, and then holding a few slips of paper, upon which were notes, mainly suggestions which had been written by the prisoner himself, and passed to his counsel unperceived by the majority of those present, he faced the witness, whose eyes at once sought the floor. "doctor," began mr. bliss, "you have stated that you are only slightly acquainted with dr. medjora. is that true?" "i said that i was only slightly acquainted with him prior to my being called to attend miss sloane. of course i know him better now." "but before the time which you specify, you did not know him?" "not intimately." "oh! not intimately? then you did know him? now is it not a fact that you and dr. medjora were enemies?" "i object!" exclaimed mr. munson. "i wish to show, your honor," said mr. bliss, "that this witness has harbored a personal spite against our client, and that because of that, his mind was not in a condition to evolve an unprejudiced opinion about the illness of miss sloane." "i do not think that is at all competent, your honor," said mr. munson. "the witness has testified to facts, and even if there were personal feeling, that would not alter facts." "no, your honor," said mr. bliss, quickly, "facts are immutable. but a prejudiced mind is as an eye that looks through a colored glass. all that is observed is distorted by the mental state." "the witness may answer," said the recorder. at the request of mr. bliss the stenographer read the question aloud, and the witness replied. "dr. medjora and myself were not enemies. certainly not!" "had you not had a controversy with him upon a professional point?" "i had an argument with him, in a debate, just as occurs in all debates." "precisely! but was not this argument, as you term it, a discussion which followed a paper which you had read, and in that argument did not dr. medjora prove that the whole treatment outlined by you was erroneous, unscientific, and unsound?" "he did not prove it; he claimed something of the kind!" "you say he did not prove it. as a result of his argument, was not your paper refused publication by a leading medical journal?" "i did not offer it for publication." "i think this is all incompetent, your honor," said mr. munson. "you may go on," said the recorder, nodding to mr. bliss. "is it not customary for papers read before your societies to become the property of the society, and are they not sent by the society to the journal in question?" "yes, i believe so." "was not your paper sent to the journal as usual, and was it not rejected by the journal?" "i do not know that it was." "well, has your paper been published anywhere?" "no." "you said that you were present when miss sloane died. now how did that happen. were you sent for?" "no. i had seen the patient with dr. fisher during the day, and she seemed to be improving, so much so that dr. fisher decided that we need not see her until the next morning. later i thought this a little unsafe, and so i called during the evening." "oh! dr. fisher thought she was well enough, but you did not. was that why you called at night?" the witness bit his lip with anger at having made this slip. "i live near, and i thought it would do no harm to call." "now when you called, you have stated that you were with her for half an hour before she died. did she die a half hour after you entered her room?" "in about half an hour." "how soon after you saw her, did you suspect that she had been poisoned?" "immediately." "oh! immediately! then of course you made some effort to save her life, did you not? you used some antidotes?" "it was difficult. at first of course there was merely a suspicion in my mind. i tried to have her drink some strong coffee, but deglutition was almost impossible. this is another evidence of the poison." "now, doctor, be careful. you say that impaired deglutition was due to poisoning. but do you not know that deglutition is most difficult in cases of diphtheria?" "the patient swallowed very well in the afternoon." "but if she had grown worse, if the false membrane had increased, would she not have had greater difficulty in swallowing?" "yes, but----" "never mind the buts. now, then, when you found that she was too ill to swallow, what else did you do?" "i injected atropine, and sent for dr. fisher." "oh! then you did send for dr. fisher?" "yes." "did he arrive before she died?" "yes. about five minutes." "did you suggest to him that the patient was dying of poison?" "i did, but he would not agree with me. therefore i could not do anything more, as he was the physician in charge." "is dr. fisher a skilful man?" "yes." "as skilful as you are yourself?" this was a hard question, but with dr. fisher present, only one answer was possible. "certainly, but we are all liable to make a mistake." this was a bad effort to help his cause, for mr. bliss quickly interposed. "even you are liable to make a mistake, eh?" "of course, but in this instance i saw more of the case than dr. fisher did." "still, dr. fisher was present for several minutes before this girl died, and though you suggested that she had been poisoned, and proposed taking some action to save her from the poison, he disagreed with you so entirely that he made no such effort. is that right?" "well, there was very little that he could have done anyway. it was too late. the drug had gone too far for the stomach-pump to be efficacious; the atropine had had no beneficial result, we had no means of applying a magnetic battery, and no time to get one. artificial respiration was what i proposed, whilst waiting for a battery, but dr. fisher thought it a useless experiment, in presence of the diphtheria. he offered to perform tracheotomy, but as i considered that the respiratory centres had been paralyzed by morphine, i could see no advantage in that." "so whilst you two doctors argued, the patient died?" "it was too late for us to save her life. the coma was too deep. it was a hopeless case." "now, then, doctor, let us come to those symptoms. you enumerated a list, and claimed that you observed them all. the first is cold sweat. did you notice that specially?" "the cold sweat was present, but not very marked. it would be less so with morphine than with other forms of opium." "oh! so there was not much sweat after all? now was there more than would be expected on a warm night such as that was?" "i think so. it is only valuable as a diagnostic sign in conjunction with the other symptoms." "next we have slow pulse. this was a half hour before death. does not the pulse become slow in many cases just before death?" "yes." "very good. not much sweat, and slow pulse does not amount to anything. what next? oh! 'stertorous breathing.' that is not uncommon in diphtheria, is it, doctor?" "no." "just so. now then, 'gradually deepening coma.' that is to say, a slow sinking into unconsciousness. or i might say, dying slowly. is a slow death of this kind only possible where opium poisoning has occurred?" "no." "lastly we have the contracted pupils. that is your best diagnostic symptom, is it not, doctor?" "yes. it is a plain indication of opium." "now then, doctor, admitting that the contracted pupils are a sign of morphine, how did you determine, in that darkened room, that there was a contraction of the pupils?" "i passed a candle before her eyes, and they gave no response, whilst the pupils were contracted minutely." "how small?" "as small as a pin's point." "now then, doctor, you answered a lengthy question for mr. munson and you told us that these symptoms, that is, all of them occurring together, would not be found in any other condition than that which in your opinion would be the result of opium poisoning. please listen to this question and give me an answer. suppose that a patient were suffering with diphtheria, and were about to die of that disease, and that some time before she died morphine were administered in a moderate, medicinal dose, would it not be possible to have the contracted pupils such as you have described as a result of the morphine, whilst death were really caused by diphtheria?" "i object!" cried mr. munson, quick to see the ingenuity of this question, which if answered affirmatively by the witness would leave the inference that miss sloane might have taken a non-poisonous dose of morphine and still have died of diphtheria. "the question seems to me to be a proper one," said the recorder. "your honor," said mr. munson, "this witness is here to testify to facts. he is not here as an expert. that is a hypothetical question and does not relate to the facts in this case." "it is no more a hypothetical question than one which the prosecution asked, your honor. he asked if the described symptoms could occur in any other disease. the witness was allowed to answer that." "yes," said the recorder, "but you made no objection. had you done so, and claimed that this witness could not give expert testimony, i would perhaps have sustained you. i think you may leave your question until the experts are called, mr. bliss." "oh! very well, your honor. i should prefer to have an expert opinion upon it. if this witness is not an expert, of course his opinion would be of no value to us." this was a rather neat manoeuvre, tending to further discredit the witness, without placing himself in opposition to the judge, an important point always. mr. bliss then yielded the witness, and the assistant district attorney asked a few more questions in re-examination, but they were mainly intended to re-affirm the previous testimony, and so obtain a last impression upon the minds of the jury. nothing was brought out which would add to what has already been narrated. court then adjourned for the day. chapter vi. damaging testimony. on the following day the newspaper accounts of the trial, and especially of the sharp cross-examination of dr. meredith, attracted a tremendous crowd, which assailed the doors of the court-room long before the hour for opening. every conceivable excuse to gain admission was offered. men claimed to be personal friends of the prisoner, and women brought him flowers. some essayed force, others resorted to entreaty, whilst not a few relied upon strategy, appearing with law books under their arms, and following in the wake of counsel. thus when the recorder finally entered, and proceedings were begun, every available seat, and all standing room was fully occupied by the throng, which, without any real personal interest in the case, yet was attracted through that curious love of the sensational, and of the criminal, which actuates the majority of mankind to-day. the first witness was called promptly. this was dr. mcdougal, the coroner's physician, to whom had been intrusted the autopsy. he gave a full account of the operations performed by himself and his assistants upon the body of the deceased. he described in detail each step of his work, and exhibited a thoroughness and caution which more than anything demonstrated that he was the expert pathologist which the prosecution claimed him to be. indeed, it would be well in great trials, if those having charge of autopsies would emulate the example of dr. mcdougal. he explained how, before opening the body, it had been thoroughly washed in sterilized water, and placed upon a marble slab, which had been scrubbed clean and then bathed in a germicidal solution. next new glass cans, absolutely clean, had been at hand, in which the various organs were placed as they were removed from the body, after which they were hermetically sealed, and stamped with the date, so that when passed into the hands of the analytical chemist, that gentleman might feel assured that he received the identical parts, and that nothing of an extraneous nature, poisonous or otherwise, had been mixed with them. it was evident that this careful man made a deep impression upon the jury, and that his statements would have weight with them, not alone as to his own evidence, but by strengthening the chemical report, since he had made it apparently assured that if poison had been found, it had not reached the body after death. finally, mr. munson brought his witness to the point of special interest. "from what you observed, doctor," said he, "are you prepared to assign a cause of death?" "i should conclude that she died of coma!" was the reply. "can you state whether this coma had been produced by a poisonous dose of morphine?" "i should say that it was very probable that opium in some form had been exhibited, in a poisonous dose." "state specifically why you have adopted that opinion!" "i found the brain wet, the convolutions flattened; the lungs, heart, liver, and spleen, distended and engorged with dark fluid blood. the vessels of the cerebro-spinal axis were also engorged with black blood, and the capillaries of the brain, upon incision, vented the same fluid." "and these signs are indicative of opium poisoning?" "they are the only evidences of opium poisoning that can be discovered by an autopsy. of course a chemical analysis, if it should show the presence of the drug, would go very far to corroborate this presumption." "then if the chemical analysis shows the actual presence of opium, would you say that this patient died of opium poisoning?" "i would!" "doctor, it has been suggested that she died of diphtheria. what is your opinion of that?" "i found evidences in the throat and adjacent parts, that the woman had had diphtheria, but, from the total absence of false membrane, i should say that she was well on the way to a recovery from that disease, at the time of her death." "then from these facts do you think that she died of opium poisoning?" "i think it most probable, judging by what i found after death." "it has been testified by the physician in charge of the case, that the symptoms of morphine poisoning were sufficiently marked for him to deem antidotes necessary prior to death. would not that corroborate your own conclusions?" "if correct, it would substantiate my opinion." considering the very positive and damaging nature of this evidence, it was thought that the cross-examination would be very exhaustive. to the surprise of all, mr. bliss asked only a few questions. "dr. mcdougal," said he, "did you examine the kidneys?" "i did." "in what condition did you find them to be?" "they were much shrunken, and smooth. non-elastic." "is that a normal condition?" "no, sir. it is a morbid condition." "morbid? that is diseased. then this woman had some kidney disease? do i so understand you?" "unquestionably!" "can you state what disease existed?" "i should say bright's disease." "might she not have died of this?" "no. there was evidence of the existence of bright's disease, but not sufficient to adjudge it a cause of death." "but you are certain that she had bright's disease?" "yes, sir." "that is all." professor orton then took the stand for the prosecution. under the questioning of mr. munson, he described himself to be an expert analytical chemist and toxicologist. he said that he was a lecturing professor connected with the university medical college, and clinical chemist for two other schools, besides being president of several societies, and member or honorary member in a dozen others. then, proceeding to a description of his work on this particular case, he explained in almost tedious detail his methods of searching for morphine in the organs taken from the body of the deceased. some of these tests he repeated in the presence of the court, showing how, by the reaction of his testing agents upon the matter under examination, the presence or absence of morphine could be detected. having thus paved the way towards the special evidence which he was expected to give, his examination was continued as follows: "now then, professor," said mr. munson, "you have proven to us very clearly that you can detect the presence of morphine in the tissues. please state whether you examined the organs of the deceased, and with what result?" "i made a most thorough examination and i found morphine present, especially in the stomach and in the intestines." "did you find it in poisonous quantities?" "the actual quantity which i found, would not have been a lethal dose, but such a dose must have been administered for me to have found as much as i did find." "well, from what you did find, can you state what quantity must have been administered?" "i cannot state positively, but i should guess----" "no! no! i object!" cried mr. bliss, jumping up. "you are here to give expert testimony. we do not want any guess-work!" "professor," said the recorder, "can you not state what was the minimum quantity which must have been administered, judged by what you found?" "it is difficult, your honor. the drug acts variably upon different individuals. then again, much would depend upon the length of time which elapsed between the administration, and the death of the individual." "then in this case your opinion would be a mere speculation and not competent," said the recorder, and mr. bliss seated himself, satisfied that he had scored another point. but he was soon on his feet again, for mr. munson would not yield so easily. "professor," said he, "you said in reply to his honor, that you could not answer without knowing how long before death the drug had been administered. now with that knowledge would you be able to give us a definite answer?" "a definite answer? yes! but not an exact one. the drug is absorbed more rapidly in some, than in others, so that one person might take two or three times as much as another, and i would find the same residuum. but i could tell you what was the minimum dose that must have been administered." "well, then, supposing that the drug had been administered about three hours before death, how large must the dose have been, or what was the minimum quantity that could have been given, judging by what you found?" "i must object to that, your honor!" said mr. bliss. "your honor," said mr. munson, "this is a hypothetical question, and perfectly competent." "it is a hypothetical question, your honor," replied mr. bliss, "but it contains a hypothesis which is not based upon the evidence in this case. there has been absolutely no testimony to show that morphine was administered to this woman about three hours before death." "we have a witness who will testify to that later," replied mr. munson, and this announcement created no little sensation, for here was promised some direct evidence. "upon the understanding," said the recorder, "that you will produce a witness who will testify that morphine was administered three hours before death, i will admit your question." "we take an exception!" said mr. bliss, and sat down. "now please answer the question," said mr. munson, addressing the witness. "under the hypothesis presented i should say that the minimum dose must have been three grains." "that is to say, she must have had three grains, or more?" "yes, sir; three grains or more." "what is a medicinal dose?" "from a thirty-second of a grain to half a grain, though the latter would be unusual." "unusually large you mean?" "yes. it would be rarely given." "then would you say that three grains would be a lethal dose?" "it would most probably prove fatal. one sixth of a grain has been known to produce death." "one sixth of a grain has proven fatal, and, from what you found, you conclude that three grains had been given to this woman?" "yes, provided your hypothesis as to the time of administration is correct." "oh, we will prove the hypothesis." "then i should say that three grains had been administered." "three grains or more?" "yes, three grains or more." "you may take the witness," said the assistant district attorney, and mr. bliss at once began his cross-examination. "professor, as an expert toxicologist now, leaving analytical chemistry for awhile, you are familiar with the action of drugs in the human body during life, are you not?" "of poisonous drugs. yes, sir." "of poisonous drugs of course. of opium and its alkaloids especially, is what i mean?" "yes, sir. i have studied them minutely." "now then in regard to morphine. you said to his honor, awhile ago, that this drug acts variably upon different individuals. is it not true that it also acts differently upon the same individual at various times?" "yes, sir, that is true." "and is its action affected by disease?" "it might be!" "supposing that the drug were administered continuously, might it not occur, that instead of being absorbed, the morphine would be retained, stored up as it were, so that the quantity would accumulate?" "yes, the records contain reports of such cases." "well, now, suppose that a patient had some kidney trouble, such as bright's disease, would not morphine be retained in this way?" "i have never seen such a case." "never seen it! but you have read, or heard of such cases?" "yes, sir. that is the claim made by some authorities." "by good authorities?" "yes. good authorities." "and these good authorities claim that morphine, administered to one who has bright's disease, might accumulate until a poisonous dose were present?" "yes, sir!" thus was made plain the object of the line of cross-examination that had been followed with dr. mcdougal. it became evident that the defence meant to claim that if mabel sloane died from morphine it was because it had been stored up in her system, in consequence of the diseased kidneys. satisfied with this admission from the prosecution's expert, mr. bliss yielded the witness, and he was re-examined by mr. munson. "professor," said he, "supposing that in the case of this girl, morphine had been retained in the system, suddenly destroying life because a poisonous quantity had been thus accumulated, would you expect to find it, after death, in the stomach?" "no, sir, i would not." "how long a time would be required to eliminate it from that organ?" "ordinarily it should be eliminated from the system entirely within forty-eight hours. certainly after that length of time, it should not appear in the stomach." "and yet in this case you found morphine in the stomach?" "yes, sir." "so that to be there, it must have been administered within two days, and could not have been there as a result of accumulation beyond that time?" "i should say that the presence in the stomach proves that the administration must have occurred within two days." upon re-cross mr. bliss asked a few questions. "on your original examination, professor, you said that you found morphine in the intestines and in the stomach. where did you find the greater quantity?" "in the intestines!" "if, because of kidney disease, morphine were retained in the system, where would you look for it after death?" "in the intestines." "that is all." the next witness was a young woman. her examination proceeded as follows, after she had given her name and occupation. "now, miss conlin, you say you were engaged in your capacity of professional nurse, to care for miss sloane. were you on duty on the day of her death?" "yes, sir. day and night." "you were present when the doctors called in the afternoon then. what did they say of her condition?" "that she was very much better. the membrane had entirely disappeared. dr. fisher thought she would be up in a few days." "did dr. medjora call during the afternoon, or evening?" "yes, sir. he called about five o'clock." "did you remain with your patient throughout his visit?" "no, sir. dr. medjora said that he would stay until nine o'clock, and that i might go out for some fresh air." "did you do so?" "yes, sir. i was glad to go." "did you not consider it wrong to leave your patient?" "why, no, sir. she was getting better, and besides, dr. medjora being a physician could care for her as well as i could." "when you went out did you state when you would return?" "yes. i said i would be back at nine o'clock." "as a matter of fact, when did you return?" "about half-past eight. it was eight o'clock when i left my home." "did you go at once to your patient's room?" "yes, sir." "and enter it?" "yes, sir." "what did you see when you entered?" "i saw dr. medjora bending over miss sloane, giving her a hypodermic injection of morphine!" "how could you tell it was morphine?" "he washed out the syringe in a glass of water, before he put it back in his case. i tasted the water afterwards, and distinguished the morphine in that way. besides, i found several morphine tablets in the bed." "what did you do with these tablets?" "at first i placed them on the mantel. afterwards, when dr. meredith said that miss sloane was dying from morphine, i put them in a phial and slipped that into my pocket." "was that the same phial which you brought to me?" "yes, sir." "is this it?" he handed up a phial containing four pellets, which was admitted in evidence, and identified by miss conlin. "did you tell dr. medjora that you had seen him administer the morphine?" "no, sir. at the time i thought it must be all right, as he was her friend, and a physician." "did he know that you had seen him?" "no, sir. i think not." the witness was then given to mr. bliss for cross-examination. "miss conlin," he began, "who engaged you to attend miss sloane?" "dr. medjora." "what did he say to you at that time?" "that a very dear friend of his was ill, and that he would pay me well for skilful services." "did he pay you?" "yes, sir." "during her illness what was the general behavior of dr. medjora towards her. that is, was he kind, or was he indifferent?" "oh! very kind. it was plain that he was in love with her." "i move, your honor," said mr. munson, "that the latter part of that answer be stricken out, as incompetent." "the motion is granted," said the recorder. "you said that the doctor was always kind," said mr. bliss, resuming. "so much so that you would not have suspected that he wished her any harm, would you?" "i object!" said mr. munson. "objection sustained!" said the recorder. "now, then, we will come down to the administration of the hypodermic," said mr. bliss. "you testified that you saw dr. medjora administer the hypodermic. are we to understand that you saw dr. medjora dissolve the tablets, fill the syringe, push the needle under the skin, press the piston so that the contents were discharged, and then remove the instrument?" "no, sir. i did not see all that." "well, what did you see?" "i saw him taking the syringe out of miss sloane's arm. then he cleaned it and put it in his pocket, after putting it in a case." "oh! you did not see him push the syringe in, you only saw him take it out. then how do you know that he did make the injection, if one was made at all?" "why, he must have. i saw him take out the syringe, and there was no one else who could have done it." "then you saw him put the syringe in a case, and place the case in his pocket, i think you said?" "yes, sir." "what sort of case was it?" "a metal case!" "was it a case like this?" mr. bliss handed her an aluminum hypodermic case, which she examined, and then said: "it looked like this." the case was then marked as an exhibit for the defence. "in what position was miss sloane when you saw the doctor leaning over her?" "she was lying across the bed, with her head in a pillow. she was crying softly!" "i think you said that this occurred at half-past eight o'clock?" "yes, sir. about that time." "at what hour did miss sloane die?" "at eleven thirty!" "that is to say, three hours after you supposed that you saw dr. medjora make the injection." "yes, sir!" "did you leave the room again during that time?" "no, sir." "not even to get the coffee which dr. meredith had ordered?" "no, sir. i made that on the gas-stove in the room." "well, then, during that last three hours did you, or any one else, in your presence, inject, or administer morphine in any form to miss sloane?" "no, sir; positively not." "such a thing could not have occurred without your knowledge?" "no, sir." "now, your honor," said mr. bliss, "i would like to ask the prosecution whether this is the only witness upon whom they depend to prove the hypothesis that morphine was administered within three hours prior to the death of miss sloane?" "that is our evidence on that point," replied mr. munson. "then, if it please the court, i move that all that testimony of professor orton's following and dependent upon the hypothetical question, shall be stricken from the records." "state your grounds," said the recorder. "your honor admitted the question upon the express understanding, that the hypothesis that morphine had been administered within the specified time should be proven. the prosecution's own witness tells us that no such administration occurred during the last three hours of the life of the deceased. the proposition then hinges upon what this witness claims to have seen as she entered the room. she admits that she only saw dr. medjora remove a syringe. she did not see him insert it, and she could not possibly know what the contents of that syringe were." "i think," said the recorder, "that the question whether or not her testimony shows that dr. medjora administered a hypodermic of morphine is a question for the jury. the evidence may stand." "we take exception," said mr. bliss. after a few moments consultation with mr. dudley he said to the witness: "that is all," and she was allowed to leave the stand. this ended the day's proceedings. chapter vii. the prosecution rests. the first witness called, on the resumption of the trial, was a druggist, named newton, who qualified as an expert pharmacist and chemist. he examined the pellets contained in the bottle identified by the professional nurse as the one which she had given to mr. munson. these he dissolved in water, and then submitted to chemical tests, from the results of which he pronounced them to be morphine. he testified that he recognized them as the usual pellets carried by physicians for hypodermic use. he was not cross-examined. the next witness was prof. hawley, an expert pathologist. he swore that he had assisted at the autopsy, and in the main substantiated the evidence of dr. mcdougal, the coroner's physician, agreeing with him, that from the physical appearances, the probable cause of death had been morphine poisoning. he was asked the hypothetical question and answered as did the other witness, that at least three grains must have been administered. up to this point the evidence was merely cumulative, but mr. munson then essayed another line of inquiry. "professor," said he, "from your examination of this body can you tell us whether or not the deceased had been a mother?" "i object!" cried mr. bliss springing to his feet, with more energy than he had yet exhibited. it was plain that though heretofore his objections to the admission of evidence may have been suggested rather by his desire to fully protect his client, than because he feared the testimony, this time he fought to exclude this evidence because of some vital interest, as though, indeed, this point having been foreshadowed in the early newspaper accounts, he had been fully instructed by dr. medjora. this became the more apparent, when mr. dudley himself took part in the argument, for the first time bringing the weight of his legal knowledge to bear upon the case publicly. for when the court asked for a cause of objection, it was mr. dudley who replied. "may it please your honor," said he, "it seems to us, that the fact which counsel here endeavors to introduce, is entirely irrelevant. whether or not miss sloane was a mother, can have no possible connection with our client's responsibility for the crime of which he is accused. it is no more against the law to kill a mother, than to slay any other woman. we hope that your honor will see the advisability of shielding the name of the dead from any such imputation as the guesses of even this celebrated expert might cast upon her." "i really cannot see the bearing of this evidence," said the recorder, addressing mr. munson. "if it please your honor," said mr. munson, "we wish to show that this girl was an unmarried woman; who nevertheless bore a child to the prisoner. further, we will show that miss sloane was a poor girl, seeking to earn her living as a music teacher. now the accused suddenly finds the opportunity to marry a wealthy woman, and the poor musician, with her claim upon him as the father of her child, becomes an obstacle in his path. thus, your honor, we supply a motive for this crime." "but, your honor," said mr. dudley, "there has not been a particle of evidence to prove any of these assertions, so glibly put for the benefit of the jury, and therefore we must contend that this evidence is entirely incompetent." "as tending to explain the motive, i must rule that counsel may examine fully into the relations that existed between the prisoner and the deceased," said the recorder. "but," persisted mr. dudley, "even granting that this expert can say whether a woman has borne a child, which is a question of grave uncertainty, assuredly it cannot be claimed that he can testify as to the father of the child. therefore he can throw no light whatever upon the relation which existed between the dead girl and our client." "the question is admitted. the witness may answer!" replied the recorder, upon which the defence entered an exception. the expert then answered: "it was positively discernible that the deceased had been a mother." "can you state how long ago?" "it is understood, your honor," said mr. dudley, "that we take exception to this whole line of examination?" to this the recorder nodded in assent, and the witness replied: "not within a year, i should say." the witness was then yielded to the defence, but the cross-examination was confined entirely to the condition of the kidneys, thus making the prosecution's expert once more add to the evidence in favor of the defence, by admitting the diseased condition of organs, which it was claimed would materially affect the action of morphine in the system. next followed several witnesses, all of them boarders in the house where the deceased had dwelt. the object of their testimony was to show that the deceased passed in the house as a single woman, and that dr. medjora appeared in the light of an accepted suitor. they all denied that the girl had ever claimed that she was married, or that she had ever worn a wedding-ring. under cross-examination they all admitted that they had never heard of, nor seen a child. it transpired that she had lived in the house a little more than a year, and that dr. medjora had been a visitor for less than half of that period. mrs. sloane, the mother of the dead girl, then took the stand. she was dressed in deep mourning, and wept frequently. she testified that her daughter had always been of an unruly, headstrong disposition, and fond of enjoying herself. that she had been disinclined to work at home, and appeared to feel herself better than her own kith and kin. she had met dr. medjora at some musical party several years before, and the doctor had become a constant visitor. "but i never liked the man. somehow i knew that he was a cruel, dangerous man for a poor girl, with high ideas, like my mabel." these remarks offered voluntarily, and delivered so rapidly that she could not be prevented from having her say, were objected to, and promptly ruled out, the recorder agreeing with mr. dudley, that personal impressions could not be received in evidence against a man's character. coming down to a later period, she explained that she and her daughter had "had some words about her going with that man," and the girl had suddenly left home. "of course i knew she had been lured away by that black-hearted villain," ejaculated the witness, half sobbing. this was also ruled out, and the witness was admonished to restrain herself, and to confine her remarks to answering questions of counsel. she went on to say that she had received letters from time to time from the girl, post-marked from new york, but she had never discovered her address, nor seen her alive after they separated. in these letters, miss sloane had told her mother "not to worry," that she was "doing very well and hoped soon to do better;" that "my friend, the doctor, has been very kind to me," and other passages of this nature. but there was never any allusion to a marriage, nor to dr. medjora as intending to marry her. under cross-examination, which was rather brief, she admitted that since her daughter left home, she had had no knowledge of her except through those letters, and that therefore she did not know, positively, that the girl had not been married. it was also made to appear that the girl had never been very happy in her home, and had frequently, even before her acquaintance with doctor medjora, expressed her determination to "leave home at the first chance." she also admitted, reluctantly, that she knew nothing, positively, against the character of the accused, "except that it was plain to be seen that he was a villain with no respect for a woman." this, of course, was stricken out. the undertaker, who had originally taken charge of the body, was placed upon the stand, and testified that he had not removed the body from the house, when he was notified by the coroner to retire from the case. neither he, nor his assistants, had used any embalming fluid, nor had they injected any fluids whatever into the body before they gave it into the care of the coroner's physician. he swore that it was the same body which had been shown to him as that of mabel sloane, that he had given to dr. mcdougal. a few more witnesses were called in corroboration of minor details, and to protect the case of the prosecution from technical flaws of omission, and then mr. munson announced that their side would rest. the crowd in the court-room leaned forward, as mr. dudley arose, eager to hear him open for the defence, as they supposed that he was about to do. instead of this he addressed the court as follows: "may it please your honor, we must request you, before permitting the prosecution to rest, to instruct that dr. fisher be called as a witness." "dr. fisher, your honor," said mr. munson, "is not our witness. he is not named in the indictment. there is no reason, however, why the defence should not call him if they wish him." "upon what ground, mr. dudley," asked the recorder, "do you make this motion?" "upon the ground, sir, that dr. fisher is an important witness to material facts connected with the demise of miss sloane. he was the senior attending physician, whilst dr. meredith had only been called in consultation. the prosecution have called dr. meredith, recognizing that as an attending physician his knowledge of the facts is material to the cause at issue. we claim that the testimony of dr. fisher, the other physician in attendance, and present at the death-bed, is equally material, and that the prosecution have no right to choose between the two men, selecting one as their witness, and rejecting the other. the fact that they have done so, would warrant the imputation that the prosecution are seeking for a conviction of our client, rather than looking for justice, in a thorough sifting of all available facts. i am sure that the honorable council on the other side will be only too glad to avoid such an imputation in the public mind, now that their attention has been called to the omission." "counsel is very generous," said mr. munson, with much sarcasm. "his solicitude for the reputation of the district attorney's office is very touching, but at the same time entirely misplaced. in this matter, those who have charge of the case of the commonwealth, feel that they can safely permit the conduct of this case to meet the most searching criticism. we decline to call dr. fisher, unless ordered to do so by the court." "then we move that the court so order," snapped back mr. dudley. "it certainly seems to me," said the recorder, "that the testimony of this physician is very material, and that he should have been included among the witnesses for the people. have you any arguments against this view, mr. munson?" "only this, your honor, that it was considered that the testimony of one witness would suffice. the selection was made without regard to known opinion, for none had been expressed prior to the issuance of a subpoena calling dr. meredith into the case. we decided to have but one witness, merely to save unnecessary costs. now so far as this motion is concerned, we maintain that it comes too late. counsel was served with a copy of the indictment, which contained a list of our witnesses upon the back. thus they had ample notice of our intention not to call dr. fisher, and if they desired that we should do so, the motion should have been made earlier, and not at the end of our case." "what have you to say in reply, mr. dudley?" asked the recorder. "your honor," said mr. dudley, showing by his bearing an assurance of gaining the point for which he contended; "the excuse that the name of dr. fisher does not appear among the list of witnesses for the prosecution, is entirely aside from the issue. it is a claim that has been made and rejected more than once. i need only remind your honor of the holden case, to bring it to your honor's immediate recollection. that case was very similar to this one. three surgeons had examined the body of the deceased, and but two of these had been called by the prosecuting attorney, counsel refusing upon the identical ground that his name had not appeared in the indictment. the presiding judge, paterson, ruled that as a material witness, he must be called. that is precisely the condition here and i hope your honor will see the justice of calling dr. fisher." "i am decidedly of the opinion, mr. munson, that counsel is in the right. this man is a witness material to the cause of justice!" "oh, certainly, if your honor thinks so, we will call him. he was omitted under the presumption that his evidence would be redundant, and add unnecessarily to the costs." mr. dudley sat down much pleased at his victory, and older lawyers nodded approvingly at his skilful presentation of the law. dr. fisher, being in court, was then asked to take the stand. mr. munson examined him with evident reluctance. "you attended miss sloane in her last illness, doctor?" he began. "yes, sir!" "from what disease was she suffering?" "diphtheria." "any other disease?" "not to my knowledge." "then of course you saw no symptoms of bright's disease?" "well, my attention was not called to any such trouble." "be kind enough to give us a direct reply. did you, or did you not, discover symptoms of bright's disease?" "i cannot say that she did not have that disease, but she made no complaints which made me suspect it." "exactly! you did not suspect that she had bright's disease, until you heard it suggested here during this trial. is that about it?" "i did not consider it at all." "now, then, i believe that you called dr. meredith into the case?" "yes, sir." "why did you do that?" "because, despite the efforts of myself and dr. medjora, the girl did not improve." "that is to say, you found yourself incompetent to control the disease?" "i felt that i should have assistance. it is common practice to call a physician in consultation when a disease becomes uncontrollable." "he is usually a man who has special knowledge, is he not?" "yes, sir." "and you considered dr. meredith such a man?" "yes, sir." "that is to say, he had more knowledge of this disease than you yourself?" "not that precisely. but he has made a special study of the disease, and i knew that he could give us valuable advice." "after dr. meredith came into the case the patient began to improve, did she not?" "yes, sir." "on the last day of her life, you met dr. meredith at the house, and you decided that it would be safe to leave the patient until the following day, i believe. you found her much improved?" "yes, sir." "the membrane had all disappeared, had it not?" "very nearly." "so much so that she could swallow without difficulty?" "she swallowed very well." "in fact you concluded that she would recover?" "i thought that she had passed the crisis, but i did not deem her to be entirely out of danger." "did you, at any time during this illness, prescribe or administer opium in any form?" "no, sir." "did you see any evidence of that drug exhibited by her condition, lethargic sleep, contracted pupils, or any other diagnostic symptom?" "no, sir." "now, then, you left this girl in the afternoon, recovering from her attack of diphtheria and able to swallow, and you were hurriedly called back in the evening, and found her dying. did not that surprise you?" "yes. i had not expected the disease to take a fatal turn, at least not so rapidly." "yet she was in such a condition that she could not even swallow coffee?" "no, but that----" "never mind the reasons, doctor. the fact is all that we want. shortly after your entrance into her room she died, did she not?" "yes, sir, at eleven thirty. about five minutes after." "now, doctor, notwithstanding the fact that in the afternoon you thought this girl practically out of danger, and notwithstanding the sudden and alarming change which you saw in her that night, and in spite of the fact that the specialist whom you yourself had called into the case, reported to you that he suspected morphine poisoning, you signed a death certificate assigning diphtheria as the cause of death. now why did you do that?" "because it was my opinion!" "oh, i see. it was your opinion. then you did not actually know it." "not actually of course. we never----" "that is all!" exclaimed mr. munson, cutting off the witness at the point in his reply most advantageous to his side, and the doctor remained silent, but appeared much annoyed. mr. bliss smiled at the old legal trick, and in taking the witness began at once, by allowing him to finish the interrupted speech. "dr. fisher," said he, "you had not quite ended your reply when counsel closed your examination. what else was it that you wished to say?" "i wished to say that i could not actually know the cause of death, because medicine is not an exact science. it is rarely possible to have absolute knowledge about diseased conditions. no two cases have ever been seen that were precisely identical." "but you judged that this girl died of diphtheria from your experience with such cases, is that it?" "yes, sir." "how much experience have you had!" "i have been in practice nearly forty years." "and dr. meredith, although a specialist, has had less experience than you, has he not?" "i object," cried mr. munson, "dr. meredith was not an expert witness in the first place, and it is too late to try to impeach his ability now." "the objection is sustained," said the recorder. "now, dr. fisher, as you signed a death certificate naming diphtheria as a cause of death, of course that was your opinion at that time. you have been present throughout this trial, and have heard all of the evidence, i believe?" "yes, sir." "have you heard anything which has made you alter your opinion?" "no, sir." "then tell us, please, in your opinion what was the cause of death." "i still think that the girl died of diphtheria." "despite all the testimony as to finding morphine in the body, and despite the condition of the kidneys, you still think that this girl died of diphtheria?" "i do." mr. bliss was taking full advantage of his victory over the prosecution, in compelling them to call this witness, who was now giving evidence so damaging to their side. "now, then, doctor, we would like a little more light upon the facts from which you make this deduction. it has been testified and admitted by you, that in the afternoon the membrane had nearly all disappeared, and that the crisis had passed. yet the girl died a few hours later, and you still attribute it to the original disease. how do you come to that conclusion?" "diphtheria causes death in several ways. commonly the false membrane grows more rapidly than it can be removed, and the patient is practically strangled, or asphyxiated by it. it is in such a condition that tracheotomy is essayed, affording a breathing aperture below the locality of the disease. it is not uncommon for the patient apparently to combat the more frightful form of the disease, so that the false membrane is thrown off, and the parts left apparently in a fair state of health, so far as freedom to breathe and swallow is concerned. but then it may happen, especially in anæmic individuals, that this fight against the disease has left the patient in a state of enervation and lowered vitality, which borders on collapse. the extreme crisis is passed, but the danger lurks insidiously near. at any moment a change for the worse might occur, whilst recovery would be very slow. when death comes in this form, it is a gradual lessening of vital action throughout the body; a slow slipping away of life, as it were." "exactly! so that such a condition might readily be mistaken for a gradually deepening coma?" "yes, sir. whilst the term coma is applied to a specific condition, the two forms of death are very similar. in fact, i might say it is a sort of coma, which after all is common in many diseases." "so that you would say that this coma, did not specifically indicate morphine poisoning?" "no, sir, it could not be said." "how was the pulse?" "the pulse was slow, but that is what we expect with this form of death." "so that the slow pulse would not necessarily indicate poison?" "not at all." "was the breathing stertorous?" "not in the true sense. respiration was very slow, and there was a slight difficulty, but it was not distinctly stertorous." "how were the pupils of the eyes? contracted?" "no, they were dilated if anything." "now then, doctor--please consider this. dr. meredith told us that a symptomatic effect of morphine death, would be pupils contracted and then dilating slowly as death approached. now did you observe the contracted pupils?" "no, sir." "what effect does atropine have upon the pupils?" "it dilates them." "dr. meredith admitted that he injected atropine. in your opinion would that account for the dilatation of the pupils just previous to death, which you say that you yourself observed?" "i should say yes." "i will only detain you another minute, doctor." mr. bliss then asked for and obtained the aluminum hypodermic case and handed it to dr. fisher. he asked: "doctor, do you recognize that?" "yes, it is mine." "how long has it been out of your possession?" "i missed it on the day of miss sloane's death. i think now that i may have left it there by accident." mr. bliss then yielded the witness, and mr. munson began a re-direct examination, which was practically a cross-examination, because this witness, though technically for the prosecution, was in effect a witness for the defence. the lawyer tried with all his cunning to confuse the old doctor, but the longer he continued the more he damaged his own cause. about the only thing which he brought out that might help him, was the following in relation to the hypodermic case. "how do you know that this case is yours?" "because it is made of aluminum. i had it made to order. i do not think that such another is yet on the market, though the house that made mine for me, has asked permission to use my model." "so this is certainly yours?" "yes, sir." "if you did not make any injections, as you have testified that you did not, how is it that you could have left this at the house?" "i probably took it out of my bag, when getting out my laryngoscope and other instruments to treat the throat." "i see that this case not only contains the syringe, but also some small phials filled with tablets. what are those tablets?" "they are various medicines used hypodermically." "was there any morphine in this case when you last saw it?" "yes, sir." "how much?" "there was a phial filled with tablets. altogether eighty tablets, of one eighth of a grain each." "please count the tablets remaining, and state how many there are?" "i find forty-eight." "that is to say thirty-two pellets have been taken out?" "yes, sir." "now, then, supposing that this is the identical syringe which the nurse saw dr. medjora using, and deducting the four pellets which she found in the bed, how large a dose must have been administered at that time?" "i object!" said mr. bliss. "it seems to be a mere matter of arithmetic," said the recorder. "no, your honor. that question supposes that the tablets missing from the phial were administered to the patient. now there is no evidence whatever as to that?" "whether the missing tablets were administered or not is a question for the jury to decide. you may state, doctor, how much morphine was contained in the missing tablets." "as there are forty-eight here, thirty-two are missing. deducting four, that leaves us twenty-eight, or a total of three and a half grains." this was a corroboration of the estimate made by the experts, that three grains must have been the minimum dose administered, and if the jury should believe that these missing tablets had been given by the prisoner, it was evident that they must convict him. so that after all the prosecution did gain something out of the witness who had been forced upon them. they then rested their case, and court adjourned, leaving the opening for the defence until the following day. chapter viii. for the defence. when mr. dudley arose to open the case for the defence, the crowded court-room was as silent as the grave, so intense was the interest. he spoke in slow, measured tones, with no effort at rhetorical effect. tersely he pictured the position of his client, assailed by circumstantial evidence, and encircled by a chain which seemed strong enough to drag him to the dreadful doom which would be his upon conviction. but the lawyer claimed that the chain was not flawless. on the contrary he said that many of the links had been forged, and he dwelt upon the word with a significant accent, as he glance towards the prosecuting counsel; forged from material which was rotten to the core, so rotten that it would be but necessary to direct the intelligent attention of the jury, to the inherently weak spots, to convince them that justice demanded a prompt acquittal of dr. medjora. a part of his speech is worthy of being quoted, and i give it _verbatim_: "this case has aroused the interest of the entire community. prior to the beginning of this trial the people, having heard but the distorted reports of the evidence against our client, were wondering what the defence was to be. i do not mind confiding to you now that we, the counsel for the defence, wondered also. it had been told in the newspapers, that dr. meredith, one of the attending physicians, had suspected morphine poisoning, before the death of miss sloane. we were informed that the autopsy, made by most eminent and skilful pathologists, had revealed evidences of this deadly drug. we heard later, that the chemical analysis had proven the actual presence of the poison itself. what defence could we rely upon to refute such damning evidence as that? we were in a quandary. we went to our client and revealed to him the gravity of his position, and we begged him to suggest some way out of the dilemma. what was his reply? gentlemen of the jury, he said to me: 'i cannot invent any defence. i would not if i could. i would not accept my life, or my liberty, by means of any trick. but i know that i am innocent. moreover, as a member of the medical profession, and as an acquaintance of the experts who have been at work for the prosecution, i rely upon their integrity and skill, to discover the true secret of this death, which was as shocking to me, as to the community.' thus we were told by our client to formulate no defence in advance, but to wait for the evidence of the prosecution's expert witnesses, and from the very source from which conviction would be expected, he bade us pluck his deliverance. at the time, it seemed to us a hazardous dependence, but, gentlemen of the jury, it has proven better than we had reason to expect, for it will be upon the testimony of the prosecution's witnesses, almost exclusively, that we will look to you for an acquittal. in evidence of what i have told you, i will ask you to recall the testimony of the first witness, dr. meredith. he claimed that the characteristic symptoms of morphine poisoning could alone indicate that death had been due to morphine. then you will remember that my associate, in cross-examination, formulated a hypothetical question in which he asked if it would not be possible for a patient dying of diphtheria to take morphine, and whilst exhibiting symptoms of that drug, still to die of diphtheria. i submit it to you, gentlemen, was not the hypothesis suggested by that question an ingenious one? i think so, and as such i think that my associate is entitled to credit. but, gentlemen, it was the invention of a lawyer, conscientiously seeking for a loophole of escape for his client; it was not the true, the only proper, defence in this case. and it is this that explains the fact that the question has not been propounded to the other experts. it was, nevertheless, a shrewd guess on the part of mr. bliss, though being only the guess of a lawyer groping blindly amidst the secrets of medicine, it does not include the whole truth. but now, our defence has been made plain, illuminated, as it were, by the statements of the experts, who have testified, until even the minds of plain lawyers, like myself and my associate, have grasped it. then, and not until then, did our client give us information, which he will repeat to you presently, and which corroborates the view which we shall ask you to accept. the simple facts in this case are: miss sloane suffered terribly from bright's disease, until through pain she was driven to take morphine, finally becoming addicted to it. then came the attack of diphtheria, throughout which dr. medjora nursed her, procuring skilled physicians, and a competent nurse, until the arrival of the tragic day which ended her life. when the doctors believed that the worst phase of diphtheria had passed, but when, as you have heard, she was still in danger from exhaustion, she experienced a severe attack of pain caused by the bright's disease, and to relieve that, morphine was given as you shall hear. that night she died, whether of exhaustion from diphtheria, or whether, because of bright's disease, morphine had been stored up in her system, until a fatal dose had accumulated, none of us will ever know. but that is immaterial, for in either case, she died a natural death, and thus our client is entirely blameless in this whole affair. the doctor will now take the stand in his own behalf." dr. medjora did as he was bidden by his counsel, and thus became the cynosure of all eyes. mr. dudley took his seat and mr. bliss conducted the examination. "dr. medjora," he began, "will you please state what relation you bore to the deceased, miss mabel sloane?" "she was my wife!" he replied, thus producing a startling sensation at the very outset. "when were you married, and by whom?" "we were married in newark, by the rev. dr. magnus, on the exact day upon which miss sloane parted from her mother and left her home in orange. the precise date can be seen upon the certificate of marriage." mr. bliss produced a marriage certificate, which was admitted, and identified by dr. medjora, mr. bliss explaining that the clergyman who had signed it would appear later and testify to the validity of the document. "did you and your wife live together after marriage?" "yes. for more than a year. then i had occasion to go to europe for several months, and she went to live at the twenty-sixth street house." "how was it that at that place she passed as a single woman?" "because before i went away, i took from her the marriage certificate, and her wedding-ring. i then instructed her to keep our marriage a secret, threatening to abandon her if she did not obey me." "what explanation have you to make of such conduct?" "shortly after our marriage, i discovered that my wife was afflicted with bright's disease, for which i treated her with much apparent success. unfortunately, however, previous to our marriage, she had become addicted to the use of morphine for relief until she had almost become an _habitué_. i used every effort to cure her, and thought that i had succeeded, when, just before my departure for europe, i found her one day with morphine tablets and a new hypodermic needle, in the act of administering the drug. in despair i simulated great rage, took away her marriage certificate and ring, and threatened that if during my absence she should use the drug, i would never acknowledge her as my wife. thus, my apparent cruelty was intended as a kindness. i knew that she loved me, even more than she did morphine, and i hoped to compel her to abandon the drug, by causing her to fear the loss of her love." "did you take any further steps for her safety!" "yes. i confided her secret, and mine, to a dear friend and skilful physician, who promised to watch over her, and shield her from pain or other harm during my absence." "will you state who this friend is?" "was, you mean. he no longer is my friend, if he ever was. he proved himself to be a traitor to friendship, for he tried to alienate my wife's affections from me, in which, however, he failed utterly. that man was dr. meredith, the false friend who charged me with this crime." here was a sensation so entirely unexpected, and the situation became so intense, that people held their breaths, awed into silence. dr. meredith, who was in court, held his eyes down and gazed steadfastly at a knot in the floor, whilst those nearest to him saw that he trembled violently. mr. bliss, quick to recognize that his client was making a most favorable impression, with true dramatic instinct, paused some time before continuing. finally he asked: "then dr. meredith knew that miss sloane was your wife?" "he did." "also that she was addicted to morphine?" "i told him so myself." "that she had bright's disease?" "yes." "how soon after your return did you learn that he had been too attentive to your wife?" "i must object, your honor," interjected mr. munson. "counsel is again endeavoring to impeach our witness, and i must once more maintain that it is too late to do so." "the question is allowed," replied the recorder. "but, your honor," persisted mr. munson, "you ruled yesterday that questions of this nature could not be asked." "i know very well what i ruled, mr. munson," said the recorder, sharply. "you objected yesterday to evidence against dr. meredith's ability as a physician, and i sustained you. this is a different matter. as i understand it, counsel is now endeavoring to show that dr. meredith was a prejudiced witness. i shall allow the fullest latitude in that direction." "we thank you very much, your honor," said mr. bliss, and then turned to his client saying: "please answer my question." "i knew of it before i returned. in fact, it was because of letters from my wife, complaining of this man, that i shortened my trip abroad." "what happened between you after your return?" "i charged him with his unfaithfulness to his trust, and we quarrelled. had he been a larger man, i should have thrashed him!" "was it after this that you attacked one of his papers in debate?" "yes, immediately afterwards. in fact i think that the quarrel between us had much to do with it. he must have been in a very disturbed frame of mind, to have written such a blundering thesis, for ordinarily he is a skilful physician." "then, on the whole, dr. meredith was inaccurate when he said that you and he are not enemies?" "he simply lied." "you must not use such language," said the recorder, quickly. "i must apologize to your honor," replied dr. medjora. "but when i think of what this man has done to me, it is difficult to control myself." "but you must control yourself," said the recorder. "now, then, doctor," said mr. bliss, "please tell us of your acquaintance with your wife prior to marriage." thereafter mr. bliss always spoke of the dead girl as the wife, thus forcing that fact upon the attention of the jury. dr. medjora replied: "i met my wife when she was scarcely more than a school-girl, and i became interested in her because, as her mother hinted, she was above her people, being far superior to them in intelligence and demeanor. i cannot say when my friendship increased to a warmer feeling, but i think that i first became aware of it, by seeing her mother beat her!" "you saw your wife's mother beat her, you say?" "i called one evening, without previous warning, and the door of the cottage being open, i felt privileged to walk in. i saw the girl down on her knees, before the mother, who held her by the hair with one hand, whilst she struck her in the face with the other." "did you interfere?" "i was much enraged at the cruel exhibition, and i took the girl from her mother forcibly. after that i went to the house oftener, and we became more closely attached to one another. the mother never spoke civilly to me after that occurrence." "mrs. sloane testified that she had had a quarrel with her daughter, shortly after which she disappeared. what do you know of that?" "mabel wrote to me that her mother had again undertaken to beat her. i use the word advisedly, because it was not a chastisement such as a parent may be privileged to indulge in. mrs. sloane would strike her daughter with her fists, bruising her face, neck, and body. besides, mabel was no longer a child. when i heard this, i sent a message instructing mabel to meet me in newark. there we were married." "now, doctor, we will go back to dr. meredith. will you explain how it happened that, although you and he were enemies, he should have been called into the case?" "when the attack of diphtheria presented, i undertook to treat it at first. two days later i became ill myself, and called in dr. fisher. i did not tell him that mabel was my wife, but let him think, with those in the house, that she was merely my _fiancée_. i gave the case entirely into his care. during my sickness dr. fisher became alarmed, and called in dr. meredith, of course not suspecting that there existed any ill feeling between him and me. that dr. meredith should have accepted the call under the circumstances, was contrary to medical etiquette, but he did so, and i found him attending my wife when i recovered. i could not interfere very well, without creating a scandal, and, besides, though i despise him as a man, i know him to be one of the best specialists in the city." dr. medjora accorded this praise to his rival with every appearance of honest candor, and it was evident that his doing so was a wise course, causing the jury to receive his other statements with more credulity. if he was playing a part he did so with marvellous tact and judgment. "between the time of your return from europe, and this attack of diphtheria, do you know whether your wife took any morphine?" "upon my return i did not question her at all. i had made the threat of abandoning her, with no intention of course of carrying it into effect, for whilst i hoped that it would act as a deterrent, stimulating her will to resist the attraction of the drug, i knew from my professional experience that she would not be able to withstand it entirely. thus if i had questioned her, she must have confessed, as she was strictly truthful. this would have placed me in an awkward predicament, compelling me to admit that my threat had never been seriously intended, and thus i should have lessened my influence over her for the future. however, not long before her last illness, i found a syringe in her room as well as some tablets. these i appropriated and took away without saying anything to her." "how long before the attack of diphtheria was this?" "two or three days." "supposing that she had been taking morphine prior to that time, do you think that it might have accumulated in her system, finally producing death?" "i object!" said mr. munson. "the witness is not here as an expert." "he is the accused," said the recorder, "and as the party having the greatest interest at stake i will allow him to answer. he simply expresses his opinion. the jury will decide whether it is worthy of credence." mr. bliss smiled with satisfaction, but was a little surprised at the answer, though later he understood better that the doctor appreciated what he said. the answer was: "considering the length of time which elapsed from the moment when i took away the syringe, to the day of her death, i cannot believe that morphine taken previously could have accumulated, and have caused death ultimately." mr. bliss was puzzled and paused a moment to think, whilst mr. munson, much pleased at this apparently damaging testimony given by the prisoner himself, wore a pleased expression. mr. bliss scarcely knew what to ask next. he glanced at a list of notes supplied by dr. medjora and read this one. "ask me about retained morphine. go into it thoroughly." the latter part of this sentence convinced him that dr. medjora must have conceived his defence along this line, and, therefore, though doubting the propriety of doing so, he ventured another question. "it has been admitted," said he, "by the expert witnesses that morphine may be accumulated in the system, finally resulting fatally. how does that occur, and why do you think it did not occur in this case?" "i have not said that it did not occur. you asked me whether morphine taken prior to her illness, may have caused her death, and i said no, to that. i did not say that she did not die from morphine, because i do not know that. as i understand it, when morphine acts fatally by accumulation, it is where it is administered continuously. part of the dose is eliminated, and the rest stored up. finally this stored up quantity amounts to a lethal dose. in this case, as far as we know, there was a suspension of the administration. the accumulated quantity, when the drug was stopped, could not have amounted to a lethal dose, or death would have ensued. the dosing being discontinued, the stored-up quantity must have grown less and less, day by day, by gradual elimination." this interested the jury very evidently. they could not but decide that this man was honest, to offer such evidence as seemed against his own interests. mr. bliss, still puzzled, ventured another question. "you said that your wife may have died of this drug, or words to that effect. how can you think that?" "whilst, as i have said, the accumulated drug was lessening in quantity daily, by elimination, nevertheless death by poisoning would have ensued at any time, if a dose of morphine had been administered, of sufficient size, so that when added to that still in the system, the whole would have amounted to a lethal quantity." "miss conlin, the nurse, testified that she saw you administer a dose of morphine. she afterwards admitted that she had only seen you remove a syringe. did you at that time administer a dose of morphine, a dose large enough to have caused death in the manner you have described?" "i did not." "then as far as you know, your wife did not take any morphine on the day of her death?" "on the contrary, she did take some!" this was a tremendous surprise. "how did it occur?" asked mr. bliss, still following his notes and at length seeing the point to which dr. medjora had been leading. "she administered it to herself." the doctor paused a moment as though to allow his startling statement to be digested. then he continued: "as the nurse testified, i gave her permission to go out. i sat and chatted with my wife a few moments, and then bade her be quiet, lest talking should injure the throat. she obeyed, and after a time seemed to be asleep. i sat over by the lamp reading, and, thinking that my patient was asleep, became absorbed in my book, until i was attracted by an ejaculation from my wife. i went to her, and to my surprise found that she had just administered a dose of morphine to herself. i snatched her hands away, and withdrew the instrument whilst there was yet a little of the solution in it. miss conlin came in at the moment. i knew that she had seen me, and not wishing to arouse her suspicions as to the truth, i preferred to let her think that i had given the injection myself. therefore i washed out the syringe, and placing it in my pocket, took it away with me." "so that there was sufficient morphine solution left in the syringe, to have enabled miss conlin to taste it, as she claims to have done?" mr. bliss asked this question, because at last he had discovered the full intentions of the doctor. it is very often the case in great criminal trials, that, either upon advice of counsel, or by direction of the accused, vital points are left unexplained, or else related with variations which convince the jury that a lie is told. the prisoner having heard all of the evidence, sees that certain acts of his have been viewed, and accepted as proof of his guilt. he becomes afraid, and when asked about these, he denies flatly that they have occurred. then the prosecution, in rebuttal, brings cumulative testimony to support its first witnesses, and the jury, seeing that the prisoner has lied, conclude that he is guilty of the crime charged. yet it may be that a man may lie in following a badly conceived line of defence, even though he be an innocent man. still, it takes a brave man, and a cool one, to go upon the stand and admit damaging circumstances as dr. medjora was doing. but dr. medjora was undoubtedly courageous, and not one to become confused. therefore mr. bliss, admiring his coolness, decided to give him a chance to relate the very occurrences which when told by the nurse had seemed so conclusive of guilt. dr. medjora replied: "i have no doubt that she could have tasted the morphine in the water in which i washed out the syringe." "can you tell how your wife obtained possession of the hypodermic syringe, and the morphine?" "i did not know at the time. but as it was the aluminum case which has been placed in evidence, it must have been left by dr. fisher, unless she abstracted it surreptitiously from his bag." "do you know how much morphine she took at that time?" "no, not positively, but i have no doubt that the estimate made regarding the missing tablets closely represents what she took." "you mean three and one half grains?" "she probably took between three, and three and a half grains, as some was left in the syringe." "then that self-administered dose was sufficient to cause death?" "oh, no. i have known her to take twice that quantity." this statement was also received with much surprise. "the experts told us, doctor," said mr. bliss, "that a sixth of a grain has caused death." "has been known to cause death. yes. but that does not prove that it will always do so. the _habitué_ becomes wonderfully tolerant of it. the records are replete with histories of from twenty, to even a hundred grains of morphine without fatal result." "then you do not think that three, or three and a half grains of morphia would have caused the death of your wife?" "not of itself. but if a quantity of the drug was in her system, this added dose may have contributed to her death." "in such a case where would the morphine be chiefly found after death, by chemical analysis?" "in the intestines mainly, because there the stored quantity would have been. but also in the stomach, because of the recent administration." this view was entirely agreeable with the expert evidence. "in your opinion then, your wife died from the accumulation of morphine, all of which was self-administered?" "certainly all the morphine that she took was administered by herself." "but you are charged with having administered morphine, or other form of opium, which caused death. what have you to say to that?" "i deny that during this last illness, or at any time, any such drug was administered to my wife, mabel medjora, by me, or at my order!" the last speech was electric, partly from the manner of its utterance, and especially because, for the first time during the trial, the dead girl was called by the name of the prisoner. mr. bliss felt assured that he had won his case, and yielded the witness for cross-examination with a smile. mr. munson begged for an adjournment, that the cross-examination might be continuous, and not interrupted as it would necessarily be if begun late in the afternoon. this request was granted, and the shrewd lawyer thus obtained time to read over the doctor's evidence, and be better able to attack him. chapter ix. the defence closes. the next day's proceedings began promptly, dr. medjora taking the stand for cross-examination. his evidence in his own behalf, it was generally conceded, had materially weakened the prosecution's case, and it was with much interest that the lawyers watched the outcome of his cross-examination. mr. munson began: "you have testified that miss sloane was a morphine _habitué_." before he could propound a question based upon this statement, the doctor replied quickly: "i have not so testified." "you have not?" asked the attorney, with much surprise. "no! i said that she had taken morphine, for pain from bright's disease, until she had almost become an _habitué_." "that is practically the same thing," said the lawyer, testily. "pardon my disagreeing with you. had she become a confirmed user of the drug, for the drug's sake, she would probably have been suspected by those who lived in the house with her, and thus it would be easy for us to produce witnesses in corroboration of my assertion. but as she used it merely to soothe pain, even though she did take large doses, it was at such intervals, that symptoms of morphine were not sufficiently marked to attract the attention of an ordinary observer." messrs. dudley and bliss were delighted at this early proof that the doctor would be a match for the astute attorney, who was about to endeavor to entangle him in contradictions, or damaging admissions. "oh! very well!" said mr. munson. "you say that she took morphine in large doses. you knew this, and also that she had a serious disease, and yet you left her alone in a strange boarding-house, whilst you went away to europe?" "i left her under the medical care of one who certainly possessed skill, and who pretended to be my friend. i went to europe, in the cause of humanity, to prosecute studies which i yet hope to make a benefit to my fellows." thus the doctor confidently predicted his acquittal. this was most shrewd, for it not infrequently occurs that men may be moved by suggestion, even when not in the hypnotic state. dr. medjora was a past master in psychological science. "how long had you been married, at this time?" "eighteen months." "then, when you left this woman, she was not only suffering from disease, and the dangers of morphine, but she was grieving for her dead child, was she not?" this was a neat trap, sprung without warning, but the game was shy and wary. the doctor replied sternly: "i have not testified either that she had a child, or that, if so, she had lost it." "well, did she have a child?" "you have had expert testimony upon that point. why ask me?" "that is my affair. answer my question." "i must decline to do so!" "i appeal to the court to compel the witness to answer." "your honor," cried mr. dudley, rising, "we object. counsel, for some undiscoverable reason, seems determined to probe the private affairs of our client. we think that this question is irrelevant and incompetent." "what is the object of this, mr. munson," asked the recorder. "your honor has ruled, and a million precedents uphold you, that we may examine into the relations that existed between the accused and the deceased." "your honor," interjected mr. dudley, "you allowed a similar question yesterday, because counsel argued, that if he could prove the existence of a natural child, he would show that the deceased through the child had strong claim upon our client. i will also call your honor's attention to the fact, that at that time allusion was made to another visionary claim on the part of the prosecution. this was that dr. medjora was in the position to marry a wealthy woman, and that the poor musician, with her child, became an obstacle in his way. now, not a scintilla of evidence has been brought out, in substantiation of that claim, which as i said, at that time, was made merely to affect the jury. moreover, since then, we have shown that this woman was the lawful wife of dr. medjora, and, therefore, her having, or not having a child, can have no possible bearing upon the issue. i hope that the question will not be allowed." "i cannot see," said the recorder, "what is to be gained by this, mr. munson?" "oh, very well, your honor," said mr. munson, "if you think that it is unnecessary to the case of the people, i will withdraw it. we only seek for justice, despite the aspersions of counsel." "i have no doubt whatever of your conscientiousness," said the recorder, to mollify the rising anger of mr. munson. the examination then proceeded. "you told us yesterday, that you had received a letter whilst in europe, in which miss sloane wrote that dr. meredith was persecuting her with his attentions. of course you have that letter?" "no! it has been lost, unfortunately!" "unfortunately lost! i should say most unfortunately lost, since it is the only corroboration you had of your remarkable statement. how did you happen to lose this precious document?" "i think that it was stolen when my office was searched by detectives, who were accompanied by dr. meredith." the insinuation deftly concealed in this statement, that either dr. meredith had taken the paper, or that the district attorney had suppressed it, had a visible effect upon the jury, who looked from one to the other significantly. mr. munson was chagrined to find what he had thought a good point in his favor, thus turned against him so quickly. he attempted to repair the damage. "you say you think this. do you not know, that what a man thinks is not admissible in evidence?" "i did the best that i could to answer your question." this reply, in the humblest of tones, caused a smile. "you have no positive knowledge that it was stolen, have you?" "i know that it was locked in my desk, that during my absence the desk was forced open, and that upon my return the paper was gone. whether it was stolen, or whether it forced its way out of my desk, you may decide for yourself." "you have no evidence, beyond your own word, that dr. meredith acted as you have charged?" "none!" "you never told any friend, before the death of this girl, that dr. meredith had persecuted her?" "no. i had no confidants." "not even when you found that he had been called in to attend miss sloane? you did not explain this to dr. fisher?" "no. dr. fisher was comparatively a stranger to me. i knew him by association in societies only." "you could have spoken to him however, and so have had dr. meredith dismissed from the case." "i considered the matter, and decided not to do so." "why did you come to so singular a conclusion?" "because, as i have already testified, despite my animosity, i concurred with dr. fisher's estimate of his skill. i thought him the most valuable consulting physician to be had, and, in a case of life and death, i believed that personal antagonisms should be forgotten." "you say dr. meredith was the most valuable consulting physician to be had. do you mean that he is the most skilled expert that you know?" "no. but he is skilful and his office is very near to the house where the patient was. that fact was of importance in deciding whether to retain him or not." mr. munson seemed to strive almost in vain to outwit the witness who adroitly parried every attack. "you have claimed," continued the lawyer, "that miss sloane administered morphine to herself?" "i assert it." "then at least you admit that a dose, a large dose, was taken by the deceased in your presence, on the day of her death?" "yes." "and though you, as a physician, were conversant with her troubles and aware of the danger of such a dose, you did not prevent her from taking this dangerous poison?" "i endeavored to do so. i took the syringe away from her." "you took it away from her after she had taken nearly all of the dose?" "she had taken all but five minims before i could reach her." "it was you who sent the nurse away, i believe?" "i gave her permission to go out." "you told her to remain until nine o'clock?" "i told her that she might do so." "and this syringe incident occurred at eight o'clock?" "at eight thirty." "that is, half an hour before you expected to be interrupted by the return of the nurse?" "you do not word your questions justly. i did not expect to be interrupted by the return of the nurse. to be interrupted, one must be occupied with some special work. i was not specially engaged." "you were supposed to be specially engaged watching your patient, in place of the nurse, with whose services you had dispensed. had you done your full duty, that is, had you done what the nurse would have done, kept your patient under surveillance, she would not have had a chance to take the morphine, would she?" "it may be that i was grievously at fault, not to observe her more closely. but i thought that she was asleep. an error is not a crime." "there are errors that are criminal. your jury will judge in this case. now, if you please, answer my question without further evasion. did not the nurse return half an hour sooner than you expected her?" "she returned half an hour earlier than the time up to which i had given her permission to be away." "exactly. now, had she remained the full time, she would not have known anything about this morphine incident?" "of course not." "in which case, you would have kept it a secret." "most probably." "but, as she did see you handling the syringe, you knew that she would be in the position to testify to the fact that you yourself administered the morphine?" "it is not a fact that i administered the morphine, but i supposed that she would so testify, judging from what she saw." "judging honestly?" "yes. judging honestly." "so that this professional nurse, accustomed herself to using hypodermic syringes, had a right, as you admit, to judge from what she saw, that you administered morphine to the patient?" "she saw me taking away the syringe, and of course could conclude that i inserted the needle myself. nevertheless her opinion was only an opinion; it was not knowledge." "very well. you admit that she had a right to her opinion, and that you suspected what that opinion would be. now, of course you realized, being an intellectual man, that such evidence would weigh against you?" "i fully appreciated the gravity of the situation." "and that if not refuted, this testimony almost alone, would tend towards a conviction?" "yes." "therefore you decided to claim that the drug was self-administered, knowing that the administration would be proved?" "i knew that the administration of the drug would be proved. but my reason for saying that it was self-administered, is because it is the truth." "that will be for the jury to decide!" with this parting shot the lawyer dismissed the witness, and his own counsel decided to ask no further questions. the clergyman who had performed the marriage ceremony, then took the stand, and testified to the validity of the marriage. he was not cross-examined. then a celebrated expert toxicologist was called, professor newburg. he testified in corroboration of the claims of the defence, and especially to the large doses of morphine, which he had known to be tolerated by persons accustomed to it by habit. it also was claimed by him, that persons who had been known to take as much as four and five grains per day without ill effect, had suddenly died from so small a dose as half a grain. he thought that in these cases the drug had accumulated in the system, and the whole quantity stored up, was made active by the assimilation of the last dose, which of itself would not have been poisonous. cross-examination did not materially alter his testimony. next a pathologist was introduced, and in answer to a long hypothetical question, based upon the testimony of dr. fisher and the experts for the prosecution, he said that in his opinion the deceased died from anæmia, following diphtheria. the symptoms of morphine poisoning observed were probably due to the morphine which she had taken, but under the conditions described, he did not think that even three and a half grains would have caused death. he came to this conclusion, arguing that the condition of the kidneys showed that they were diseased, and the tendency would have been to store up this last dose, just as previous doses had probably been retained. in that event only a small portion would have become active, and whilst it might have caused contracted pupils, it would not have caused death. all things duly considered, therefore, he thought that death was attributable to diphtheria. under cross-examination he admitted the postulate of the previous witness, that a small dose, following retained larger doses, might cause death, but still he adhered to his opinion that it had not occurred here. a long series of questions failed to shake his opinion, or cause him to contradict himself. several other witnesses were called, but i need scarcely introduce their evidence here, as much of it was of small importance, and none of it could have materially affected the verdict. the defence then rested. mr. munson called several witnesses in rebuttal, but to so little effect that mr. bliss did not even cross-examine them, considering his case practically won. he did interfere, however, when mr. munson at last called madame cora corona. "i must ask your honor, what counsel expects to prove by this witness, and moreover, your honor, i will ask that the jury be sent from the room, before any discussion of this subject be allowed." this request was granted, and the jury went into an adjoining apartment. mr. munson then explained: "we have been trying for a long time to summon this witness, your honor, but she has skilfully avoided the court officers, so that it was only this morning that we found her. she will testify to the fact that dr. medjora has been courting her, and seeking a marriage with her, even previous to the death of the woman who he claims was his wife." "that is the most extraordinary expedient i have ever heard of, your honor," said mr. bliss. "counsel certainly knows better, than to suppose that at this late hour he can introduce new evidence. he certainly cannot claim that this is in rebuttal!" "but i do claim that!" said mr. munson. "what does it rebut?" asked the recorder. "this man claims that he was a true and loving husband to his wife, and denies that he contemplated such a marriage as this one, by which a wealthy wife would aid him to accomplish his ambitions." "that claim, mr. munson, was made by counsel for the defence," said the recorder. "it has not come out upon the witness stand. you cannot introduce a witness to rebut a statement of counsel. if you wished to introduce this evidence you should have questioned the prisoner upon these points when on the witness stand. had he denied the desire to marry again, i would have allowed you to disprove his assertion by this witness. as it is, i must rule out the evidence offered." mr. munson bit his lip in mortification, when the recorder pointed out to him the serious omission made in the examination of the accused, but of course he was powerless to do anything. having no other witness to call, when the jurors had returned to their seats, mr. bliss arose and addressed the jury. chapter x. mr. bliss makes his speech. "may it please your honor and gentlemen of the jury," began mr. bliss, amidst an impressive silence, "in a few hours you will be called upon to act in a capacity which has been delegated to you by your fellow-men, but which finally is the province of our heavenly father alone. you are to sit in judgment upon a human being, and accordingly as ye judge him, so shall ye be judged hereafter. i have not the least doubt of the integrity of your purpose; i fully believe that such verdict as you shall render will be honestly adopted, after the most thorough weighing of the evidence which has been presented to you. all i ask is that you form your final opinion with due recognition of the fact, that if a mistake is to be made, far better would it be that you release our client, if he be guilty, than that you should send him to the hangman, though innocent. i beg of you to remember that great as is the majesty of the law and the rights of the people, yet more must you respect the rights of this man, who stands alone, to defend himself against such an array of witnesses and lawyers, as the wealth of the whole commonwealth has been able to summon against him. the very weakness of his position, as compared with the forces against which he has to contend, should excite your sympathies. if there be any doubt in your minds, it becomes, not your privilege, but your sworn duty to accord it to him. for, as his honor will undoubtedly explain to you when expounding the law, the prosecution must prove the charge beyond all doubt. the burden of proof is upon them. they claim that the deceased came to her death by poison administered by our client. they must therefore prove that she died of poison, and that the poison was given by dr. medjora. but they must prove even more than that, for they must show that it was given with intent to destroy life. thus, if you decide that she died of diphtheria, of bright's disease, of poison retained in the system, or even of the last dose which was taken by her, you are bound to acquit our client, unless indeed you should adopt the extraordinary conclusion, that the final dose of morphine alone produced death, and that dr. medjora himself administered it, intending that it should destroy his beloved wife, for whom he had retained skilled medical service and nursing, and at whose bedside he even tolerated the presence of his bitterest enemy, because he knew that the man possessed the greatest skill available in the vicinity of the house where the poor girl lay ill. had he intended to injure his wife, had he premeditated poisoning her, do you think that he would have allowed a man to be nigh, who would be only too glad to find a pretext upon which to charge him with a crime, but who, moreover, was possessed of exactly the experience and ability needed to detect the symptoms of a deadly poison? the proposition is preposterous, and i am sure that such intelligent gentlemen as yourselves will cast it aside from you. but if the prosecution fail to prove that the girl did not die from natural causes, then they fail utterly to make out their case. upon this point the law is most explicit. in fact in one of our great text books, a work recognized by the entire legal profession as the highest authority, i find a passage which seems almost to have been written for your enlightenment in this very case. i will read it to you: "'it does not follow that because a person is wounded and dies, the death is caused by the wound; and the burden in such cases is on the prosecution to show beyond reasonable doubt that the wound in question produced death. it may happen also, where poison has been administered, that death resulted from natural causes. the presence of poison may be ascertained from symptoms during life, the _post mortem_ appearances, the moral circumstances, and the discovery of the existence of poison in the body, in the matter ejected from the stomach, or in food or drink of which the sufferer has partaken. but to this should be added proof that the poison thus received into the system was the cause of death.' "i think that passage most clearly indicates to you the task which the prosecution have undertaken. upon what do they rely for the accomplishment of their purpose? two things mainly. circumstantial evidence, and expert testimony. and now, if i may hope for your close attention, i will say a few words upon both of these classes of evidence, in general. "circumstantial evidence, i need hardly tell you, is most delusive in its character. analyzed, what do we find it to be? it has been truly argued that there is, and can be, no cause without an effect. in considering circumstantial evidence, the mind of the investigator is presented with the relation of a number of facts, or effects, and he is asked to deduce that they are all attributable to a stated cause. for example, a peddler is known to have started out upon a lonely road, and to have in his pack certain wares, a given amount of money in specified coins and bills, wearing a watch and chain, and he is subsequently found murdered, by the wayside. later, a tramp is arrested upon whose person is found the exact missing money, and many of the articles which were known to have been in the pack. he is charged with the crime, and the evidence against him is circumstantial. his possession of these articles is an effect, which is said to be attributable to a cause, to wit, the killing of the peddler. but strong as such evidence may appear, as i have said, it is delusive. for just as the prosecution ask you to believe that a number of effects are traceable to a single cause, the crime charged, so also it is possible that all of the effects may have resulted from various causes. thus in the case cited, the tramp may have been a thief, and may have stolen the articles from the peddler after some other person had killed him. and if it could be shown that the watch and chain were missing, and yet were not found upon the tramp, that would be as good evidence in his favor, as the other facts are against him. so that in circumstantial evidence the chain must be complete. if a single link be missing, or have a flaw, the argument is inconclusive, and a doubt is created, the benefit of which must invariably be given in favor of the accused. "if this be true where there is a single link that has a flaw, what are we to say when we find that the entire chain is composed of links which are faulty? you are asked to decide that from this fact, and that fact, and the other fact, the accused is guilty of a crime! suppose that we show that from either the first, or the second, or the third fact, we can trace back to other causes as producing the result? why, then, the prosecution's case is rendered so fragile that the gentlest breath of a zephyr must blow each separate link to a different quarter of the globe. now, that is what i shall endeavor to demonstrate; that, from the chief facts claimed by the prosecution, you may deduce innocence rather than guilt. "first, we have the accuser, dr. meredith. he aids the prosecution's claim of poison by relating the symptoms of poisoning, which he says he observed before death. now, even granting that this is a true statement of facts, observed by an unprejudiced mind,--of which, gentlemen, you can readily judge, when you recall the abundant testimony as to an existing animosity,--but, even granting its absolute truth, what does it show? simply that morphine had been administered, in a dose large enough to have produced _ante-mortem_ evidences of its presence. but what of that? does it show that the drug was administered by any particular person? by dr. medjora, as the prosecution have claimed? if so then i am ignorant, and ill informed as to all the rules of logic. it shows that morphine was present, and it shows no more, and no less. now that fact we freely admit. the doctor himself told you how the drug was taken, and there has been nothing whatever offered, that even tends to disprove his assertion. thus, as his testimony is all that we have upon the subject, and as it has been unimpeached, you are bound to accept it as the only evidence available. i may also remind you at this point, that in this country, where the god-given liberty of one man is as much cherished as that of the whole people, a man is to be considered innocent until after he has been adjudged guilty. he therefore goes upon the witness stand, as unsullied as any other witness, and his evidence is entitled to the same credence. i may also interject a momentary remark as to the difference between juridical and common judgment. you may see a man commit a crime and if accepted upon the jury which tries him, although you know that he is guilty, you are bound to bring him in innocent, unless the evidence introduced against him proves his guilt, entirely aside from your own prejudices or prejudgment. you must give a juridical opinion only. so that if you have imbibed any prejudices against dr. medjora,--which is scarcely probable, for he must have impressed you as favorably as he has every one else who has seen him in court,--but if so, you are to set that all aside, and accept his unimpeached evidence upon this point, relative to the administration of the morphine, as the only available evidence upon which to base an opinion. and if you do adopt that, and decide, as you necessarily would, that self-administered morphine cannot implicate dr. medjora in this crime, why the case is ended at once, and need scarcely go any further. "however, merely as a matter of form, i will take up one or two more points. the second link in this circumstantial chain is that evidences of morphine were found at the autopsy. but, gentlemen, what of that? you and i know how it entered the system, and of course we expect that eminent specialists, such as the gentlemen who performed the autopsy, must necessarily recognize the recent presence of the drug. it forms no particle of proof whatever against dr. medjora. that we see clearly enough, when we eliminate the bare facts from the fog of misinterpretation. but i may casually remind you of another fact, which these same eminent specialists told us about. they found that the kidneys were atrophied, an evidence of disease, and later we learned that if the kidneys are diseased morphine is retained in the system, until a poisonous dose may accumulate. so we see that even if the deceased was poisoned to death, it was only by the retention of many doses, due to a diseased condition, and in no way attributable to criminal interference. "the next link is the actual presence of the drug, as testified by the expert chemists. they tell us that they found morphine. why of course they did. it was in the system; we knew that it was there; and we are not at all shocked by the discovery. "but i need not take up any other of these forged links, for, as you plainly see, the principal ones are so very faulty that as they are the mainstay of the bonds that bind our client, we break them asunder with scarcely an effort. "now, i will say a few words relative to expert testimony, and i beg of you to understand throughout, that however i may attack this sort of evidence as a class, i speak in general terms only, and in no way cast any imputations against the scientific gentlemen who have appeared upon the stand, except as they come within the limitations of their class, as i am about to explain to you. "when expert testimony was first introduced it was received with marked respect. the expert witness was counted as a professor in his specialty, and his word was almost final. experience, however, has materially altered all this. the field from which the expert may be cited has been vastly broadened, whilst at the same time his testimony is accepted with much more caution, and less credence. the causes which have operated towards this state of things are manifold, but i need not explain them here. wherever there is any sort of specialty, from the blacking of boots, to the highest scientific pursuits, we now have experts who go upon the stand, and dogmatically inform us that their opinions are the true and only accepted finality upon the subject presented. but we have found, that however positive one, or two, or three experts may be in asseverating what they claim to be a fact, an equal number, of equally scientific, equally experienced, and equally trustworthy experts, may be found whose testimony will be equally as positive, though diametrically opposed. indeed, so true is this, that i may quote the wise words of that eminent jurist lord campbell, who says: 'skilled witnesses come with such a bias on their minds to support the cause in which they are embarked, that hardly any weight should be given to their evidence.' these are strong words, but what does lord campbell mean? that an eminent scientist would go upon the witness stand, and perjure himself merely because he has been engaged to substantiate a given proposition? not at all. of all experts, i may be permitted to say perhaps, that the most eminent are those connected with the professions, for we must rank the professions higher than the arts, just as the arts are above the trades. we have three great professions, to wit, the ministry, medicine, and law. if we could have before us the most prominent minister, the most celebrated physician, and the most eminent lawyer, we would probably have three men standing equally high in public esteem. then let us suppose that this most eminent lawyer were engaged as counsel in some great suit. suppose that some intricate technicality of law should arise, upon which the presiding judge should ask for argument and precedents. suppose, then, that associate counsel should place this most eminent lawyer upon the stand as an expert witness? remembering that he had been paid for advocating the cause in behalf of which he was testifying, how much weight would his evidence have? i think you will agree that it would be very slight indeed! yet is it not the same with the expert physician? is not the skilled medical witness hired, and paid for his advocacy, just as that eminent lawyer was? then why should we discard the evidence of the one, and accept the other? neither of these gentlemen commits perjury. what they tell, is honestly told. but--and, gentlemen of the jury, i now come to the vital point of this argument--the expert does not give us an unbiased opinion. the reason is plain. as experts can be found with varying opinions, so those are sought whose opinions agree with the position which they are called to sustain. to be more definite, the experts called by the prosecution in this case, were called, because it was known in advance what they would testify, and because said testimony would be favorable to the hypothesis of the prosecution. though, i may say parenthetically, in this case it has proven otherwise. but, stated on general principles, that is the fact. the prosecution chooses experts, whose views can be relied upon to support the charge against the prisoner. and i must candidly confess that the defence is actuated similarly. surmising in advance what the opposing experts would tell us, we went about amongst equally eminent men, and found no difficulty in selecting those who could with equal positiveness, with equal authority, and with equal experience and knowledge, support our hypothesis. had we found a gentleman who entertained views similar to those of the prosecution's witnesses, do you suppose, for one moment, that we would have engaged such a man to aid us? of course not! then are the lawyers for the prosecution any more human than we? do you suppose that they would call an expert, if they knew that his honest opinions would controvert their claims? certainly not. were they not loath to call dr. fisher? thus, gentlemen, have we discovered, by analytical reasoning, the cause of the bias existing in the mind of an honest man. his opinion is sought in advance. if favorable he is engaged. when engaged he becomes a hired advocate, as much as the lawyer. moreover, unlike the witness of facts, his testimony is tinged by a personal interest. he knows that celebrated experts will oppose his views. his reputation is on trial, as it were. if the verdict is for his side, it is a sort of juridical upholding of his position. he is therefore arrayed against his antagonists, as much as the lawyers of the opposing sides. in short, having once expressed an opinion, he will go to any extreme almost, to prove that he is right. the questions asked by the counsel for his side, the majority of which he prepares or dictates himself, are glibly and positively answered. but when the cross-examination begins, what do we see? an interesting spectacle from a psychological standpoint. we see a man, honest in his intentions, standing between two almost equal forces; the love of himself and of his own opinions, on the one side, and upon the other the love of scientific truth which is inherent in all truly professional men. when a question is asked, to which he can reply without injury to his pronounced opinion, how eagerly he answers. but when a query is propounded, which his knowledge shows him in a moment, indicates a reply which his quick intelligence sees will be against his side, what does he do? we find that he fences with the question. as anxious not to state what he knows to be false, as he is not to injure his side of the case, he parries. he tells you in hesitating tones, 'it may be so, in rare cases,' 'other men have seen and reported such instances, but i have not met them,' 'it might be possible under extraordinary circumstances, but not in this case,' and so on, and so on, reluctant to express himself so that he may be cited afterwards. you have witnessed this very kind of evasion in this case, so that you readily grasp my meaning. when i asked professor orton, whether the action of morphine is modified by disease, his answer was, 'it might be'; and when i asked him whether, from continual dosage, it could accumulate in the system, he said, 'the records contain reports of such cases.' when i asked him if morphine would not be so retained where bright's disease were present, he tried evasion again by saying, 'i have never seen such a case,' after which he admitted that he had read of them in good authorities. "as i have told you, speaking generally, this sort of evasion under cross-examination is a peculiarity common to nearly all experts, so that in singling out professor orton as an example, i do so with no intention of attacking his honesty of purpose. he was simply defending himself, and upholding the side which pays him for his advocacy. but i choose this testimony because if we analyze it i think we will find more, much more than appears at a glance; and i can at the same time show you how all expert testimony should be received. i will exemplify the amount of caution to be displayed in accepting what a skilled witness tells. i will show you principally, that what the expert testifies under cross-examination is more likely to be true, than what he tells the friendly lawyer on his own side. "now, when i asked professor orton whether bright's disease would act as a cause to facilitate the accumulation of morphine in the system, he answered, 'i have never seen such a case.' that, gentlemen, is the set of words which i beg of you to analyze. why did the professor use just this language? for, mark you, it is a well-studied answer. let us suppose that this eminent toxicologist had made an exhaustive series of experiments, which had proved, beyond all cavil, that the commonly accepted idea among physicians is wrong, and that bright's disease will not effect an accumulation of morphine. how gladly would he have said 'no' to my question! how positively would he have asserted that bright's disease would not have the effect which we claim! therefore, that he does not use any such dogmatic denial shows logically and conclusively that he has no such knowledge. he does not know, beyond all doubt, that bright's disease will not modify the action of this poison. but we can see more in this answer. suppose that, lacking absolute knowledge, he had still a firm conviction. he would then most probably have said, 'it is my opinion that bright's disease does not modify the drug's action.' but, gentlemen, he had not even a conviction of this kind. on the contrary, he must either have known, or else have leaned towards the belief that such an accumulation is possible, otherwise he would not have said just what he did say: 'i have not seen such a case.' 'i have not seen such a case'! why, the very words suggest that such a case has existed. more--that the professor had heard of such cases, and believed in them. perhaps he hoped that this evasive answer would be accepted as final. in that case, gentlemen, it might have served, in your minds, as well as a negative reply. but, gentlemen, a lawyer's mind is necessarily trained to the quick appreciation of situations like this. as soon as he had said that he had never seen such a case, i was prompted by intuition to ask if he had not heard of them. then the fat was in the fire, and we had an admission, however reluctantly given, that he had heard of them, and from competent authority. but the very attempt on the part of this witness to parry the question, and evade a full and truthful reply, carries a conviction with it, that he recognized immediately the importance of our claim, and the possibility that it is a true explanation of the sad death of this young wife. he saw at once that all the damning evidences of the presence of poison, are explainable by this simple hypothesis, that bright's disease might cause otherwise proper doses of morphine to accumulate until a lethal dose be present, and then act to destroy life. he therefore attempted to belittle the hypothesis. he could not refute it; he scarcely dared to deny it as a possibility, and therefore he essayed evasion. "thus we may deduce more from the reluctant admission of an expert, than from their glibly-told tales which have been rehearsed in the office of the district attorney. so that, after all, expert testimony is valuable--most valuable--if we but consider it with caution, and analyze it, until bereft of bias and prejudice, the grain of truth stands out, as truth ever will, conspicuous midst the mass of extraneous matter surrounding it, much of which is introduced for the express purpose of befogging your minds, and leading you away from the facts. "thus, gentlemen, upon closer examination we find that just as their circumstantial evidence was faulty, so the prosecution's experts prove a boomerang. for it is upon their evidence that we mainly rely for acquittal. dr. mcdougal, the coroner's physician, examined the kidneys at the autopsy, and freely expressed the opinion that bright's disease had been present. of course he denied that this disease had caused death, but there we have the opinion of an advocate. next we have professor orton, who, as i have shown, practically testifies that bright's disease may cause morphine to accumulate in the system until a poisonous dose has resulted. is not that enough, gentlemen, to satisfy you that, if this girl died of morphine, she died a natural death, and was not murdered? at least, does it not raise a doubt in your minds, which must be credited to dr. medjora, and which would deter you from sending him to the hangman? i am so positive that it must, that i will close this appeal, without calling your attention to the evidence, which has been abundant, and which indicates that death was not the result of poisoning at all, but of diphtheria, as indeed was certified in the burial permit. i could go over all the evidence in greater detail, but i am so strongly impressed with the innocence of our client, and so firmly confident that you are as capable as i am of reaching a proper conclusion in considering the evidence, that i will not take up more of your time, but leave our cause now in your care, satisfied that, regardless of the able rhetorical ability of the gentleman on the other side, you will be guided by providence, and your own hearts, to aid the cause of justice and release dr. medjora from his present trying situation. and as you deal justly with him now, so may you receive your reward in the life hereafter." chapter xi. termination of the great case. the district attorney himself arose to speak for the commonwealth. "may it please your honor and gentlemen of the jury," he began, "you have just heard an able argument in behalf of the prisoner. counsel has told you truly, that in this free republic, which has become the refuge and asylum for the oppressed of all nations, the liberty of one man is as sacred as the rights of the whole people. he has also used the well-worn argument that the prisoner should have your sympathy, because of the weakness of his position. by this is meant, that the state; having wealth, can engage prosecuting officers of ability, whilst the prisoner, thrown upon his private resources, may be compelled to intrust his cause to the care of inferior counsel. but, gentlemen, you must see at a glance that our learned opponent has weakened his own argument by the unusual display of ability which he has exhibited in this case. surely in his hands the cause of the prisoner is eminently safe! the commonwealth, with all its resources, cannot summon greater legal ability to its aid. therefore you may relieve your minds of any idea of pity for the prisoner, and omitting all thought of him personally, decide this case entirely on the evidence. "but if you find it difficult to disregard the fact that here is a man, whose liberty or life is at stake, then i bid you remember, that whilst it is true that his rights are equal to those of the state, they are no greater. the commonwealth must have equal place, in your judgment, with the prisoner. "as the prosecuting attorney i stand in a somewhat peculiar position. in ordinary lawsuits, opposing counsel are retained by the various sides, and are arrayed against each other solely. under such circumstances the able arguments of mr. bliss would hold sway. i am alluding now to his attack upon expert witnesses. let us suppose that a suit is brought to overthrow a will, the plaintiff arguing that the signature has been forged. experts in chirography are called by both sides. it is manifest, as mr. bliss has said, that the opinions of experts will be sought by the contending counsel, and at the trial we would have those favoring the theory, forgery, testifying to that effect, whilst the others would support the genuineness of the signature. undoubtedly, also, had either of these gentlemen expressed a different opinion prior to the trial, he would have been found upon the opposite side. or, in plainer words, the men are hired to testify, because, previous to the trial, they hold an opinion favorable to the side which pays them. thus, as has been shown to you at some length, eminent jurists now accord but cautious credence to expert testimony, because of the bias which must attend paid advocacy. but, gentlemen of the jury, as logical as all this is, when applied to a civil suit, it becomes but the most specious reasoning when introduced into a criminal case, such as this. "we are often led astray by arguments, which contain analogies which are but apparently analogous. in this case there is a flaw at the very root of the argument, and therefore the very flower and fruit of the whole beautiful array of words must wilt and fail. "this flaw is easily pointed out. in the civil case, as i have said, and as you know, opposing counsel defend but the side that pays them. in a criminal case it is entirely different. the district attorney is engaged, not for a special case, against a special prisoner, but by the whole community, for the protection of all the people. now the prisoner is himself one of these, and his rights are ever in the minds of the very men who prepare the arguments against him. let us glance for a moment at the _modus operandi_. suspicion is aroused against a man. if sufficiently grave, the first bits of evidence attainable are presented to the grand jury, and perhaps they find an indictment. this gives the state authority to hold the prisoner by arrest, until such time when he may be tried. but, gentlemen of the jury, are all indicted men tried? not at all. the district attorney not infrequently, in the course of preparing a case, finds that an error has been made: that the man is the victim of circumstances: in short that he is innocent. what occurs then? does he act the part of the hired lawyer and proceed, merely that he may collect a fee? not at all. he protects the rights of the prisoner, as one of the people, and by due process of law the man is released from custody, free from even a stain upon his character. "now let us for a moment suppose that the charge is one of murder; of murder by poisoning, let us say. the first step is to place the medical investigation of the facts into the hands of eminent experts. here we find that the very resources of the commonwealth become the prisoner's greatest safeguard. the state having abundance of money, places this investigation into the care of the very ablest men to be obtained. it is not at all true, that these experts are retained because of their known opinions. when they are retained, they have no opinions whatever, because they are engaged to pursue an investigation, and their opinions are non-existent until after the conclusion of their analyses. now, gentlemen, imagine that the commonwealth's counsel would be base enough to dispense with an expert witness, because his testimony would be detrimental to the hypothesis of the prosecution, would such a course be possible? not at all. in the first place, the autopsy and the chemical analyses have been made upon the tissues of the body of the deceased. in the course of this work these tissues are rendered useless for any further analyses. therefore, the only investigation possible is the original one, and the only expert opinions obtainable are those of the men, who, as i have shown, are engaged long before they have any opinion to express. if these men were omitted from the case then no experts could be called to replace them; but what would be worse, these very witnesses, discarded by the prosecution, would immediately be retained by the defence. for, as mr. bliss has candidly admitted, the defence only engages experts whose opinions are known to be favorable. that is the difference between the paid experts of the defence, and those engaged by the prosecution. the one is an advocate for a fee, whilst the other is merely an independent outsider, who relates the medical facts which he has found upon examination of the body of the deceased, and then explains the scientific deductions which he makes from these facts. the witness of the defence is biased; the witness of the prosecution is not. no, gentlemen of the jury, when the experts for the prosecution form opinions which oppose the idea of a crime, the district attorney has but one course which he can pursue. he must protect the prisoner, as it is his sworn duty to do, and obtain his release. "but _per contra_, when these eminent medical men discover, within the tissues of the deceased, plain evidences of the fact that a crime has been consummated, it then becomes the duty of the district attorney to prosecute the accused, and to produce, before a jury of his countrymen, the evidence which these gentlemen of science have discovered. and this class of evidence is not only valuable, and pertinent, but it is indispensable. without the assistance of experts, it would be almost impossible to convict a man of murder, by the use of poison. the pistol, the knife, and other weapons, all leave wounds discernible by the eyes of all. but poison works insidiously, and is unseen. as deadly as the bullet, it operates not only without noise, but in skilful hands the death may simulate that caused by known diseases, so that even eminent physicians might sign a burial permit, as did dr. fisher in this case, without a suspicion of the presence of the poison. but suspicion having been aroused, by the aid of science it is now possible to search microscopically into the tissues of the victim, and find every trace of poison if one has been used. and if, gentlemen, able men of science, prominent in their specialties, and honored by their professional brethren as well as by the community in which they dwell, make an impartial investigation of this nature, and report to you that they have found poison actually present, and in quantities which would have proved fatal, i submit it to your intelligence, gentlemen, is not that expert testimony of the most important character? can we assail such evidence with the cry of bias, merely because it comes within the general category of expert testimony? certainly not. you will therefore forget entirely the anathema which mr. bliss has delivered against experts, for though true enough against the class, it does not apply in this instance. "before dismissing this phase of the subject, i must say a few words in defence of professor orton. mr. bliss pointed out to you that when an expert is replying to direct examination he answers readily, whereas, when answering the cross-examining lawyer, he is more cautious. this is true; but, gentlemen, what does that signify? simply that having told the truth, the witness is compelled to defend himself against the traps that will be set for him by the opposite side. he knows in advance that he will be assailed by hypothetical and ambiguous questions, worded to confuse him, and to mystify the jury. under these circumstances, therefore, he must necessarily think well, before replying. he is in a court of law, under oath, and his professional reputation is at stake. if he were not cautious in his replies he would be worthless as a witness. he is justified, too, in parrying questions which he knows are introduced merely to disguise the truth, or to lead the minds of the jury into wrong channels. mr. bliss has made much, or thinks that he has made much, of the answers which professor orton gave. by specious reasoning he tries to prove that professor orton believed that this woman died of an accumulation of morphine, caused by a diseased condition of the kidneys. mr. bliss tells us that he rests his case upon the evidence of our witnesses, and largely upon this admission from professor orton. now, as a matter of fact, what professor orton did say cannot help the prisoner. he admitted that other men have held the opinion that diseased kidneys may cause an accumulation of morphine. but, gentlemen, how does that effect this case? this very witness, upon whom mr. bliss is willing to rely, tells us that whatever the possibilities might be in other cases, it is his positive belief that this particular woman did not die as claimed by the defence. he found poison in the stomach in considerable quantities, whereas, where death occurs by a slow accumulation, the drug would have passed beyond that organ, and none would have been found there. so that we see, that what might be, and what perhaps has been in the past, has no bearing on this case even inferentially, because the same expert who says it is possible in other cases, tells us plainly that it did not occur in this instance. "and now, before speaking of the actual evidence in this case, let me say a few words in regard to circumstantial evidence. it has been common practice for counsel defending criminal cases to inveigh against circumstantial evidence, until a suspicion has been engendered in the public mind, that it is of dubious value. indeed, the people, knowing a little law, and understanding that all reasonable doubt must be accorded to the prisoner, and, further, having imbibed the idea that all circumstantial evidence contains a doubt, have come almost to feel that a conviction obtained by such means is a miscarriage of justice. "this is entirely erroneous. all evidence is divided arbitrarily into two great classes, direct and circumstantial. i do not here allude to documentary evidence, which is somewhere between the two, the validity of the document being necessarily proved by one or the other. this classification, as i say, is arbitrary, for he would indeed be a wise man who could tell us exactly where direct evidence ceases to be direct, or where circumstantial evidence becomes solely circumstantial. the two are so interdependent, that it is only by extreme examples that we can dissociate them. all direct evidence must be sustained by circumstances, whilst all circumstantial evidence is dependent upon direct facts. "let me give you an example of each, that this may be more clear to your minds. let us suppose that several boys go to a pool of water to swim. one of these is seen by his companions to dive into the water, and he does not arise. his death is reported, and the authorities, later, drag the pool and find a body. this is called direct evidence. the boy was seen to drown, you are told, and your judgment concedes the fact readily. but is the proposition proved, even though you have these several witnesses to the actual drowning? let us see. the body is taken to the morgue, and the keeper there, an expert in such matters, makes the startling assertion that instead of a few hours, or let us say a day, the body must have been immersed for several days. this is circumstantial evidence. the keeper has no positive knowledge that this particular body has been under water so long. still he has seen thousands of bodies, and none has presented such an appearance after so short an interval. how shall we judge between such conflicting evidence? on the one side we have direct evidence which is most positive. on the other we have circumstantial evidence which is equally so. is the original hypothesis proven? does not the circumstantial evidence raise a doubt? certainly. now let us take another step. the witnesses to the drowning are called again, and view the body, and now among ten of them, we find one who hesitates in his identification. at once we find another circumstance wanting in substantiation of the original claim. now we see, that all that was really proved was, that a boy was drowned, and not at all that it was this particular boy who was found. but is this even proved? how can it be, in the absence of the drowned body? now suppose that, at the last hour, the original boy turns up alive, and reports that he had been washed ashore down the stream and subsequently recovered. we find that our direct evidence, with numerous witnesses to the actual fact, was entirely misleading after all, because we had jumped to a conclusion, without duly considering the attendant circumstances of the case. so it is always. this is no case manufactured to point an argument. there is no such thing as positive proof, which does not depend upon circumstances. the old example may be cited briefly again. if you see one man shoot at another and see the other fall and die, can you say without further knowledge, that one killed the other? if you do, you may find later that the pistol carried only a blank cartridge, and that the man died of fright. "it is equally true of circumstantial evidence, that without some direct fact upon which it depends it is worthless. as an example of this, i may as well save your time by introducing the case at issue. if we could show you that the prisoner desired the death of this girl; that he profited by her death; that he had a secret in connection with her child which he can keep from the world better, now that she is dead; that she died under circumstances which made the attending physician suspect morphine poisoning; that as soon as the suspicion was announced, the prisoner mysteriously disappeared, and remained in hiding for several days; that he had the opportunity to administer the poison; that he understood the working of the drug; and other circumstances of a similar nature, the argument would be entirely circumstantial. all this might be true and the man might be innocent. but, selecting from this array of suspicious facts, the one which indicates morphine as the drug employed, and then add to it the fact that expert chemists actually find morphine in the tissues of the body, and you see, gentlemen, that at once this single bit of direct evidence gives substantial form to the whole. the circumstantial is strengthened by the direct, just as the direct is made important by the circumstantial. the mere finding of poison in a body, though direct evidence as to the cause of death, neither convicts the assassin, nor even positively indicates that a murder has been committed. the poison might have reached the victim by accident. but consider the attendant circumstances, and then we see that a definite conclusion is inevitable. it is from the circumstantial evidence only that we can reach the true meaning of what the direct testimony teaches. "so we come at last to find that evidence is evidence, and that all evidence is important, and may prove convincing. this is true, without regard to the technical classification. leave classification to the lawyers, gentlemen. you have but to weigh all that has been offered to you as relevant, and bearing upon the issue. be assured, the recorder would not have admitted any extraneous matter. you are not to cast aside anything that you have heard, merely because mr. bliss tells you that it is delusive. it is not delusive. on the contrary, all is very clear, as i shall now demonstrate to you. "i will take up the chain of evidence much in the same order as did mr. bliss. first, then, we have dr. meredith. mr. bliss hints to you that he is a prejudiced witness, but whilst i might argue that a man must be more than a villain to falsely accuse another of murder, i need go into no defence of this witness, because it has been freely admitted that his testimony is true. mr. bliss argues that all that can be deduced from what dr. meredith tells us, is that morphine was present in quantity sufficient to show toxic symptoms. now that is all that we care to claim from this witness. he recognized morphine poisoning prior to death, but mr. bliss attempts to belittle the value of this by the hypothesis that the drug was self-administered. he calls your attention to the statements of the prisoner to this effect, and tells you to believe him. on this subject i will speak again in a moment. the principal thing at this point is, do they ask us to believe that the girl died from diphtheria, or did she die of poison, regardless of how she received it? they do not choose between these two queries, but ask you to say either that she died of diphtheria, or, if of poison, that it was self-administered. it rests with you, gentlemen, then, to decide this weighty point. as to diphtheria, we have the report of the experts against it. dr. meredith declared, even before her death, that she was dying from poison. the autopsy showed that the cause of death was poison. the chemical analysis shows morphine in a poisonous dose, which is declared to be more than three grains. true, dr. fisher, a witness who was forced upon the prosecution, declares that diphtheria caused the death, but this is in contradiction to the opinion of all the others, and though honestly offered, no doubt, may be accounted for by the natural desire to substantiate the statement made in the death certificate. but this same witness tells us later that exactly three and a half grains of morphine is missing from his medicine-case, the one from which the defence admits that the morphine was taken. we find also that the defence seem to lay more stress upon explaining the death by morphine, than upon any effort to prove that diphtheria killed this girl. "i think, then, that, with no injustice to the accused, you may adopt the pet theory of the defence, and conclude that this girl died of morphine poisoning. but, gentlemen, i shall now even admit more than that. let us grant that a diseased kidney will cause accumulation of morphine, and that this girl had such a disease. more than that, let us admit that she had taken a considerable quantity of morphine prior to her illness, and that a large portion of it was held secreted in some part of her body. now, what is the situation on that last evening of her life? she has been ill for several days with diphtheria, but she is recovering. she is so far convalescent that the senior physician deems it unnecessary for him to see her again that night. she also has slight kidney trouble, and she has some morphine stored up in her system; an amount, however, which has been tolerated throughout the attack of diphtheria, when vitality was at its lowest ebb, but which has neither acted fatally, nor even affected her so that symptoms of its presence attracted the attention of the doctors. "gentlemen of the jury, now follow me closely if you please. we can often bring witnesses to a murder where a weapon is used, but rare indeed is it that the poisoner is actually seen at his deadly work. but, by a singular act of providence, that is what happened here. the prisoner arrived at that house that night, and dismissed the trained nurse. observe that this occurs precisely upon the night when the patient has been declared to be convalescent. here, then, is this man, a physician himself, alone in the presence of a weak woman. does not this surely indicate to you that he had the opportunity to commit the foul deed? supposing that he wished to rid himself of this girl, how gladly would he have awaited for her death by natural causes? how willingly have seen the dread diphtheria remove her from his path, and save his soul from the stain of crime? but no! it was not to be! on this night, his skilled eye saw what the other doctors had seen. the girl would recover! if she was to die, it must be by his hand. now how should he accomplish it? by what means rid himself of the girl, and be safe from the hangman himself. here the diabolical working of a scientific mind reveals itself. as he has told us he well knew her condition. he knew that she had kidney disease. he knew that she had been taking morphine, and readily guessed that some of the deadly drug was still stored up in her system. if he administered morphine to this poor woman, infatuated alike with the drug and with him, she would not offer the slightest remonstrance. no cry would escape her lips as the deadly needle punctured her fair flesh. loving him and trusting him, she would yield to his suggestion, and so go into the last sleep. but what of the after effects? he certainly would think of that? why, certainly! the girl would die of coma, and the attending physicians, if summoned in time, would say that she died of anæmia caused by diphtheria. or, even if suspicion were aroused, it might be claimed afterwards, just, gentlemen, as it has been claimed, that the drug was self-administered, and was not enough in itself to have proven fatal. he knew that the autopsy would substantiate his claim of kidney trouble, and that the toxicologists would admit the effect upon morphine. but more than all, being himself something of an expert in all branches of medical science, and especially in chemistry, he could almost to a nicety gauge the quantity of the drug which would be required, which of itself might not prove fatal to a morphine _habitué_, but which would compass her death when added to what was already in her system. chance seemed to favor his horrible design, for dr. fisher had left his syringe and a supply of the drug. see this fiend, this scientific wife murderer, measure out and prepare the lethal dose! see him pierce the yielding flesh and inject the deadly drug, and then, lo! providence brings upon the scene a witness to the deed! the nurse returns unexpectedly and sees, gentlemen, mark my words, actually sees this man in the act of using the hypodermic syringe! "what can he do? he knows that it would be hazardous to deny the testimony of this trained nurse. therefore he admits what she tells us, and then ingeniously invents the explanation that he was removing the syringe, but had not made the injection. but i submit it to you, gentlemen, is that a probable tale? if this girl had time to prepare the drug, to fill the syringe, to pierce her flesh, to inject the drug, would she not have been able to remove it herself? does it take ten minutes to withdraw a needle? or five minutes, or one minute? or one second, gentlemen? can you even compute the brief moment of time in which the withdrawal could have been effected? mr. bliss told you that the testimony of the accused must be final on this point. that until he is convicted of crime his word is as acceptable as that of any other witness. this may be a presumption of law, gentlemen, but it is a still greater presumption on the part of counsel to ask such intelligent men as you are, to believe that a murderer, or even an innocent man, would not perjure himself to save his life! such things are told in romance, but we know that in actual life the most scrupulous of us all, will lie unhesitatingly if life itself be the stake. "thus, gentlemen, the whole thing comes to this. it matters not how much morphine this woman had taken herself, prior to her illness; it matters not how diseased were her kidneys: the cause of her death was that last dose of morphine, and you have to decide whether this man administered it as the nurse tells us, or whether the weak convalescent mixed and prepared the drug, and then injected it herself. we claim that dr. medjora administered that last dose, and that by that act he committed the crime of murder. and remember this, that if you decide that he administered that morphine, your verdict must be murder in the first degree, for having denied that he gave the drug at all, he cannot claim now that he gave it with no intention to destroy life. gentlemen, you are the final arbiters in this matter." the recorder immediately charged the jury, but though he spoke at considerable length, i need scarcely give his speech here, as it was chiefly an explanation of the law. he was eminently impartial in all that he said, and it was surprising, therefore, how many objections and exceptions were entered by the defence. at last the jury was sent out, and the long wait began. the hours passed slowly and still those present remained in their seats, loath to risk being absent when the verdict should be announced. it was nearly ten o'clock at night, and the jury had been out five hours, when word was sent in, that a verdict had been found. the recorder a few moments later resumed his seat, and the jury filed in. after the usual formalities, the foreman arose and announced the following verdict: "we find the prisoner, dr. emanuel medjora, not guilty." the words were received almost in silence by all present. above the stillness a deep sob was heard at the farther end of the room. this had escaped from the tightly compressed lips of madame cora corona. book second. chapter i. one night. "leon! leon!" the cry was low and weak, and the suffering woman fell back upon her pillow. the youth, though asleep, heard, and quickly responded to the call. he had been sitting in the large arm-chair, beside a rude wooden table, upon which stood a common glass lamp, with red wick, whose flickering flame shed but a dim ray across the well-thumbed pages of a book which lay open. while reading under such unfavorable circumstances, the boy had slumbered, his mind drifting slowly toward dream-land, yet not beyond the voice of the sufferer. she had scarcely repeated his name, when he was kneeling beside her, speaking in a voice that was tender and solicitous. "what is it, mother?" he asked. "nothing," was the reply. "do you wish to drink?" "no." "are you in pain?" "yes. but no matter." "will you take your medicine?" "no. leon, i want to tell you something." "not to-night, mother. you must sleep to-night. to-morrow you may talk." "leon, when i sleep to-night, it will be forever." "do not talk so, mother. you are nervous. perhaps the darkness oppresses you. i will turn up the light." he did so, but the lamp only spluttered, flaring up brighter for a moment, only to burn as dull as before. "you see," said the old woman, with a ghastly smile, "there will be no more light in my life." "indeed there will be." "i tell you no!" she spoke fiercely, and summoned all her waning energy to her aid, as she struggled to raise herself upon her elbow. then, extending a bony finger in his direction and shaking it in emphasis of her words, she continued: "i tell you i am dying. death is here; in this room; i see his form, and i feel his cold fingers on my forehead. sh! sh! listen! do you not hear? a voice from the darkness is calling--'confess! confess!'" then with a feeble cry she dropped back, moaning and groaning as in anguish. "mother! mother! lie still! do not talk so." leon was much agitated by the scene which had just transpired. the woman was quiet for a time, except that she sobbed, but presently she addressed him again. "leon, i must talk. i must tell. but don't call me mother." "why not? how frequently in life do we thus rush ruthlessly upon unsuspected crises in our fates? leon said these words, with no thought of their import, and with no foreboding of what would follow. how could he guess that from the moment of their utterance his life would be changed, and his boyhood lost to him forever, because of the momentousness of the reply which he invited? when the woman spoke again, her voice was so low that the youth leaned down to hear her words. she said: "leon, you have been a good son to me. but--i am not your mother." having spoken the words with a sadness in her heart, which found echo in the cadence of her voice, she turned her face wearily away from the youth, and waited for his reply. and he, though astounded by what he had heard, did not at the time fully connect the words with himself, but recognized only the misery which their utterance had caused to the suffering woman. with gentleness as tender as a loving woman's, he turned her face to his, touched her lips with his, and softly said: "you are my mother! the only mother that i have ever known!" oh! the weakness of human kind, which, at the touch of a loving hand, the sound of a loving voice, yields up its most sacred principles! this dying woman had lived from birth till now in a secluded new england village, and, imbibing her puritanical instincts from her ancestry, she almost deemed it a sin to smile, or show any outward sign of happiness. she had been a mother to this boy, according to her bigoted ideas; she had been good to him in her own way; but she had kissed him but once, and then he was going upon a journey. yet now, as overcome by his intense sympathy, his long-suppressed love welled out from his heart toward her, with a happy cry she nestled close within his arms, and cried for joy, a joy that was hers for the first time, yet which might have illumined all her declining days, had she not brushed it away from her. a long silence ensued, presently broken by the woman, as she slowly related the following story. "years ago, no matter how many, i was a pretty woman, and a vain one. i had admirers, but i loved none as i loved myself. but at last one came, and then my life was changed. i loved him, and i began to despise myself. for the more i saw and loved him, the less likely it seemed that he could love me. i used all my arts in vain. my prettiest frocks, my most coquettish glances, were all wasted on him. it seemed to me that i had not even made him see that i might be won, if he would woo. he went away, and i thought that i would never meet him again, for he had been but a summer visitor. my heart was broken, and besides my pride was hurt, for i suffered the bitterness of being taunted with my failure by my sisters. a year later, he came to me again. several months before, i had gone to live in boston, but in some way he had found me out. to my surprise, he told me that he knew that i loved him. he said that he had not offered me his love, because he was already married. then he asked me to do him a favor. i gladly assented, without knowing what he would ask, for i would have sacrificed anything for him, i loved him so. the next day he brought me a beautiful baby boy. he told me it was his, that his wife was ill, and that he wished me to care for the baby for a year, whilst he went to europe. i undertook the charge, without considering the consequences. i returned to the farm, bound to secrecy as to the child's parentage. very soon i discovered that my friends shunned me, and then i learned that by taking you, leon, i had lost my good name. well! i did not care. you were his baby! you had his eyes, and so my heart grew hard against the world, but i determined to keep the baby whose fingers had already gripped my heart. then, shut out from all friendships, scorned even by my sisters to whom i had refused to make any explanation, i began to pray that something, anything, would happen so that you should not be taken from me. my wicked prayer was answered, for later i learned that the young mother had died, and i was to continue caring for you. at first my joy was very great, but soon i recognized, that you were mine only because i had prayed for the death of your mother. the lord had granted my wish, as an everlasting punishment for my sinful longing. thenceforward, however much i yearned to press you to my heart, i have not dared to do so. i have tried to accept the chastisement of the lord with meekness of spirit. and so i have had my wish! i have kept you with me, ever to be a reproach for my sin. but i thank the lord, that at the end he has allowed me to have one full moment of happiness. he has granted me the boon to see that my boy has learned to love me in spite of all my harshness. you have kissed me, leon, and called me mother. oh! god! thy will be done!" then with a smile almost of beatitude, she sank down lower, and nestled closer to her long-denied love. leon stooped and kissed her again, but did not speak. his heart was full, and his emotions rose within his breast, so that he felt a curious sensation of fulness in his throat, which warned him not to essay speech. in silence they remained so for a time, not computed by either. she was lost in thoughts such as have been aroused in many hearts by the poet's magic words, "it might have been!" this boy was his, and might have been hers, if----! ah! what chasms have been bridged by these two letters, which form this little, mighty word! leon began to grasp, but slowly, all that the future would hold for him with the added knowledge granted to him this night. he pondered over the past, and remembering how stern had been his life, and how austere had been the manner of this woman who had been his mother, and adding up the sum of all, he wondered that he had found such love for her within his heart. for his love had been recognized by himself as suddenly as he had given fervent expression to it, when he embraced that mother who denied her motherhood. if the poet's words which i have quoted conceal a thought of sadness within their meaning, what woe resides within the thought encompassed by those other words, "too late!" to both of these, the woman and the boy, the recognition of the joys of love, had come too late. as this thought at last penetrated the mind of the dreaming youth, he started, awakening from his abstraction. at the same moment, the lamp flared up, flickered, and went out. then as darkness enshrouded him, so deep that he almost felt it touch his brow, he shivered, and a long moan escaped him followed by an anguished cry: "mother!" at last he realized what he had heard. in two ways was he to lose what all good men hold dearest on this earth: a mother. first, she denied the relationship; second, she had told him that she was dying. no answer came back to his cry. the woman in his arms made no sound. she did not stir. he leaned his ear against her heart. it had ceased to beat. she was dead. her spirit had slipped away, unnoticed by the loving boy whose arms encircled her shrivelled form, but whose love full surely lighted her way up among the stars! up, to that mysterious realm, too vast for human thought, too limitless for human mind; where the sinning and the sinless meet their deserts. however much of wrong or of error there had been in her life, in the moment of death she found true happiness; and i am grateful to her for arousing the thought, that we may all end our lives in peace. and so i leave her. but the boy? the youth now left to buffet with the world alone? i will ask you to follow him as, with a heart crowded with anguish and resentment, he rushed bareheaded out into the night, and swiftly sped through the wood. for he is well worth following. he has reached an important epoch in his life, a turning point at which he abandons his boyish past and becomes a man. could he have been asked why he ran, or whither, he would have found himself bewildered and at a loss for a reply. yet it is easily explainable. his home-life had never been attractive to him, nor in any way satisfying to his temperament, which, indeed, as we shall see, was such that he was ever in ill-concealed rebellion against the restraints of his surroundings, which threatened to crush his intellectual yearnings. nevertheless, it was his home, so endeared to him by long association, that the sudden realization of the complex idea, first, that he did love this home, and second that he would now lose it forever, coming to him instantaneously, overwhelmed him. he felt a dull pain in his breast, which made him almost imagine that some heavy body had been thrust within his bosom, and weighed heavily against his heart, interfering with that vital organ, so that the blood coursed sluggishly, and the lungs were loath to do their duty. thus stifling, though only in imagination, he was instinctively compelled to rush out into the air, which cooled the fever in his veins. he ran, impelled by a mysterious feeling akin to fear, yet not fear, which exists within the breasts of all mankind, however loudly one individual may declare himself exempt, and which is aroused when one is suddenly brought into the presence of the dead, alone, and for the first time. leon had never seen death before, although he had of course seen the dead, coffined and made ready for the grave. but he now passed through an entirely new experience. in one moment he held within his arms a living, breathing being whom he loved; and in the next he gazed upon a voiceless, senseless, shocking thing, and loathed it. it was from this thing, and from the house where this thing now lay, that he was running. but, as i have said, he did not know it at the time, and probably would have spurned the suggestion a day later. but, the fact remains that it was true. where he was going, is explainable by a simpler course of analysis. he was going to the lake. he was going to his boat. he was going out upon the water away from the companionship of that dead thing on land. he was going out upon the water, to be alone, and to find solace in his loneliness. in this, he but followed involuntarily a habit which he had practised for several years. when his home-life had pressed most hardly upon him at times, he had slipped away from the little farm, and rowed his boat out upon the lake, for self-communion and comfort. so now, without realizing that he had chosen any special direction in his flight, or that he had any fixed purpose in his mind, he ran swiftly along the wood-choppers' path, until at length he stopped panting on a bit of narrow beach. he stood silent for a moment, and then concluded to get his boat and go out upon the lake. or rather, he thought that he formed this decision at that moment, but really it originated when he turned towards the lake, rather than towards the next neighbor. it was therefore not companionship, but solitude which he sought. within five minutes he was rowing lustily across the mirror-like surface of massabesic, out towards the widest portion. the day had been insufferably warm, it being mid-summer, but in this region the nights are usually cool. this night was balmy. mars had appeared, a glowing red ball, above the eastern horizon, early in the evening, and an hour later the almost full moon had climbed up high enough to shed her silver rays across the waters. later still the breeze had died away, and slowly the bosom of the lake grew quiet, as though even the waters had drifted into slumberous repose. when leon started out in his boat, almost immediately his ruffled soul recognized the influence of the deadly calm surrounding him, for though at first he dipped his oars deep, and rowed vigorously, making the light bark leap upward at every pull, before he had gone a quarter of a mile, he stroked his oars with lessening vehemence, and presently, as though thoroughly awed by the stillness, and fearful of creating the noise even of a ripple, he was straining every nerve to dip and withdraw his oars, and to move his boat along without a sound. after a few minutes of this, he slowly raised both oars, letting them rest across the gunwales until the last drop of water had dripped off, and the last series of circles caused thereby had disappeared, and then, with the care and delicacy of one who moves about a chamber where some loved one is asleep who must not be disturbed, he placed his oars gently in the boat, and sat motionless. already mars had almost reached the tops of the trees along the western banks, and, attracted by it, leon gazed upon the planet until it disappeared. he had been still for ten minutes, and having recognized that all was quiet about him, and having abandoned his rowing, he was now mildly surprised to observe that his boat was in a totally different position; that in fact he had drifted a long distance. this awakened him slightly from his reverie, for here was a new bit of knowledge about a body of water with which he had been acquainted since his earliest recollection. he had never known, nor even suspected, that in a calm there could be a current. he endeavored to calculate by observation how fast he was moving; but the task was difficult. he could readily discern that since abandoning his oars he had moved a hundred yards, but, however intently he gazed upon the shores, he could not detect that he was moving. he pondered over this for a time, and being of a philosophical turn of mind, and fond of speculating, he likened his position at the moment, to life in general. however little we suspect it, there is an unseen but potent energy which urges us forward towards----the grave, and----whatever follows death. this idea pleased him for a moment, for the analogy was a new one and original with himself, in so far, that he had never head it from another. quickly, however, returning to the more practical problem, he determined to find a way to ascertain the rapidity with which his boat was moving. placing a fishing-rod upright before him, and then closing one eye, gazing with the other at a conspicuous object along the horizon, immediately he could see, not only that he was moving, but that the motion was more rapid than he had suspected. having thus satisfied the immediate and momentary questioning of an inquiring mind, his previous mental state, his loneliness and desolation, returned upon him with redoubled force. a moment later, nature offered him another abstraction. looking into the water he saw mirrored there the reflection of the moon. not the stream of undulating silver over which poets have raved these many years, and which painters have fruitlessly essayed to convey to canvass, but the glorious, full, round orb itself. this he had never seen before, and he wondered why it should be. almost as though in answer to his thought, a faint zephyr breathed across the surface of the waters, and beginning near the shores, the ripples rolled towards him, and with them brought the shimmering moonlight until all in a moment, the reflected orb had disappeared, and the usual silvery line of light replaced it. thus he saw, that only water in motion will show the moonbeams, whilst a mirror, whether it be of glass, or the still bosom of the lake, reflects but the moon itself. again he returned to the bitterness of his night's experience, and now, no longer attracted by the moon, and not caring how fast or whither he drifted, he lay back in his boat, pillowing his head upon a cushion on the seat in the stern, and gazed up into the sky thus oblivious of the landscape and so without an indication of his progress. his mind reverted to the house, and the dead woman. she was not his mother. then who was she? or rather who was he? she was, or had been, margaret grath, and he had thought that he was entitled to the name leon grath. but if she was not, or had not been, his mother, then plainly he had no right to her name. on considering this, he concluded that it was his privilege to call himself leon, but the last name grath, being obtainable legally only by inheritance, he must abandon. when the word "inheritance" crossed his thoughts, involuntarily a loud mocking laugh escaped him. and when the sonorous echoes laughed with him, he laughed again, and again. the drollery which aroused his mirth, was that, if a name might be inherited, why might not margaret grath have bequeathed hers to him? perhaps she might have mentioned it in her will? but no! a name is a heritage acquired at birth, whilst only chattels are included in an inheritance which follows a death. evidently he was nameless, except that he might be called leon, just as his collie answered to the name lossy. this made him laugh again. for now he thought that his dog had fared better than himself, for he was called "the marquis of lossy," after macdonald's malcolm. thus the collie was of noble blood, whilst he was----only leon, the child of nobody. as he reached this point, the moon dipped down below the western hill, the upper edge shedding its last rays across the boy and his boat, after which he was indeed enshrouded by the night. it seemed colder too, now that the orb had gone, and insensibly he felt in some way more alone. true, there were the stars, still twinkling in the firmament, but they seemed far away, like his own future. still leon dreamed on. as he could not lift the veil which parted him from what was to be, he wandered back in thought, recalling what had been. the theosophist says that man has lived before upon this planet, inhabiting many corporeal forms, and drifting through many earthly existences. the sceptic cries: "ridiculous! but, granting the postulate, of what advantage is it to have lived before, or to live again, if in each earth-life i cannot recall those that have gone before?" yet, without arguing for theosophy, might i not remind this sceptic that he enjoys his life to-day, even though he might find it difficult to recall yesterday, or the day before, or a week, a month, a year ago? how many of us in looking backward over life's path, can summon up the phantoms of more than a few days? days on which occurred some events of special moment? the first landmark along his life's path, which stood out conspicuous among leon's garnered memories, was his first visit to the church. margaret grath had dressed him in his brightest frock, curled his hair, and placed upon his head his newest bonnet. his heart had swelled with pride, as he trotted beside the tall, gaunt, new england woman, who walked with long strides, and held his hands, lest he should lag behind. but though his legs grew tired, he offered no rebellion, for he had often looked upon the red brick building, with wondering eyes, and his ears had oft been mystified at the tolling of the bell which swung and sounded, though moved by no hand that he could see, nor means that he could understand. he marvelled at the outside of the building, its steeple marking it a house apart from every other in the village, and he long had yearned to see it from within. on this day, to which his thought now turned, he had his wish. he followed miss grath down the aisle, clinging to her skirts, a little frightened at the people sitting straight and stiff, and he was rejoiced when he found himself at last on a comfortable cushion in the pew. the cushion was a treat; being his first experience with such luxury, and confirmed his idea that the church was better than other houses. presently he began to be accustomed to his surroundings, having viewed all the walls, the roof, the organ, and the pulpit, until his active mind was satisfied so far as concerned the building itself. then he began to feel the silence, and he did not like it. he longed to speak, but did not dare, because when he timidly looked up, miss grath, catching his glance, scowled reproachfully, and looked straight before her. small and young as he was, he had learned to know this woman with whom he lived, and he needed no more explicit warning to hold his tongue. so he sat still, adding to the silence which oppressed him. it was with a sigh of relief that he saw the preacher rise, and heard him speak; and it was with a throb of intense joy that his heart warmed as the notes of the organ reached him for the first time in his life. thenceforward he was interested up to the point where the sermon began. the tiresome monotone in which this was delivered, and the impossibility of his comprehending what was said, soon fatigued his little brain, and then lulled him to sleep. i may mention parenthetically, what of course did not now enter leon's mind, for he never knew the subject of that first sermon which had been preached at him. if it had been incomprehensible to the child, the woman had understood well enough, for it had been aimed at her especially. the preacher, i cannot call him a minister, for he truly ministered unto none except himself, the preacher then, was a cold, hard scotchman, high church of course. he firmly believed in the damnation of infants, and a hell of which the component parts would be brimstone and fire in proper proportions. he also believed in the efficacy of prayer, especially of his own. therefore, it not infrequently happened, that when any one incurred his ill will, which was not difficult, he would offer up a prayer, consigning said individual to the hottest tortures of the world below. he did this so adroitly, that, while there were no plain personalities in his words, his description of the sinner would be so specific, that the party of the second part readily identified himself as the central figure of the excoriation. now this saintly preacher had at one time demeaned himself, or so he thought, sufficiently low to offer himself in marriage to miss margaret grath. she had declined the honor, and he had hated her ever after. like all true women, however, she had kept his secret, so that none of the congregation knowing the relation which existed, or which might have existed, between them, none could read between the lines of his sermons, when he chose to lash her by a savage denunciation of any mild backsliding, of which she might have been guilty, and himself cognizant. her return to the village with the child, who had no visible father, and no mother, unless the guesses of the gossips were correct, had afforded him opportunity for a most masterly peroration. but he belched forth his greatest eloquence on that sunday morning, when she had the temerity to bring into the sacred confines of his sanctuary this fatherless boy, for whose sake she had chosen to live a lonely life. if his prayer of that morning proved efficacious, then surely the infant was damned, and the woman's soul consigned to endless purgatory. thus the day to which leon recurred in thought, was a landmark in another life beside his, and i have turned aside for a moment to relate this incident, that the character of miss grath may be better comprehended, for in spite of all that she had suffered through the animosity of the preacher, she had never omitted attendance at church, when it was a physical possibility for her to get there. it must be true that some of her determination and will descended from her to the boy, because association means more than heredity. the next occurrence in his life, which now occupied his thoughts, was a day long after, when he was nearing his twelfth year. he was off on a hunting expedition, and had climbed a mountain. careless in leaping from crag to crag, he landed upon a loose boulder, which rolled from under his feet, so that he was thrown. in falling, his foot twisted, and a moment later, intense pain made him aware that he could not walk upon it. for four hours he slowly, but pluckily, dragged himself down the mountain, and at last reached home. it so chanced that a celebrated physician from new york was spending a vacation in the neighborhood, attracted perhaps by the brooks, which were full of fish. this man was dr. emanuel medjora, and having heard of the boy's hurt, he voluntarily visited the lonely farm-house, and attended upon him so skilfully that leon soon was well. just why the thought of dr. medjora should come to him at this time was a problem to leon, but one upon which he did not dwell. after that summer, he had seen the doctor again at various times, two or three years apart, always at vacation-time. but it was now three years since they had met. swiftly his thoughts passed along the years of his life, until they stopped for a moment, arrested by an incident worthy of being chronicled. i have said that leon lay in his boat, face skyward, and allowed his bark to drift whither it would. thus he had not noted his progress until a crunching sound startled him, and he became aware that his boat had found a landing-place, having grounded amidst the sands of a little cove, sheltered by a high rock and overhanging shrubbery. forced thus from his abstraction into some cognizance of his whereabouts, leon, without raising his head, merely became aware of the branches and leaves overhead, and peered through them. almost in the midst of the green, he saw what seemed to be a brilliant but monstrous diamond, pendent from a branch. in the next instant he recognized that he was gazing upon venus, the morning star, which had risen during his reverie, and now shone resplendent and most beautiful. it was just at this moment, that the incident occurred to which i have alluded. suddenly it seemed to him that the whole of his surroundings were familiar. everything had occurred before. his boat drifting into the cove, the shrubbery overhead, and venus in the sky; all that he now realized, in the most minute detail, had held a place in his experience before. such a phenomenon is not uncommon. all of us have been impressed similarly. indeed, some theosophists, trying to prove a previous life for man, have reverted to this well-known feeling, and have claimed that here is a recollection of a former visit to this earth. but leon, young philosopher though he was, would have laughed in scorn at such an argument. he had considered this problem, and had solved it satisfactorily for himself. his explanation was thus. man's brain is divided into two hemispheres. usually they act co-ordinately, but it is possible that, at least momentarily, they may operate independently. it is a fact that the phenomenon under consideration seldom, or never occurs, except when the mind is greatly interested or occupied. something, perhaps in itself the merest trifle, diverts the mind from the intensity of its attention. this diversion leads by a train of circumstances to a long-forgotten memory, and one hemisphere of the brain reverts to a moment in the past, the other continuing intent upon its surroundings. within an infinitesimal period of time, a period too brief to be calculable, both hemispheres are again acting in unison. the abstraction has been so brief, and the cause of it is so dimly defined, that the mind is oblivious of what has occurred, except that, as the diverted hemisphere again takes cognizance of its previous thoughts, and again recognizes the environment of the present, the phenomenon of a dual experience is noted. of course the scene is identically the same as that which is remembered, because it is the same scene. and the previous experience will impress the individual as having occurred long ago, in exact proportion to the date of that circumstance to which one hemisphere has reverted. therefore, leon did not, at this time, speculate upon the mystery, which he thought he understood, but he welcomed the advent of a long-sought opportunity, to trace out the cause of such an abstraction, so fleeting in its nature. he was occupied thus, for half an hour, but at length believed that he had analyzed the experience. the turning-point, at which he had been diverted, was when he first recognized venus. and now he remembered that occasion when he had gone upon a journey. away from his home for the first time in his life, he felt many sensations which i need not record here. but one amusement had been to sit at night studying the stars, and from them fixing the position of the buildings on the home farm, in relation to those where he was then abiding. one evening, when watching venus, then the evening star, he was looking across a pool of water, and trying to imagine himself back on massabesic, with the same planet setting behind the western hill, when, turning his head, he saw a young and beautiful girl standing near him. as his eyes abandoned the planet for the woman, he was startled by the thought that the goddess had been re-embodied. a moment later, the girl asked him for some information relating to the nearest way to her home, which he gave, and she walked on. he had never seen her since, nor had he thought of her again. but now, having analyzed his thoughts and traced them back from the star to that girl, her face thus summoned seemed to take the place of the planet in the heavens, and to gaze down upon him with an assuring smile, which somehow made him feel that the future might hold something for him after all. what that something might be, he did not even try to guess. therefore, you must not adopt the conclusion that leon thus suddenly fell in love with a girl whose face had been seen by him but once. no idea within his mind, connected with that face, was now coupled with a thought of her as an earthly being. he merely summoned up the image of a lovely being, and felt himself refreshed, and hope returning. a few moments later the twilight brightened and the first red border of the sun, peeping over the tops of the trees, shed a warming ray upon leon, thus awakened from his dreamy night into the first day of his manhood. chapter ii. a friend in need. on a bright, warm morning, a week later, leon had already arisen, though it was barely past five o'clock, and having wandered off into a secluded spot in the woods, lay on the ground, his head pillowed against a tree trunk. margaret grath had been laid away beneath the sod, and the old home was no longer homelike to him, since her two sisters had moved in, to take possession until "the auction" which was to occur on this day. he had never liked these women, and they had lavished no affection upon him. consequently he was uneasy in their presence, and so avoided them. they had plainly told him that he was no kith nor kin of theirs, and that though he might abide on the farm till the auction, after that event he would be obliged to shift for himself. they also volunteered the advice that he should leave the town, and added that if he did so it would be a good riddance. to all of these kind speeches leon had listened in silence, determined that he would earn his living without further dependence upon this family, upon whom he now thought that he had already intruded too long, though unknowingly. now, as he lay among the fresh mosses, and inhaled the sweet scents of surrounding blossoms which lifted their drooping heads, and unfolded their petals to the kisses of the newly risen sun, he was musing upon the necessities of his situation, while in a measure taking a last farewell of haunts which he had learned to love. presently, a sound of rustling twigs arrested his attention, and he saw a tiny chipmunk looking at him. he smiled, and pursing up his lips emitted a sound which was neither whistle, nor warble, but a combination of both. the little creature flirted his head to one side, as though listening. leon repeated the call a little louder, and with a sudden dash the chipmunk swiftly sped towards him, as suddenly stopping about ten yards away. here he sat up on his haunches, and, with his forefeet, apparently caressed his head. now leon changed his method, and sounded a prolonged and musical trill, like the purling of a brook. the chipmunk came nearer and nearer, his timidity gradually passing away. and now, in the distance, another rush through the shrubbery was heard, and another chipmunk swiftly came out into the open, presently joining his mate, and approaching nearer and nearer to leon, in short runs. at length they were quite close to him, and he took some peanuts from his pocket. one at a time he threw this tempting food to the little animals, who quickly nibbled off the outer shell and abstracted the kernels, sitting up, their tails gracefully curled over their backs. as leon continued his chirping to his wild pets, two searching eyes were gazing with intense interest upon the scene. and the man who owned those eyes thought thus of what he saw: "he has inherited the power. it is untrained at present, but it will be easily developed." a few moments later, leon waved his hand and the chipmunks scurried off, leaving the youth once more to his meditations. but soon again he was interrupted. this time the noise of the approaching creature was readily discernible even while he was yet afar off, and in a few moments there came bounding through the brush a magnificent collie, sable and white, and beautifully marked. this was lossy, or, rather, "the marquis of lossy," to give him his full title. lossy was truly a perfect collie, with long pointed nose, eyes set high in the forehead, and beaming with human intelligence and a dog's love, which, we all know, transcends the human passion which goes by the same name; his ears were small and, at rest, carried so close to the head that, buried in the long fur they were scarcely discernible, yet, they pricked sharply forward when a sound attracted, giving the face that rakish look so peculiar to the species; and besides a grand coat of long, fine hair, and a heavy undercoat for warmth, he had a glorious bushy tail, carried at just the curve that lent a pleasing symmetry to the whole form. in short, lossy was a collie that would prove a prize-winner in any company. but what was better than mere physical beauty, he was an exception in intelligence, even for a collie, and lavished a wealth of love upon his young master. on this morning, leon had purposely stolen away without the dog, for the pleasure of what now occurred. lossy, finally awakening from his morning nap, and missing his master, had started after him taking almost the same course pursued by leon. and now, after his long run, he bounded forward, landing upon leon's breast with force enough to roll him over, and then, whining with joy at the reunion, the dog kissed his master's face and hands again and again. this display of affection delighted leon, and he returned it with unusual demonstrativeness. rising from the ground, he snapped his fingers, and at the sound lossy bounded into the air, to be caught in the arms of his master, hugged close to his bosom, and then dropped to the ground. this trick was repeated again and again, the dog responding with increasing impatience for the signal. sometimes it was varied. leon turning his back, and bending his body at a slight angle, would give the signal, whereupon lossy would spring with agility upon his back and climb forward, until, by holding the shoulders with his forepaws, he could reach his head around, seeking to kiss leon's face. here the fun was, for as the dog's head protruded over one shoulder, leon turned his face away, whereupon lossy would quickly essay to reach his goal over the other. in the midst of this sort of play, leon was surprised to hear his dog growl. then lossy leaped to the ground, his hair rose almost straight along his spine, his ears pricked forward, and again he growled ominously. before leon could step forward to investigate, the man who had been silently observing the whole scene stepped out, and leon recognized dr. medjora. while the two men gaze silently upon each other, i may take the opportunity to say a few words about dr. medjora. immediately after his trial he left new york for a brief period, very much against the wishes of madam corona. she pleaded with him for an immediate marriage, but he firmly adhered to his own plans. the wedding occurred, however, a year later, and he resumed the practice of his profession in the metropolis. nineteen years later, at the time when margaret grath died, he was counted one of the most eminent practitioners in the country. he had steadfastly declined to adopt surgery, that most fascinating field wherein great reputations are frequently acquired through a single audacious operation, happily carried to a successful termination; but instead, he remained the plain medical man, paying special attention to zymotic diseases. within this sphere he slowly but no less surely acquired fame, as from time to time the dying were plucked almost from the arms of death, and restored to health and usefulness. attracting the admiration and esteem of his patients in a most remarkable degree, he nevertheless aroused in them a certain feeling of almost superstitious awe. people did not say aloud that dr. medjora was a partner of the evil one, but many whispers, not easily traceable, finally resulted in his being commonly known as the "wizard doctor" or simply the "wizard." on this morning, having come into the vicinity during the week for some trout fishing, and then having learned of the auction sale about to take place, he had determined to be present. he was early on his way to the farm, when, crossing the strip of wood, he had first observed leon with the chipmunks. now having shown himself he spoke: "you are leon grath, i believe?" said he. "if you do, your belief is ill founded," replied leon, speaking with no ill temper, but rather with a touch of sadness. "surely you are leon----" "i am leon, but not grath. you are dr. medjora?" "ah! then you remember me?" "certainly! i remember all men, friend or foe. you have been more the former than the latter. therefore the remembrance is quite distinct." hearing the sound of his master's voice, untinged by anger, the collie evidently decided that the newcomer was no enemy, and strolling off a short distance, turned thrice, and lay down, resting his nose between his two forepaws, and eying the twain, awaited developments. "i am glad that you have pleasant recollections of our brief acquaintance. but now, will you explain what you mean by saying that you are not leon grath. i thought that grath was your name?" "so did i, doctor, but i have learned that i was mistaken. i was with margaret grath when she died, and she told me----" he paused. "she told you what?" asked dr. medjora, with apparent eagerness. "that grath is not my name." "what then is it? did she tell you that?" "no! i am leon, the nameless!" there was a touch of bitterness in leon's voice, and, as he felt a slight difficulty in enunciation caused by rising emotions, he turned away his head and gazed into the deepest part of the wood, closing his jaws tight together, and straining every muscle of his body to high tension, in his endeavor to regain full control of himself. dr. medjora observed the inward struggle for mastery of self, and admired the youth for his strength of character. without, however, betraying that he had noticed anything, he said quietly: "what will you do about it?" "i will make a name for myself," was the reply given, with sharp decisiveness of tones, and a smile played around the corners of leon's mouth, as though the open assertion of his purpose was a victory half won. oh, the springtime of our youth! the young man climbs to the top of the first hill, and, gazing off into his future, sees so many roads leading to fortune, that he hesitates only about the choice, not deeming failure possible by any path. but, presently, when his chosen way winds up the mountain-side, growing narrower and more difficult with every setting sun, at length he realizes the difference between expectation and fulfilment. but leon was now on the top of his first hill, and climbing mountains seemed so brave a task that he was eager to begin. therefore, he spoke boldly. almost at once he met his first check. "you will make a name for yourself!" repeated dr. medjora. "how? have you decided?" leon felt at once confronted with the task which he had set himself. now, the truth was that he had decided upon his way in life; or, rather, i should say he had chosen, and, having made his choice, he considered that he had decided the matter permanently. yet, the first man who questioned him, caused him to doubt the wisdom of his choice, to hesitate about speaking of it, and to feel diffident, so that he did not answer promptly. dr. medjora watched him closely, and spoke again. "ah, i see; you think of becoming an author." "how did you know that?" asked leon, quickly, very much perplexed to find his secret guessed. "then it is a fact? you would not ask me how i know it, were it not true. i will answer your question, though it is of slight consequence. you are evidently a young man of strong will-power, and yet you became awkwardly diffident when i asked you what path in life you had elected to follow. i have observed that diffidence is closely allied to a species of shame, and that both are invariable symptoms of budding authorship. to one of your temperament, i should say that these feelings would come only from two causes, secret authorship and love. the latter being out of consideration, the former became a self-evident fact." "dr. medjora, you seem to be a logician, and i should think that you might be a successful author yourself." "i might be, but i am not. i could be, only i do not choose to be. but we are speaking of yourself. if you wish to be a writer, i presume that you have written something. does it satisfy you; that is to say, do you consider that it is as excellent as it need be?" "i have done a little writing. while thinking, this week, about my future, somehow there came to me a longing to write. i did so, and i have been over my little sketch so many times, that i cannot see wherein it is faulty. therefore, i must admit, however conceited it may sound, that i am satisfied with it." "that is a very bad sign. when a man is satisfied with his own work he has already reached the end of his abilities. it is only continual dissatisfaction with our efforts, that ever makes us ambitious to attain better things. you have said that, in your opinion, i could be a successful writer. then let me read and judge what you have written. you have it with you, i suppose?" leon was much embarrassed. he wished that he could say no, but the composition was in his pocket. so he drew it out and handed it to dr. medjora, without saying a word. the doctor glanced at it a moment and then said encouragingly: "there is a quality in this, as excellent as it is rare. brevity." "ah, doctor!" said leon, eagerly. "that is what i have aimed at. i have but a single idea to expound, and i have endeavored to clothe it in as few words as possible. or, rather, i should say, i have tried to make every word count. please read it with that view uppermost." the doctor nodded assent, and then read the little story, which was as follows: immortality. i am dead! have you ever experienced the odd sensation of being present at your own funeral, as i am now? impossible! for you are alive! but i? i am dead! there lies my body, prone and stiff, uncoffined, whilst the grave-digger, by the light of the young moon, turns the sod which is to hide me away forever. or so he thinks. why should he, a christian minister, stoop to dig a grave? why? because minister though he be, he is, or was my master; and my murderer. murderer did i say? was it murder to kill a dog? for only a dog i was; or may i say, i am? i stupidly tore up one of his sermons, in sport. for this bad, or good deed, my master, in anger, kicked me. he kicked me, and i died. was that murder? or is the word applicable only to man, who is immortal? but stay! what is the test of immortality? the ego says, "i am i," and earns eternity. then am i not immortal, since though dead, i may speak the charmed words? no! for christianity preaches annihilation to beast, and immortality for man only. man, the only animal that murders. shall i be proof that christianity contains a flaw? yet view it as you may, here i am, dead, yet not annihilated. i say here i am, yet where am i? how is it that i, stupid mongrel that i was, though true and loving friend, as all dogs are; how is it that i, who but slowly caught my master's meaning from his words, now understand his thoughts although he does not speak? at last i comprehend. i know now where i am. i am within his mind. his eagerness to bury my poor carcass is but born of the desire to drive me thence. but is not mind an attribute of the human soul, and conscience too? and are not both immortal? thus then the problem of my future do i solve. let this good christian man hide under ground my carcass; evidence of his foul crime. and being buried, let it rot. what care i though it should be annihilated? i am here, within this man's immortal mind, and here i shall abide forever more, and prick his conscience for my pastime. thus do i win immortality, and cheat the christian's creed. having read to the end, dr. medjora nodded approvingly to leon and said: "for a first composition, you may well rest satisfied with this. it is very subtile. indeed i am surprised at the originality and thought which you have displayed here. i should like to discuss with you some of the points. may i?" "with pleasure," leon replied with ardor, delighted to find his little story so well received. "the first thought that occurs to me is, that there is a certain amount of inspiration about your essay. i say essay because it is that rather than a story. from this, i deduce a fact discouraging to your ambition, for inspirations are rare, and it is probable that were you to succeed in selling this to some magazine, you would find it difficult to produce anything else as good." "why, doctor," said leon, anxious to prove his ability, "i wrote that in a few minutes." "by which statement you mean that with time for thought, you might do better. but your argument is in favor of my theory. the more rapidly you wrote this, the more difficult will it be for you to write another. let me tell you what i read between the lines here. miss grath having died, you were left alone in the world. her two amiable sisters coming to the farm, probably made your loneliness intensified, and whilst depressed by your mood, your dog showed you some affection, which reaching you when your heart was full, caused it to spill over, and this was the result. am i wrong?" "no! you have guessed the circumstances almost exactly. as you say, i was feeling lonely and depressed. i came here for solitude, which is something different from loneliness, and which is as soothing as loneliness is depressing. i was sitting under that tree, thinking bitter things of the world in general, and of the people about me more especially, when without my having heard him approach, my dog, lossy, dear old brute, pushed his head over my shoulders, placed his paws around my neck, and kissed me. it affected me deeply. it was as though i had received a message from providence, telling me not to despair. then like a flash it came to me, that if love is an attribute of the soul, and a dog's love is the most unselfish of all, it must follow logically that a dog has a soul." "your deduction is correct, if there be any such thing as soul. but, for the moment, i will not take that up. you have told enough to show that i am right as to the origin of your tale. it is also evident that you cannot hope to be under such emotional excitement at all times, when you might be called upon to write; to write or go without a meal. however, i have faith in you, and do not doubt that we shall find a way for you to earn as many meals as you shall need." "do you mean that you will assist me?" "i will assist you, if i am correct in my present opinion of you. young men who need and expect assistance, are rarely worthy of help. but i wish to talk about your essay. i like the line 'was it murder to kill a dog?' and the one which follows, 'for only a dog i was; or may i say, i am?' of course the word murder, strictly applied, means the killing of a man by his fellow. i think i comprehend what you mean here, but i would like you to explain it to me." "doctor, you compliment me by taking this so seriously. there is a deeper meaning in the words than might be detected by a superficial reader. as you say, the word murder applies only to the killing of a man, by a man. or i might change the wording and say, the killing of a human being. here, human implies the possession of those higher attributes, the aggregate of which is the soul, which by man is arrogantly claimed to exist exclusively in man. and it is the violent separation of this soul from its earthly body, which makes it the heinous crime, murder; while the beast, not possessing a soul, may be killed without scruple, and without crime. hence i say, 'was it murder to kill a dog?' and at once, in so few words, i raise the question as to whether the dog has not a soul." "i follow you. your explanation is only what i expected. i said that i liked the next line: 'for only a dog i was; or may i say, i am?' this time i will show you that i comprehend you. the question here implies much. if the dog is annihilated at death, then this dog ceased to exist when his master slew him. but he is speaking; he realizes that he continues to exist. therefore, he says most pertinently, 'or may i say, i am?' the question carries its own affirmative, for what is not, cannot question its own existence. the subtilty here is very nice. you convince your reader by presenting what seems to be a self-evident proposition, and if he admits this, he must accord immortality to the dog, for he that after death may say 'i am' is immortal. but the flaw, which you have so well hidden, lies in the fact that you have started with the assumption of that which you have essayed to prove. you make the dead dog speak, which would be an impossibility had he been annihilated." "i am delighted, doctor, at the way in which you criticise me. but i am contending that the dog is immortal, hence my assumption at the very start, that though dead, he may record his sensations. i do not really mean to discuss the point, nor to prove it. i merely mean dogmatically to assume it. i picture a dog, who in life believed that death would be his total extinction, but who, when suddenly deprived of life, finds that he is still in existence, and endeavors to analyze his condition. if you will overlook the seeming egotism of pointing out what i think the most subtile idea, i would call your attention to the line where, concluding that he is immortal, he says 'here i am,' and instantly asks 'where am i?'" "yes. i had already admired that and what follows; but i will ask you to expound it yourself." "you are very kind," said leon, pleased, and eager to talk upon his subject. "he asks where he is, and after a moment decides that he is in his master's mind. then he argues truly that, as mind is but a part, or attribute of the soul, if the soul be immortal, the mind and all that it contains must live on, also. therefore, being in the man's mind, he needs only to stay there, to escape annihilation. then he adds, that he will prick the man's conscience forever. here is something more than a mere dogmatism. none will deny that the wanton killing of a dog can never be forgotten, and if the dog remains in one's mind, is not that a sort of immortality?" "sophistry, my boy, sophistry; but clever. the idea is original, and well conceived for the purpose of your narrative. but, like many deductions assumed to be logical, it is illogical, because your premises are wrong. it is not the dog, nor his spirit, that abides in the mind and assails the conscience. what the man tries in vain to forget is the thought of killing the beast, and thought, of course, is immutable; but it does not at all follow that the thing of which we think is imperishable." "i see your meaning, doctor, and of course you are right. but do you side with the christian, and claim that the dog is annihilated, while man is immortal?" "a discussion upon religious topics is seldom profitable. in reply to your question, i think that you will be satisfied if i admit that the dog is as surely immortal as man. no more so, and no less. the christian hypothesis, in this respect, is a unique curiosity to a thinking man, at best. we are asked to believe that man is first non-existent; then in a moment he begins to exist, or is born; then he dies, but, nevertheless, continues to exist endlessly. now it is an evident fact that birth and death are analogous occurrences, and related only to existence on this planet. the body of a man is born, and it dies. it begins, and it ends. as to immortality, if you contend that something abided in that body which continues to exist after death, then it is necessary to admit that it had an existence previous to its entrance into the body, at birth. nothing can continue to exist in all future time, which began at any fixed moment; it must have being, whether we look forward or backward. form is perishable. it had a beginning, birth; and it will have an end, death! but the intelligence which inhabits all form will live forever, because it has forever lived. so i repeat, the dog is as immortal as the man." there followed a silence after this speech, the two men gazing upon one another intently, without speaking. leon was deeply affected. he felt almost as though listening to himself, and there is no human being who does not find himself entertaining. leon had grown up without human companionship, for, in his environment, there was no one of temperament congenial to his. but he had not lacked for company. he found that within the covers of those books which he had begged, borrowed, or bought with hard-earned, and more hardly-saved, pennies. miss grath had never encouraged him to waste his time "reading those wicked science books," when he should have been studying his testament. but he had sat alone in his garret room, on many a night, reading by a candle, for he dared not use the oil, which was measured out to last a given time. thus he had become infatuated with works of divers kinds: mythology, sociology, theology, physiology, psychology, and other kindred but difficult subjects. difficult indeed to the student who is his own teacher. he had come to read his books, imagining that he listened to the authors talking, and, not infrequently, carried away by his interest in his subject, he had caught himself addressing questions aloud to the writer, whom his fancy pictured as present. now, for the first time, he had heard a man "talk like a book." when he recovered from his pleasurable surprise, he said with emotion and ardor: "doctor, if i could be where i might hear you talk, or have you to teach me, i would be the happiest boy in the world." "are you in earnest, leon, or are you merely carried away by an emotion, aroused by something which i have said?" "i am in earnest, but----" here his voice dropped and his tone became almost sad, "of course i have no right to ask such a favor. pardon my presumption." "leon, if you mean what you have said; if you will be happy with me; if you will accept me as your teacher, and endeavor to learn what i can teach you, your wish shall be gratified." "what do you mean?" cried leon, renewed hope stirring within his breast. "you know me as a doctor, by which you understand that i physic people when they are sick. but the true meaning of doctor, is teacher. i am willing to be that to you, and i know much that i can teach; very much more than other men. i will take you as my student, if you will come." "you are very kind, dr. medjora, and i could wish for no greater happiness than the chance to learn. knowledge to me is god, the god whom i worship. but i could never repay you for the time and trouble that it will entail." "indeed you can. knowledge is power, but the knowledge of one man has its limitation, for the man will die. i have two things that i must leave at death, money and knowledge. the former i may bequeath to whom i please, and he will get it, unless others squabble over my will until the lawyers spend the estate. with my knowledge it is different. i must impart it to my successor during my life, or it will perish with me. i have labored long and hard, and i have accumulated knowledge of the rarest and most unusual kind. knowledge which makes me count myself the wisest physician in the world to-day. knowledge which i can transfer to you, if you will accept it as a sacred trust, and use the power which it will confer upon you for the benefit of your fellows. have you the courage and the energy to accept my offer? if so, do not hesitate, for i have been seeking for the proper man during several years. if you be he, i ask no other reward for what my task will be, than to see you worthy. will you accept?" "i will!" leon placed his hand in that of doctor medjora, and thus made a compact with one, to whom were attributed powers as potent as satan's. side by side, and deeply absorbed in earnest conversation, they started to walk to the farm, to be present at the sale. lossy, although for the moment forgotten by his master, was on the alert and jumped up to follow, as soon as they started away. for the dog is a faithful friend, and the collie perhaps the most faithful of all dogs, if indeed there be any choice in that respect between purest bred and mongrel. chapter iii. selling a new england farm. all the neighboring towns-people knew that the grath farm was to be sold on this day. the "bills" had been "out" for over two weeks. these were announcements, printed in large letters, on bright-colored paper, and hung up in barber-shops, grocery stores, post-offices and even nailed on trees. one might be driving along an almost deserted road, several miles from any habitation, and suddenly find himself confronted by one of these yellow and black "auction bills," which would notify him that upon the stated date a homestead would be "sold out," in the next county. therefore it was not surprising that when leon and the doctor reached the farm, several "teams" were already "hitched" along the stone wall that surrounded the orchard. the auction was advertised to begin at eight o'clock, and by seven over a hundred persons had already arrived, and were "rummaging" about the premises. an auction of this kind differs greatly from an art sale at chickering hall. there is no catalogue, numbering the various lots to be offered; nevertheless there is nothing so small, so worthless, so old, so broken, or so rusty, that it will not be put up, and bid for too. many of the prospective buyers come many miles to attend, and as the sale usually lasts all day, it is expected that the owner will serve dinner promptly at noon, to all who may wish to partake of his hospitality. as these dinners, save in rare cases, usually amount to nothing better than a luncheon, many bring viands with them, thus reinforcing themselves against contingencies of hunger. by the time that the auction was to begin, the grath farm looked like a veritable picnic-ground; teams tied to every place that offered, one old man having "hitched" his horse to a mowing-machine, which caused some merriment when that article was sold, the auctioneer announcing that he would "throw in the critter leaning against the machine"; whilst here and there some of the bolder visitors had gathered together tables and chairs, and were keeping guard over them until the eating hour. one old woman approached leon and sought information, thus: "be you the boy that marg'ret grath took offen the county farm?" to which leon vouchsafed no reply, but turned and walked away. this at once aroused the anger of the irascible old party, who followed him speaking loudly. "hoity! toity! what airs for a beggar's brat! i'd have you to know, young man, that when i ax a civil question, i cac'late to git a civil answer!" which calculation, however, miscarried. over near the barn he met another woman who asked: "i say! you be the boy as lives here, be'ant you?" "yes, i live here," replied leon. "well! i hearn as how miss grath hed some white ducks, so nigh as big 's geese, thet a body couldn't tell one from t'other. now i've sarched the hull place lookin' fer them ducks, but bless me ef i kin find a feather on 'em. i seen a fine flock o' geese in the orchard, but i want you to show me them ducks. i'm jest achin' to see em." "the flock in the orchard are the ducks; we have no geese," explained leon. "you don't mean it!" rejoined the woman, much astounded. "so them geese is the ducks! land alive! and i took 'em for geese. well, i never! to think i couldn't tell one from t'other! i mus' git another peak at 'em." then she hurried away towards the orchard. over by the barn a man was coming out from the horse stalls, with an old leather strap in his hand, when he was suddenly confronted by the stern visage of miss matilda grath, spinster. before he found words of greeting, she burst forth in wrathful tones: "jeremiah hubbard, whatever do you mean by stealin' other folks' property, right before their very eyes?" "stealin', miss grath? me steal? you mus' be losin your senses. hain't ye?" "no, i hain't!" snapped back miss grath. "an' ef you an't stealin' that strap, i'd like to know what you're doin', takin' it outen the barn, before it's sold?" "gosh! ye don't mean you're goin' to sell this strap?" "an' why not, i'd like to know? it's mine, an' i kin sell it, i spose, 'thout gittin' your permission?" "why, sartin! but 'tain't wuth nothin'." "ef 'tain't wuth nothin', i'd have you tell me what you're takin' it for?" "well, you see,"--mr. hubbard was embarrassed by the question--"it's this way. a bit o' my harness is a leetle weak, and i thought this'd come handy to brace it up till i get to hum." "jes' so," answered miss grath, with gratification, "an' as 't would come handy, you jes' took it, french leave. well! ef you stay till the end o' the auction, mebbe you'll git a chance to buy it. meanwhile, mr. hubbard, it might be 's well to keep your hands offen what don't belong to you." mr. hubbard threw the old piece of strap back in the stall, and pushing his hands deep into his pockets, snarled out: "i reckon i'll put my hands in my pockets, where my money is, an' keep 'em there too!" with which he strode away, a very angry man. he stayed to the end of the auction, but miss grath noticed with regret that he did not bid on anything all day, and she wondered if she had not "put her foot in it," which she undoubtedly had. but there are many, many people, in this curious little world, who hold a penny so close to their eyes that they lose sight of many dollars that might come their way were they not blinded by the love of small gains. mr. hubbard, too, was troubled as he rode home, that night; for, aside from the fact that he had been accused, of stealing, and that the stolen property had been "found on him," because of his determination not to let "the old hag" get any of his money he had lost several good opportunities to secure tempting "bargains"; and there is nothing that a true new englander loves so much as a bargain. at last there was a commotion in the crowd. some one had recognized the auctioneer's team approaching, and presently he jumped out of his light wagon, greeting the men and women alike, by their first names, for there were few who did not know mr. potter, and there was none whom mr. potter did not know. mr. potter himself was a character of a genus so unique that he was perhaps the only living example. if it be true that poets are ever born, then mr. potter was born a poet. it was only by the veriest irony of fate that he was an auctioneer, although undoubtedly it is probable that he made more money by the latter calling, than he ever would have gained by printer's ink. and as for fame, that he had, if it please you. for be it known that no farm of consequence in new hampshire hath passed under the hammer these five and twenty years, but mr. potter hath presided at the obsequies. i use that word advisedly, for, truly, though they make a picnic of the event, the selling of an old homestead is a funereal sort of pleasure. the cause of his success lay in the fact that, with wisdom such as no professional poet has been known to possess, mr. potter had combined his business and his pleasure, so that he became known as a poetical auctioneer. gifted with the faculty of rhyming, and well versed in the poets, he readily would find a couplet to fit all occasions. sometimes they were quoted entire, sometimes they appeared as familiar lines with a new termination, and not infrequently the verse would be entirely original, provoked by the existing circumstances. as to his personality, i need but a few adjectives to give you his picture. he was a large man, and a hearty one. witty, genial, and gallant to the ladies. above all things, he possessed the rare faculty of adapting himself to his surroundings. add to this that he was scrupulously honest and fair in his dealing, and you will readily believe that he was popular. his name on a "bill" always assured a large crowd. on this occasion more than the usual throng surrounded him, as he climbed up into an ox-cart and opened the sale with these words: "my friends, we will begin the morning services by quoting a verse from dr. watts, junior: "blest is the man who shuns the place where other auctions be, and in his pocket saves his cash to buy his goods of me." then, when the laugh had died away, he offered for sale the cart upon which he stood, reserving the right to stand upon it during the balance of the day. the bidding was spiritless at first, and the cart went for two dollars. mr. potter remarking, as he knocked it down: "thus passeth my understanding!" and so the sale progressed, mr. potter finding many opportunities which called forth some selection from his store of poetry. there were many sharp sallies from the crowd, for the new englander is keen of wit, but the auctioneer ever had a ready rejoinder that turned the laugh away from himself, without causing ill-feeling. after a couple of hours, during which leon saw many things sold which were associated in his mind with what were now sacred memories, he turned away from the crowd, and went off towards the barn. lost in thought, he did not notice that the collie followed at his heels, until presently, walking between the bales of new hay, and finding one upon which he could throw himself, lossy jumped up beside him and kissed him in the face. "poor doggy," said the lad; "you know that i'm in trouble, don't you, old boy?" he paused as though he awaited a reply, and the dog, seeming to understand that something was expected of him, sat back on his haunches and offered his paw, tapping his master's arm again and again, until it was taken. then leon turned so as to face the dog squarely, and retaining the proffered paw, he spoke again. "i wonder, lossy, how you will do in a great city? will you miss the old place, as i suppose i shall? will you mind being penned up in a little yard, with strict orders not to come into the grand house? will you miss going after the cows, and the sheep? will you miss your swims in the lake?" he paused again, but lossy was looking away much as a human being would who tried to hide his feelings. for there is little doubt that when a dog acts thus, in some mysterious way he comprehends his master's trouble, and shares it. "never you mind, old fellow," leon continued, "you sha'n't be entirely forgotten. i'll look out for you. the nights will be ours, and what fun we shall have. we'll go off together on long walks, and if there is any country near enough, why we'll go there sometimes on sundays. for we don't care about church, do we, old boy? no, sir! the open fields, with the green grass, and the trees, and the birds, and the bright sunlight is all the church we need, isn't it, old doggy?" he stopped, and as his voice had grown somewhat more cheerful, the dog vouchsafed to look at him timidly. seeing encouragement, he wagged his tail a few times. "come, sir," said leon, "i am talking to you. don't you hear? answer my question. speak, sir! speak!" "whow! whow! whow-whow!" answered lossy, barking lustily. but leon held up his finger in warning, and he ceased. "what do you mean by all that noise?" said leon. "don't you understand that this is a confidential conversation? now, sir! answer me again, but softly! softly!" "woof! woof! woof!" answered lossy, in tones as near a whisper as can be compassed by a dog. "very well, sir!" said leon. "that's better. much better. we don't want to attract a crowd, so the less noise we make the better for us." but, alas! the boy's warning came too late. miss matilda grath had seen leon go towards the barn, and when she heard the dog's loud barking, a sudden idea had come to her, which thrilled her cruel heart with anticipation of pleasure. so much so indeed, that she at once left the vicinity of the auctioneer, where her interests were, and hurried out to the barn, surprising leon by her unwelcome presence. "what are you doin' out here all by yourself?" she asked. "i am not doing anything, miss grath!" replied leon mildly, hoping to mollify her. a vain hope! "miss grath!" she repeated sneeringly. "don't you miss grath me. i an't to be molly-coddled by the likes o' you. i wanter know what you're doin' out here, when everybody's to the auction. you an't up to no good, i'll warrant. now up an' tell me! an' no lies, or it will be the worst for you." "i don't know what you're aiming at. i came out here to be alone, that is all!" "oh! you wanted to be alone, did you? well, that's the right way for you to feel, anyway. the company of decent folks an't for the likes o' you." she paused, expecting an angry retort, but failing to obtain the desired excuse for proceeding in the diabolical design which she was bent upon executing, she continued in a worse temper. "you needn't think you kin fool me with your smooth talkin'. i know you, and i know what you're up to!" "well, if you know, why did you ask me?" said leon, stung into something like anger. "i don't want none o' your impudence. i'll tell you mighty quick what you're up to. you're plannin' to steal that dog, that's what you're after!" "steal lossy! why how could i do that? he is mine!" leon did not yet fully grasp what was coming, but the vague suspicion conveyed by the woman's words aroused a fear in his breast. "oh! he's your'n, is he. we'll see 'bout that. how did he come to be your'n? did you buy him?" "why, of course not. he was born right here on the farm, and, when he was a puppy, mother gave him to me." "don't you dare to call my sister mother, you impudent young beggar. you never had no mother, and your scoundrel of a father foisted you onto my innocent, confidin' sister, who took you out o' charity, like a fool. i wouldn't 'ave done it." "i have not the least idea that you would, miss grath. you never did any one a kindness in your life, if what people say is true." "people say a deal sight more 'n their prayers. but that an't to the p'int now. we're talkin' 'bout this dog. you say he's your'n; that my sister gin him to you. now kin you prove that?" "prove it?" repeated leon, at last fully comprehending that his dog might be taken from him. "prove it! why, how can i?" "jes' so. you can't. my sister's dead, and an't here to contradict you, so in course you kin claim the dog. but that's all talk, an' talk 's cheap. the dog's mine." "he is not yours." "an't he? we'll see 'bout that mighty quick." and before either leon or the dog understood her purpose, she had grabbed lossy in her arms, and was striding away towards the crowd around the auctioneer. leon jumped down and followed her, his pulses beating high. reaching the cart where mr. potter was standing, she threw the dog towards him, saying: "here, sell this dog next. he's named lossy. he's a right smart beast. goes after the cows, kin tend sheep, and run a churn. he's wuth a good price. sell him for what he'll fetch." mr. potter stooped and patted the dog, who was trembling with fear, for ordinarily a collie is easily alarmed, and not very brave except when guarding his sheep, when he has the courage of a lion. "well," began mr. potter, "what'll you give for the dog. come! speak, and let the worst be known, for speaking may relieve you. if it don't, i'll relieve you of the price of the dog, and you can take him with you." "dollar!" cried a voice in the crowd succinctly. "'n' quarter," said another. "stop," cried leon, fully aroused, now that his pet was actually offered for sale. "mr. potter, you shall not sell that dog. he is mine." "it's a lie!" cried miss grath. then pointing her bony finger at leon, she continued: "look at that ungrateful wretch. look at him. you all know who he is, and where he came from. my sister nussed him, and fed him, and gin him his clothes all these years, and now arter she's dead, he's tryin to defraud me by claimin' my property, 's if he an't had enough outer my family a'ready." "i've never had anything from you, and would not accept it if it was offered and i was starving," cried leon, white with anger. but as just as the words were, they rather injured his cause, for most of those present held ideas not very dissimilar from miss grath's, and they accepted her version and believed him ungrateful. the prejudice against him was not lessened by the intuitive knowledge that, poor though he was, he was better than they. so those who heard him did not hesitate to speak against him, and such phrases as "nuss a serpent and 'twill sting you," and "a beggar on horseback," reached his ears, and despite their inaptness, they wounded him. mr. potter, seeing the rising storm, essayed to stem the torrent, and exclaimed: "don't show temper, friends; anger and pride are both unwise; vinegar never catches flies." "ther' hain't no flies on potter," cried a voice, and a general laugh followed. then, in spite of his protest, leon saw lossy offered again for sale. mr. potter lifted the dog in his arms and said: "now here's a dog, by name of lossy. just feel his fur, so fine and glossy. i'm told that twixt his loud bow-wows he often fetches home the cows. besides that, he can tend the sheep, and bring the butter in the churn. so buy him dear, or buy him cheap, he'll eat no more than he can earn. "how much for the dog?" the competition excited by the occurrences, and the verses, was now so great, that the bidding was spirited until fifteen dollars was reached, to which sum it had mounted by jumps of fifty cents. then a man said quietly but distinctly: "twenty dollars," and a glad cry escaped from leon, as he recognized dr. medjora's voice, and knew that his purpose was to restore his dog to him. but at the same instant miss grath also comprehended the situation, and determined that leon should not have lossy. she cried out to mr. potter: "the dog's wuth twice as much. you kin stop sellin' him. i'll keep him myself." at this leon's hopes fell, only to be revived again by the auctioneer's words. mr. potter knew miss grath thoroughly, and he readily appreciated the fact that she was selling the dog to spite the lad, and that, in withdrawing him, she was actuated by some sinister motive. sympathizing with leon, against whom he had none of the prejudices of the neighborhood, he turned now to miss grath and said: "you told me to sell him for what he would fetch. it's too late now to draw back." "it an't too late," screamed the infuriated woman; "it's my dog, and i sha'n't sell him." "oh, you won't," said mr. potter. "'the best-laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee.' dr. medjora gets the dog at twenty dollars." "it's no sale! it's no sale!" cried out miss grath. "'t ain't legal to sell my property agin my word." "now, look here, miss grath," said mr. potter; "i'm here to sell, and whatever i sell is sold. that dog's sold, and that settles it. if you dispute it, you jes' say so, right now, and you kin sell the rest of this farm yourself. now decide quick! is the sale of that dog all straight?" miss grath, despite her anger, was shrewd enough to see that her interests would be ruined if she suspended the sale. she could never hope to get the crowd together again, and no other auctioneer would obtain such good prices. so she was obliged to yield, though she did so with little grace. "oh! i 'spose ef you choose to be ugly 'bout it, i hain't got nothin' more to say. dr. medjora kin have the dog, an' much good may it do him. i hope he'll regret buyin' it, some day." and so, through the cleverness of mr. potter, the poet-auctioneer, when dr. medjora and leon started for new york on the following morning the collie went with them. chapter iv. an ominous welcome. leon at this time was about twenty years old, but, as we have seen, he had already passed the crisis in his life which made a man of him. he was a curious product, considered as a new england country boy. despite the fact that all of his life had been passed on the farm, except a brief period when he had been sent to another section, equally rural, he had adopted none of the idioms peculiar to the people about him. without any noteworthy schooling, he could boast of being something of a scholar. i have already mentioned his predilection for the higher order of books, and by reading these he had undoubtedly obtained a glimpse of a vast field of learning; but one may place his eye to a crack in a door and see a large part of the horizon, yet the door hides much more than the crack reveals, and the observer sees nothing except through the crack. so leon, knowing much, knew less than he thought he did; and many ideas which he believed to be mature, and original products of his own brain, were but reflections of the authors whose works he had read, and whose deductions he had adopted, because he had read nothing by other writers contradicting them. therefore he was exactly in that mental condition which would make him a good pupil, because he would be a disputative one. the student who accepts the teaching of his master without question, will acquire but a meagre grasp of knowledge, while he who adopts nothing antagonistic to his own reason, until his reason has been satisfied, may be more troublesome, because less docile, but his progress will be more real. that leon had very decided convictions upon many topics, and that he would argue tenaciously in defence of his views, would not at all militate against his learning. those ideas which were most firmly fixed in his mind, could readily be dislodged, if erroneous, for the very reason that they were not truly original with himself. having adopted the teaching of one book, he could certainly be made to accept opposite theories, if another book, with more convincing arguments, should be brought to his notice. for these reasons, it might be said that his mind was in a plastic condition, ready to be moulded into permanent thoughts. with such a teacher as dr. medjora, he would learn whatever the doctor taught; he would adopt whatever theories the doctor wished. under the control of another master he might become the antithesis of what the doctor would make of him. therefore it may be truly said that when he accepted dr. medjora's offer, he sealed his fate, as surely as when faust contracted with mephisto. just as he had gleaned the ideas of authors, so also his conception of cities, and city life, had been taken from books. he had read works of travel, and thought that he was quite familiar with travelling. he was consequently astonished to find how much at variance with the real, were his notions. when he found himself aboard of _the puritan_, that palatial steamboat of the fall river line, he was dazed by the magnificence and luxury, thus seen for the first time in his life. but later in the night, when he and the doctor sat upon the upper deck, as they swiftly glided through the moonlit waters of long island sound, he was so enraptured at this broader view of the universe, that he felt a distinct pain as his thoughts recurred to lake massabesic, which now seemed so diminutive, and which only a few days before had been an ocean to him. yet there was still the real ocean which he had not yet seen, and which would render the sound as diminutive in comparison, as the lake. and so, also, we arrogant inhabitants of this planet may presently come to some other world so much greater, so much larger, so much more grand, that we will not even deign to turn a telescope towards the little world which we have left behind. in some such manner, leon was leaving his little world behind him, and even already he was abandoning all thought of it, as his heart welled up and his soul expanded towards the greater world looming up before him. in that little town behind him he had lost his name, which indeed had never been his. but in the great city which he approached, was he not destined to make a new name for himself? he was young, and in answer to this mental question his answer was--"certainly!" all young men see fame just there--just ahead of them! they need but to stretch out a hand, and it is within their grasp. yet, alas! how few ever clutch it! dr. medjora sat beside leon for a long time in silence. he noticed the lad's absorption, and readily comprehended the mental effects produced. it suited his purpose to remain silent. he wished his companion to become intoxicated by this new experience, for, in such a mood of abstraction, he hoped for an opportunity to accomplish a design which was of great importance to himself. he wished to hypnotize leon. why, i will explain later, but the chief reason at the present moment was this: dr. medjora had, as you know, observed leon feeding the chipmunks, and had said to himself, "he has inherited the power." by this he meant leon possessed that temperament which is supposed to render the individual most capable of controlling others. and let me say at once that i do not allude to any occult power. there is nothing whatever in connection with this history, which transcends known and recognized scientific laws. but, to express myself clearly, i may say that all persons are susceptible to impressions from suggestion. those who fall asleep, because sleep has been suggested, are said to be hypnotic subjects; while he who can produce sleep by suggestion in the greatest number of persons, may be said to have "the power" in its most developed form. but it is a power thoroughly well comprehended by scientists of to-day, and may be acquired by almost any one to some extent, just as any one is susceptible to hypnotic influence, to a greater or less degree according to the conditions. i believe that there is no person living who cannot be hypnotized, by some living person, however well he may resist all others. or in other words, there be some individuals so little susceptible to outside suggestions, so self-reliant, and so strong in their own ego, that it would be extremely difficult to produce true hypnosis in them. yet the phenomenon is possible with even these, provided the hypnotizer be one who is a past-master in methods, and possesses the most effective power of conveying suggestion. such a man was dr. medjora. never yet had he met a human being who could resist him, if he exerted himself. he was a master of methods, possessing a knowledge of the minutest details of the psychological aspect of the subject, and therefore the most powerful hypnotizer of the age, perhaps. one fact he had long recognized. that just as one individual is more susceptible than another, so an individual who might resist at one time, would be perfectly docile at another. so much depends upon the mental attitude of the subject. one of the favorable states is abstraction, for in such a condition the mind is off its guard, so to speak, and it may be possible that, by a sudden shock, the suggestion to sleep, might be conveyed and be obeyed. thus he was glad to note that leon was losing himself in thought, because it would give him an opportunity to hypnotize the lad, and if he could once be thrown into that state, hypnosis could be re-produced thereafter very readily. it would only be necessary for the doctor to suggest to leon, while asleep, that he permit himself to be hypnotized in the future, and the possibility of resistance would be destroyed. therefore the doctor watched leon, as a cat does a bird when seeking a chance to seize and destroy it. several times he was about to make the attempt, but he hesitated. that he did so annoyed him, for it was a new experience to him to doubt his ability to accomplish a purpose. but, truly, he questioned the wisdom of what he meditated, in spite of the fact that he knew this to be a rare opportunity, which would never occur again. the boy would never, after this night, be so intoxicated by nature as he was at this time. even though leon were, as the doctor believed, one of those exceptional individuals who could successfully resist him, his will-power was for the time in abeyance, and a well-directed effort to throw him into hypnotic slumber promised success. yet he could not overlook the other fact, that, were the attempt to prove a failure, it would render all future experiments doubly difficult. thus an hour passed. there was no one on the upper deck besides these two. leon had remained so still, so motionless for many minutes, that he might have been a corpse sitting there and gazing into the line of foam which trailed in the wake of the boat. he was fascinated, why might he not be hypnotized? still, the doctor was loath to take a risk. he called the lad's name, at first very softly. but he repeated it again, and again, in louder tones. leon did not reply. his abstraction was so great that he did not hear. it was certainly a favorable moment. the doctor rose slowly from his chair; so slowly that he scarcely seemed to move, but in a few moments he stood erect. then he paused, and for some time remained motionless. with a movement that was more a gliding than a step, one leg crept forward towards leon, and then the other was drawn after it, thus bringing the doctor nearer. again he stood motionless. again the manoeuvre was repeated, and now, still unnoticed, he stood beside the lad. the approach more than ever reminded one of a cat, only now one would think of a tiger rather than of the little domestic animal. for the doctor looked tall and gaunt in the moonlight. now he stooped slowly forward, bending his back, as the tiger prepares to spring upon its prey, and now his mouth was near leon's ear. the final moment had come; the experiment was to be tried. but even now the doctor had devised a scheme by which he hoped to lose nothing, even though he should fail. his first intention had been to cry out, "go to sleep!" a command which he had often seen obeyed instantly. this time the formula was changed. in a loud tone, which, however, was mellifluous and persuasive, he uttered these words: "you are asleep!" he paused and anxiously awaited the result. for a brief instant success poised upon the verge of his desire. leon's eyes closed, and his head drooped forward. then, like lightning, there came a change. the lad jumped up, and started back, assuming an attitude of defiance, and a wrathful demeanor. he was entirely awake and in full control of his senses as he cried out: "you tried to mesmerize me!" as swiftly the doctor was again master of himself, and, recognizing defeat, he was fully prepared to assume control of the situation and twist circumstances so that they should culminate in advantage to himself. in the very moment of his first failure, his quick mind grasped at the hope that was offered by leon's words. he had said "mesmerize," and this convinced dr. medjora that the word "hypnotize" was as yet unknown to him, and that all the later discoveries in psychical science must be as a sealed book to him. so with perfect calmness he replied: "i fail to see upon what you base such a senseless deduction. you have sat motionless for half an hour. i called you three or four times, and you did not reply. then i came here and stood beside you, but you took no notice of me. finally i said what i thought was true, 'you are asleep!' instantly you jump up like a madman and accuse me of trying to mesmerize you. now, why? explain!" how could this youth cope with the skill of such a man? he could not. as he listened to the doctor's words and heard his frank and friendly speech, his fears were banished, his suspicions lulled, and he felt ashamed. being honest, he expressed his thoughts: "i beg your pardon, doctor. i think now that i must have been sleeping. your words startled me, and, as i awoke, i spoke stupidly. will you forgive me?" there was a shade of anxiety in his tones, which demonstrated to the doctor that he valued his friendship, and feared to alienate his good will. thus he knew that he had deftly dispelled doubt, and that nothing had been lost. indeed, something had been gained, for he knew now what he had only before suspected; that leon could not be hypnotized. or, rather, not by any one else in the world besides himself, for he by no means abandoned his design. only, when next he should make an attempt, he would take better precautions, and he would succeed. so he thought. now, it would be as well to continue the conversation, by discussing the suggested topic, for it would strengthen the lad's confidence, if he did not appear to shun it. "forgive you, my boy," said the doctor, "there is nothing to forgive. it was i who was stupid, for i should not have disturbed you so unexpectedly. but i am fond of studying human beings, and you have been very entertaining to me to-night. i have been observing the effect that nature can produce upon a virgin mind, such as yours. you have been drinking in the grandeur of the world about us, until you were so enthralled that you had forgotten all except the emotions by which you were moved. you were not asleep, but you were in an abstraction so deep that it was akin to sleep. i yielded to the temptation of saying what i did, merely to see what effect it would produce. i was certainly surprised at the result. that you should have been startled is natural enough, but how the idea of mesmerism occurred to you, bewilders me. what do you know about that mysterious subject?" "not very much," said leon, with some diffidence. "as you may imagine, doctor, i have not had a large library from which to choose. but i have read a translation of a work by deleuze, which appears to discuss the subject thoroughly." "ah! i see. you have read deleuze. i am familiar with the work. well, then, tell me. after weighing the matter thoroughly in your own mind, do you believe it is possible for one person to mesmerize another?" "i do not. most emphatically i do not," said leon. "most emphatically you do not. a strong way to express your views, for which you must of course have convincing reasons. but if so, why were you afraid that i would do what you emphatically believe to be an impossibility?" the doctor smiled indulgently as he asked this embarrassing question. "because, as you have said, i was only half-awake," replied leon, apologetically. the doctor was now assured that leon, even when he should come to think over the occurrences of the night when alone, would harbor no suspicion against him. so all would be safe. "well, then," continued the doctor, "tell me why you are so sure that mesmerism is not possible. you say you have read deleuze. he claims that wonderful things may be accomplished." "so wonderful that a thinking man cannot believe them to be true." "but surely deleuze was honest, and he relates many remarkable cases which he assures his readers occurred within his own cognizance." "that is very true. no one who reads the author's book could doubt the sincerity of his purpose and the truth of what he relates. or rather i should say, one must believe that he does not wilfully deceive. but it must be equally evident that the man was deluded." "why so?" "it is difficult to tell exactly. but i know this, that after reading his work, which is intended to convince the skeptic, not only did his words leave me unconvinced, but a positive disbelief was aroused. there are places where he makes assertions, which he admits he cannot explain. he tells of wonderful occurrences which he cannot account for, while, in spite of that, he does not hesitate to attribute them to mesmerism. such teaching is unsatisfactory and unscientific." "very true, but because deleuze did not understand a phenomenon, does it logically follow that there is no explanation of it to be had?" "why, not at all, doctor. but the explanation must eliminate it from the realm of the mysterious, and make it acceptable to the reason. in its present form it is utterly unacceptable. i cannot believe that one individual may possess a power by which he may control his fellow-creatures. the idea is repugnant in the extreme. it lessens one's self-dependence. do you believe in mesmerism?" this was a direct question, and the doctor thought that the subject had been pursued far enough. he had no desire to approach a point where he might be compelled to give this inquiring youth an insight into the scientific side of hypnotism. he preferred to leave him wallowing in the mire of mesmerism. consequently, he did not hesitate to reply: "no, leon. i do not believe in mesmerism. mesmer himself was a very erratic, unscientific man, who either did not or would not arrange his observations into scientific order, from which logical deductions might have been made. therefore, his whole teaching may be counted rather among the curiosities of literature, than as having any value to the mind of one who seeks the truth. life is too short to waste much time upon such fruitless speculations." "i am glad that you agree with me," said leon. "i was afraid from what you said that you might believe in that sort of thing." to this the doctor made no reply, the words "that sort of thing" threatening to lead him upon dangerous ground again. he essayed, by a gentle digression, to divert the conversation into another direction. "speaking of mesmerism, leon, i suppose that you know that its advocates likened it to the power which reptiles are said to have over birds and small animals, whom they fascinate first, and then devour. now i was much interested to note the familiarity with which the little chipmunks approached you this morning." "did you see them?" leon was surprised, for he had not known how long the doctor had been present. "yes," replied the doctor; "i watched you for some time. how is it that these little wild animals would come to you? disbelieving in mesmerism, have you yourself the power to charm or fascinate the lower animals?" "why, not at all, doctor. let me explain. first, as to the chipmunks. there was nothing wonderful about that, for though they are wild, they know me as well as though they had lived in the house with me. one day i found a dead chipmunk, and later i found the nest of young ones in a tree. i took food to them from day to day, and they grew to know me. were it not that i have not been in the woods since the funeral until this morning, so that it is several days since the little fellows last saw me, they would have shown even greater friendliness than they did. i have often had them run up to my shoulders, and perch there eating what i would give them." "but what you tell me only makes me believe the more that you exert some power of fascination," said the doctor, laughing jestingly. "you must teach me the secret of charming animals, leon. really you must." "i will do so gladly. it is very simple. the animals, the little ones i mean, are afraid of us. banish their fear, and at the same time excite their instinct to take food where they can find it, and your desire is accomplished. for example, take the fish. if i go to the edge of lake massabesic at a certain spot, the fish will jump out of the water in their anxiety to receive food from my hands. i can even take the little fellows out of the water, and when i drop them in again, they pause but a few moments before venturing within my reach again. how did i train them to this? i noticed that from my habit of throwing the old bait out of my boat when landing, the fish had made the spot a feeding place. i threw them some crumbs of bread, and they hurried to the surface to snatch it, diving swiftly down again to eat. i tried an experiment. holding the bread in my hand, i dipped my arm deep into the water, and allowed it to remain motionless. for a long time the fish were very shy. they stood off at a distance, and gazed longingly, but they did not approach this strange object. i crushed the bread into small bits and withdrew my arm. in a moment they were all feeding. after doing this a number of times on successive days, at last one fellow, more venturesome than the others, made a swift dash forward, and grabbing a bit of the bread from my hand as quickly swam off with it. others, observing his success, followed his example. within a few more days, they did not hesitate, but approached as soon as my hand appeared below the water, and presently they were not alarmed if i moved my hand about among them. the first time that i attempted to take hold of one, i created a disturbance which made them shy for a few days; but after a time they learned that i would not harm them, whereas i always brought them food. why should they not trust me? so you see, doctor, there is no witchcraft about it." "no! your explanation of how you charm fish removes it from the region of the mysterious, and i have no doubt that what mesmer observed, could be as satisfactorily explained if we only knew how." so the subject was dropped, and both retired to their staterooms, as the hour was late. dr. medjora, when alone, occupied himself with the serious problem before him. he had undertaken a charge,--the education of a youth endowed with unusual intelligence. to teach him all that he wished him to know, it became an essential part of his plan that leon should be hypnotized. how should he accomplish it? leon slept soundly, or if he dreamed at all, it was of the name which he would make for himself. early on the following morning the steamboat landed her passengers, and leon set foot upon the shores of new york city. he had sat upon the deck for more than an hour, marvelling at the extent of the two cities between which they passed down the east river; he had gazed with wondering eyes upon the great bridge, astonished that the name of the engineer was not known to him; and the thought hurt, for if one might build such a structure and not be more widely known to fame, how was he, a poor country boy, to earn distinction? he had admired the beautiful battery, the statue of liberty, the lovely bay, the tall buildings, and had felt that he was almost approaching paradise. but at last he was ashore, and in new york, the mecca of all good citizens of the new world, and he felt correspondingly elated. cabs and carriages were offered by shouting hackmen, with stentorian voices, and insinuating manners, but the doctor pushed through the throng, and crossed the street to where two magnificent black horses, attached to a luxurious carriage, tossed their heads and shook their silver chains. a man in livery opened the door, and dr. medjora made a sign to leon to get in, which he did, for the first time beginning to realize that his newfound friend was a man of wealth. the drive seemed endless, and if leon was surprised at the length of the city as he viewed it from the river, he was more amazed now, as the carriage rolled rapidly through continuous rows of houses built up solidly on each side. in reality they drove almost the entire length of the island, for their destination was that same place where the doctor had once set fire to his house. everything, however, was changed. where once was an old dwelling on a rugged lot of land, there was now a royal mansion within a spacious park. this was the home of dr. emanuel medjora and his wife. they had no children. but a retinue of servants, and frequent arrivals of company, kept the two from feeling lonely. the doctor ushered leon into a cosy reception-room, made pleasant by sunshine, and the light morning's breeze, and there bade him wait a moment, while he summoned his wife. but leon was not left to himself long, for within a few moments a door opened and madame medjora entered. she insisted that she should always be called madame, and therefore in deference to her nationality, as well as to her wishes, i give her that title. hearing the carriage, she had hurried to meet her husband, but by accident they had not met, and she was surprised to see the stranger of whom she had heard nothing, and whose arrival was therefore entirely unexpected. leon arose and bowed to her, in courteous and graceful greeting, but, angered because she had not been advised of his coming, she asked with brusqueness. "who are you?" "i came with dr. medjora," replied leon, somewhat startled by the unfriendliness of her manner. "but who are you? what is your name?" alas! the inconvenience of having no name. in a moment leon was all embarrassment. "my name?" he paused and stammered. "my name is--leon----" here he stopped, blushed, and looked away. "leon! leon what?" asked madame medjora, in tones far from conciliatory. leon did not reply. she continued, now thoroughly aroused. "you are ashamed of your name, are you? what is your name? i will know it! what is your last name, your full name?" "leon grath is his name!" said a voice behind, and, turning, they both saw dr. medjora. chapter v. a face from the past. madame medjora turned at the sound of her husband's voice with mingled emotion,--pleasure at seeing him at home again, for she still loved him with the passionate ardor of those earlier days, and anxiety, because her keen ear detected a tone of reproval in his words. had she been a thoroughly wise woman that note of warning would have served to make her desist, but she was not to be baffled, when once she had determined to learn the meaning of anything that had aroused her curiosity or excited her suspicion. so instead of abandoning the subject, and welcoming her husband with an effusiveness which would have smoothed the wrinkles from his forehead, she turned upon him almost angrily, and said: "why do you prompt him? is he an idiot that he cannot tell his name?" "not at all," said the doctor, hopeful of dispersing the threatened storm, and therefore becoming slightly explanatory and conciliatory. "you have evidently confused mr. grath by your manner of questioning him, that is all. he is a country boy, unused to city ways, and you must excuse him if he is not as ready with an answer, as he will be after we make a citizen of him." "he must be from the country indeed," was the sneering reply. "he must have been raised in a forest, to be so confused because i ask him his name." then altering her tone, and speaking more rapidly, she continued: "do not think that your wife is a fool, dr. medjora. even a dog knows his name. there is something about this that you wish to hide from me. but i will not submit to it. you shall not bring any nameless beggars into my house!" leon uttered a cry as though wounded, and started to leave the apartment, but the doctor, livid with anger, detained him by clutching his arm, as he would have passed, and turning upon his wife uttered but one word: "cora!" that was all, but his voice implied such a threat, that the woman shrunk back, awed, and frightened, and utterly subdued, she merely murmured: "emanuel, forgive me!" "go to your room!" ejaculated the doctor, sternly, and after one appealing glance at him, which he ignored, she swiftly glided through the door, and closed it softly after her. thus the two men were left to themselves. leon was the first to speak: "dr. medjora," he began, "i thank you most heartily for what you have intended to do for me, but we have made a mistake. i cannot enter your home now. i can never hope that your wife will forget what has occurred to-day. therefore were i to remain, my presence must become intolerably obnoxious to her; and her unhappiness would be but a blight upon your own peace." "perhaps you are right," said the doctor quietly, and as though meditating upon the affair. "it is possible that you would not be as happy here as i would wish you to be. but if you go away from me, what will you do?" "work!" answered the youth, succinctly. "well answered," said the doctor. "but, my boy, that is more easily decided upon than accomplished. you are a stranger, not only in the city, but to city manners and city methods. you would start out with determination to succeed, and in the first day you would apply at many places. but at them all you would be met with such questions as 'where did you work last?' 'what experience have you?' 'what references can you offer?' you would answer them all unsatisfactorily, and you would be dismissed with a shrug of the shoulders." "i have no doubt, doctor, that it will be hard to obtain a place; but, as ignorant as i am, i have formed an idea upon this subject. i believe that in this country, where surely nine tenths of all men earn a livelihood, the small proportion of idlers have themselves to blame for their condition. of course there must be a meritorious few who are unfortunate, but i speak of the greater number. therefore i think that if i seek work, without any scruples as to what work it may be, i shall not starve." "but are you ready to go right out into the world, single handed? do you mean that you would begin the battle at once, to-day?" "i do!" "you do? then i have faith in you. i, too, believe that you will succeed. i wish you god speed!" leon said "thank you," and then there was a pause. in a moment, however, leon started towards the front door, and the doctor followed him in silence. the youth took down his hat from the jutting spur of a gnarled cedar stump, which, polished and varnished, served as a hat-rack, and a moment later stood upon the stoop extending his hand in farewell. "dr. medjora," said leon, "you must not think that i am ungrateful, nor that i am too proud to accept your aid. i am only doing what i deem to be my duty after--after what has passed. good-by." "good-by, leon," said the doctor, shaking his hand warmly. leon started away, and, passing along the path, was nearing the gate that led to the street, when suddenly he paused, turned, and quickly retraced his steps. he found the doctor standing where he had parted from him. rushing up the steps, he essayed to speak, but a sob choked his utterance, and it was with difficulty that he said: "lossy!" then he stopped, looking anxiously at the doctor. it was surely a pretty picture. the lad had not hesitated to cast himself against the rude pricks of fate, but the recollection of his dog made him tremble. "lossy will be brought here this afternoon," said the doctor. "i have already sent my man down to get him out of his box, and bring him. what do you wish me to do about him?" "oh, doctor," exclaimed the boy, appealingly, "if you would only keep my dog! you were kind enough to buy him for me. but now--now--unless you will keep him awhile--why--why--" here he broke down utterly and ceased to speak, while a tear-drop in each eye glistened in the sunlight which crossed his handsome features, illuminated by the love that welled up from his heart; love for this dumb beast that had been his friend for so long a time. "i will keep lossy for you, leon," began the doctor, but he was interrupted by leon, who grasped his hand impulsively, crying: "heaven bless you, doctor!" "but, i will keep you, also, my boy," continued the doctor, tightening his grasp of leon's hand, so that he could not get away. "no! no!" cried the lad. "yes! yes!" said the doctor. "now come back into the house and let me explain myself." half forcibly he drew the youth after him, and they returned to the room where they had first been. then the doctor resumed: "leon, did you suppose that i meant to let you go away? that i would bring you so far and then abandon you to your own resources? never for one instant did i harbor such a thought. but when you spoke as you did, i determined to try you; to see whether you were speaking in earnest, or for effect. therefore i seemed to acquiesce. therefore i let you go without even offering you some money, or telling you to come back to me if in distress. my boy, you stood the trial nobly. i was proud of you as you walked down the path, and i was about to follow you when i saw you pause and turn back. for an instant i feared that you had wavered, but i was more than gratified that it was to plead for the dog, and not for yourself that you returned." "but doctor, how can i remain?" asked the lad, helplessly, for already he began to feel the necessity of submitting to the domination of this man, as so many others had experienced. "how can you remain? why, simply by doing so. you mean, what will my wife think? she will think just what i wish her to think. it is a habit of hers to do so." here he laughed significantly. "but you need not fear madame. you believe that she will resent what she would term an intrusion. but you are mistaken. you will meet her next at dinner, and you will see that she will be quite friendly. in fact, she did not understand matters this morning. she was angry with me because i had not notified her that i would bring home a guest, but when i shall have talked with her that will be all changed." so the matter was determined, and, as usual, dr. medjora's will decided the issue. meanwhile, madame had ascended to her room in high dudgeon. since the day when we last saw her she had altered very little. her most prominent characteristics had not changed, except as they had become more fully developed. but in many ways this development had been deceptive, for, whereas many who knew her believed that certain unpleasing features had been eliminated from her character, the truth was that she had merely suppressed them, as a matter of policy. the union of such a woman with a man like dr. medjora, was an interesting study in matrimonial psychology. in all marriages one of two results is usually to be anticipated. the stronger individuality will dominate the other and mould it into submission, or the two characters will become amalgamated, each altering the other, until a plane is reached on which there is possible a harmony of desires. in this case neither of these conditions had been fulfilled, although nearly all who were acquainted with the doctor and his wife supposed that the husband was the ruling spirit. the truth, however, was that while dr. medjora controlled his wife in important matters, he had by no means succeeded in merging her character into his own. where contention arose, she obeyed his commands, but she never submitted her will. she surrendered, like a wise general, to superior force, but she secretly resented her defeat, and sought a way of retreat by which in the end she might compass her own designs. by these means, she had deceived all of her acquaintances, and she enjoyed the idea that she had also deceived her husband. in this she was mistaken. dr. medjora understood thoroughly that his wife only yielded to him under protest, and in many instances he had refrained from making a move, when by doing so he could have thwarted her subsequent efforts to have her own way. thus he adroitly avoided open warfare, satisfied that in secret strategy he was his wife's equal, if not her superior. in this manner they had lived together for so many years, enjoying their relationship as much as is usual with married folks, and keeping up an outward show that caused all to believe that, with them, matrimony was a great success. and so it was, if one could only overlook the fact that beneath this semblance of happiness there smouldered a fire, which might at any time be aroused by a chance spark, and grow into a blaze which would consume the whole fabric of their existence. the embers of this fire were, jealousy and suspicion on the side of the woman, and secretiveness in the man. madame medjora had never forgotten that her inquiry as to whether her husband had had a child by his previous wife had been unanswed; nor had she quite abandoned the hope of satisfying herself upon the subject. during the later years, she had much regretted to see what she considered one source of power slowly slipping away from her. in the beginning, her husband had not hesitated to call upon her for funds with which to advance his interests, but as the years passed his own resources had increased so rapidly, that he was now entirely independent of her, and, indeed, owing to shrinkages in the values of her property, he was really richer than she. the house in which they lived had been rebuilt by him, and by degrees he had paid off the mortgages out of his earnings, until he owned it freed from debt. so, as she sat in her room and meditated upon the fact that she had said that leon should not be admitted to the house, she remembered with a feeling of bitterness that she was the mistress in the house only by right of wifehood, and not because she held any privileges arising from proprietorship. she had been anticipating pleasure from the reunion with her husband, and now, because of "that country boy," she had received only unkind words from the doctor. naturally, she exonerated herself from all fault, and, because of her love, she would not blame her husband. there was no other course but to attribute the whole trouble to leon. but for him, she argued, all would have been pleasant, therefore he must bear the brunt of her resentment. already she began to hate him. to hate him as only a tropical temperament can hate. she was in this mood when the doctor entered. at once she arose to greet him. in an instant she hid within the depths of her bosom all emotions save those of love, and any one, other than the doctor, would have believed that she harbored no unpleasant recollections or ill feeling because of the recent scene. he was not deceived. he had lived with her for more than fifteen years, and in that time he had appraised her correctly. now, however, it suited him best to accept her caresses, and to return them with a show of warmth, which made the blood course faster through her veins, the more so because she had expected him to be angry, and because he rarely exhibited much feeling. this wily man well knew the weak spot in this woman's armor, and when he most desired to sway her actions, he first touched her heart. "well, _cara mia_, are you glad to have me with you again?" he folded her close to his breast, and kissed her lips. she nestled within his arms, and returned the salute rapturously. presently he spoke again. "you were naughty, down stairs, little one?" there was scarcely a reproach in his voice; he spoke rather as an indulgent parent chides an erring, but beloved child. she looked up into his eyes and merely murmured, "you will forgive me?" some may doubt that the warmer demonstrations of love could survive the destroying influences of a companionship covering so many years, and be still expressed with the fervor of youth. to such i say, what has not come within your own experience is not necessarily false. love, especially in woman, is a hardy plant and will blossom and flower, long after its earlier excitations have ceased to exist. the beauty of form, and attractiveness of manner, which first arouses the tender passion within our breast, may pass away from the object of our admiration, and yet our love may be deeper, fuller, and wider than at its inception. yea, it may even retain its fullest demonstrativeness. in many cases it thrives most by harsh treatment, where it might expire by over-tending. madame medjora's affection was of this sort. had her husband yielded to her all that she demanded, she would long ago have been surfeited, and not improbably she would have left him. this, however, he had never done. she had always feared that he did not love her as she yearned to be loved, and therefore she was ever ready with cajolery, flattery, and other means familiar to women, to win from him a fuller responsiveness. at this moment, intoxicated by his caresses, she spoke from her heart when she asked him to forgive her. the slight reproof of his words, however gently spoken, was the tiny bit of cloud upon her present clear sky of joy. she wished to dissipate it utterly, and then bask in the full sunshine of his love, as dear to her to-day as before her nuptials. but by no means did she regret the act which had called forth his speech, except as it affected her momentary happiness. she was ready to yield outwardly to anything that he might demand of her in such a mood, but, later, she would return to her purpose with zeal. that purpose, in this instance, would be to make leon as miserable as she could if he remained, but to have him out of the house if possible. the game was now worth watching, for both players were very skilful, and each was intent upon carrying the day eventually. each was as patient as persistent. "you ask me to forgive you, cora," was the doctor's reply. "do you admit that you behaved very badly?" "now you are going to scold," said his wife, in a demure tone that sounded odd from one of her years. but madame often assumed the airs of youthfulness, without realizing how poorly they suited her. "i would never scold you, cora, if you would only think always before you act. you have been both unwise and unreasonable." "i would not have been if you had informed me in advance that the boy was coming. but you never tell me anything, emanuel." "perhaps i should have done so in this case. but i only decided yesterday, just before i left the country. a letter would not have reached you, and i would not telegraph, because you are always frightened by a despatch." "the horrid things! i hate telegrams!" "exactly! it was from consideration for you that i did not notify you. as soon as i reached home i came here to find you and explain, but you had run down the other stairway, and so unfortunately you met leon before i intended you should." "leon grath?" there was an accent upon the last name, and an inflection of the voice very delicately expressed, which intimated that there was a doubt. madame could not resist speaking thus quickly, hoping that a glance, an expression, however fleeting, might cross the doctor's face, which would be a clue upon which she might base her future investigation. but she gained nothing by the manoeuvre, and the doctor continued, as though unsuspicious of her intent. "yes, leon grath. sit down and i will tell you about him. some years ago i first met leon, while hunting in the vicinity of his home, he had broken his leg, and i set it for him. subsequently in succeeding years we have hunted together. this summer i was intending to look him up, as a companion on a fishing excursion. arriving in his neighborhood, i learned that his mother had just died, leaving no will, and that the farm would be sold and the boy left penniless, through a technicality which made the small estates revert to the surviving sisters. these old hags hated leon, and, consequently, from a comfortable home, he was about to become an outcast. i therefore decided to bring him home with me. he will now live with us." "forever?" gasped madame, surprised to learn that, instead of a guest, the lad was destined to be a permanent addition to their household. "forever!" replied the doctor, with just a little severity; enough to check the expression of resentment which he saw rising. then in order to give her time to regain control of herself he went on. "yes! i have long needed an assistant, and i am sure that leon will prove an apt pupil and rapidly learn enough to become useful to me. however, i may be mistaken. he may prove a failure, and then i should find him a position elsewhere." this was offered as a sort of compromise for her acceptance. he held out the possibility that leon would leave them. madame was in nowise deceived. she had appreciated the tone of her husband's voice as he uttered the word, "forever," and she knew that leon would never leave them on account of proving a failure as a student. however, she accepted the situation, and assumed a satisfaction which was mere dissembling. "now that i understand the facts, emanuel, i shall do all in my power to make the boy happy while he is here, even though it be only for a short time." the last words were in response to her husband's suggestion, but he understood her motive as well as she had comprehended his. thus they fenced with one another. "i knew that you would do so, cora," replied the doctor. "will you come down now and speak to leon before i take him out with me? i must have some clothing ordered for him." together they descended to where leon sat awaiting them, and the youth's fears were set at rest, for the time being at least. madame approached him with her most alluring manner, and welcomed him, in words, to his new home. she even asked him to forget her brusqueness at their first meeting, and then, suggesting that he must be hungry, rang a bell and ordered light refreshments. the doctor sat apart from them, apparently looking over his letters, but in reality observing closely all that transpired, and while leon was thoroughly charmed by the altered manner of his hostess, dr. medjora decided, within his own mind, that in relation to this boy his wife's actions would require the closest scrutiny. presently a gong sounded, and a few moments later a servant announced: "judge dudley. miss dudley." the judge came in with extended hand, and was warmly greeted by the doctor, while the young lady went up to madame, who kissed her on her cheek, and received her with an outward show of cordiality, which a close observer might have seen was but a polite veneer. the doctor hastened to bring leon forward, and presented him first to the judge, and then to miss agnes dudley. the young people bowed their acknowledgments, and as they raised their heads, so that their eyes met, both started slightly. leon was astonished to recognize the face of the girl whom he had met when studying venus, and whose image had recurred to him that night on lake massabesic. chapter vi. agnes dudley. after the trial of dr. medjora, the young men who had so successfully defended him became rapidly prominent. within six months they were retained in another celebrated case, and won new laurels. within five years they were counted among the first lawyers of the metropolis, and had already a practice which assured them ease and comfort for their declining years. mr. dudley continued to be the ardent student that he had always been, and those who knew how well versed he was in law, were not at all surprised when he was eventually made a judge, a position which at this time he had held with honor for five years. he had achieved well-deserved fame. aside from his undoubted probity, he really graced his position, for it was very seldom that any of his rulings were reversed by the higher courts. i may mention here, parenthetically, that mr. bliss had also risen in his profession, and had just been elected district attorney, having previously acquitted himself well as an assistant to his predecessor. agnes dudley, the judge's daughter, was eighteen years of age, having been born about a year after the medjora trial. indeed, dr. medjora always called her his godchild, because he had been present at her birth, and had enjoyed an intimate acquaintance with her and her parents throughout the years that followed. judge dudley had not merely defended dr. medjora as a matter of business. having no positive opinion at the beginning of the trial, he had become convinced during its progress, and especially while his client was on the witness-stand, that dr. medjora was entirely innocent of the crime with which he was charged. this feeling was intensified when the jury showed an agreement with him, by acquitting the doctor, and, as a result, an intense sympathy was aroused in his breast for one who seemed to have wrongfully undergone such an ordeal. for a man must suffer in reputation when once the finger of suspicion is pointed in his direction, and it is out of the power of the state to repair the harm which has been done. thus, from the position of client, mr. dudley elevated the doctor into that place in his regard occupied by his warmest friends. dr. medjora had been quick to appreciate the affiliation of a man of brains, such as he recognized judge dudley to be, and, therefore, the friendship had thriven. none exalted the legal ability of mr. dudley higher than did the doctor, and no one valued dr. medjora's professional skill more than did mr. dudley. under these circumstances, of course the doctor was intrusted with the medical care of the lawyer's family, and thus it was natural that he should feel a paternal regard for his friend's daughter. if he loved agnes, she returned his affection in full measure. she used to say, even when a little tot, that she had two papas, and if asked which she loved best, she would reply: "bofe of 'em." as she grew older, of course she discriminated between her father and the doctor, but if judge dudley received the greater share of her demonstrations of affection, the doctor was more than satisfied with what was allotted to him. in proportion as the doctor loved the child, so his wife disliked her, though she never exhibited her feelings openly. indeed, in this one matter she had succeeded in deceiving her husband, who, astute as he was in all other things, had never suspected that madame harbored any ill-feeling against the girl. but agnes herself was not very old when she began to understand, and as her wisdom increased with her years, she became less and less demonstrative towards the doctor when the wife was present. women detect these hidden heart-throbs with an instinct which is peculiar to their sex, and which transcends reason, in that it is unfailing, however illogical it may seem to a man. agnes was a rare child, a rarer girl, and one of the rarest of women as she matured. without having a beautiful face, measured by the rules of high art, she was endowed with a countenance which might escape notice, but which, having once attracted observation, was never to be forgotten. hers was a face that the least imaginative could readily recall in a dark room, and by an operation of the mind which produces images subjectively, summon up a hallucination of the girl, as distinct in lineament as though she were present in the flesh. an artist had proven this by sitting in his studio, lighted only by a candle, that he might see his drawing-board, and he had succeeded in producing a portrait of agnes, as true to life as was possible. he claimed afterward that, without difficulty, he had projected his mental image of her against the dark background of his room, and that he had seen her as clearly as though she had sat for him. from one point of view, then, it might be said that she had a strong face, by which i would mean that it would make an indelible impression upon the mind that observed her closely. there is a psychological reason for this, which i must ask you to look at with me if you wish to know agnes. one dead face differs from another merely in the outlines of form. a living face differs from all others, and is different itself in varying moods, because there is something within the form which animates it. this is intellect. some are poor in this, while others are richly endowed. the greater the intellect, the more distinctively individual will be the face, and it is this individuality which marks the features, differentiating the countenance from all others about it, so that it leaves a deeper impression upon the brain, just as a loud noise is heard, or a bright flash seen, the more intensely. agnes's pre-eminent characteristic was her intellectuality. she absorbed books, as a sponge does water, without apparent effort, and as a sponge may be squeezed and made to yield up nearly as much as it had drawn in, so agnes, if catechised, would show that she had a permanent grasp on what she had studied. she developed a fondness for the classics, and for law, which delighted her father, and as her mother died when she was nearing her fifteenth year, they grew to be very close companions. the father, deprived of the support and encouragement always afforded by a true and well-beloved wife, gradually leaned more and more upon his daughter, who showed herself so worthy of affiliating with him mentally. it was therefore not very long before her services became indispensable to him in finding references in his law library, and in many ways connected with his profession. of two other things in connection with agnes i must speak. physically she was the perfection of ideal womanhood. she was strong in limb and body, yet possessed all the grace of contour essential to the feminine scheme of beauty. she had never been corseted in her life, and yet her figure was superb, being well rounded and full, yet so supple that every muscle was obedient to her will. she could ride a horse, leap a fence, swim, fish, and row a boat as well and untiringly as a man, yet in nothing was she masculine. she had cultivated all of those physical possibilities of her body, which it should be the privilege of all women to do, without transgressing some rule of society which has been fashioned to protect the weaker specimens of the sex, rather than to develop the dormant energies of womankind. it was her constant boast that neither rain nor sun, nor any untoward freak of the elements, could deter her from pursuing a pre-arranged purpose. she never "caught cold." in truth she had never been ill one whole day since her birth. the other matter may seem a slight one, as i describe it, but were you to meet the girl, you would notice it very quickly. i allude to her manner of speech. we all of us, when writing, are careful in forming our sentences. we spell all words in full, avoiding abbreviations. but note well the speech of even the most liberally educated and carefully nurtured, and what do we discover? that our english is sadly defective, not merely in grammatical construction, but, more particularly, in pronunciation, and in enunciation. we slur many letters, and merge many words, the one into the other. we are so pressed for time that we cannot pause to breathe between words; our sentences have no commas, and sometimes not even periods, that can be recognized as such. in our hurry we use abbreviations whenever possible. we say "don't," "won't," "can't," and many others that we "shouldn't." agnes never did this. her language was always as correct, her pronunciation as perfect, and her enunciation as distinct, as though she were constantly studying to be a purist. you say that she must have been affected! but you are wrong. not for an instant did she make such an impression upon any one. in this, as in all things, she was merely her natural self. it was a charm to the ear to hear her in conversation. her voice was so musical, and her intonation so pleasant. i remember how attractive to me it was to listen to her as she would say "i shall let you, etc." pronouncing the "t" and the "y" without effort and yet each distinctly. how much prettier than the "let chou" which so commonly assails the ear! ah! you are saying that you do not so merge words; but be honest, and observe when next you essay such a phrase. it was by the merest chance that the judge and agnes called on the very day of leon's arrival. they were _en route_ for the race-track, and passing near the doctor's home, the judge turned his horses in the direction of his friend's house to inquire when he was expected to return. he was delighted to meet him. greetings having been exchanged they began a general conversation. "what have you been doing up in the country, doctor?" asked the judge. "fishing, i suppose?" "you might say," answered dr. medjora, "that i have been a fisher of men. i brought one back with me, you see." he indicated leon by a wave of his hand. the judge glanced at the youth, and awaited a further explanation. "leon and i are old friends," continued the doctor. "i met him first when he needed my services to help him with a broken leg. but i have accepted his assistance many times since, when, without him, i might never have found my way back to civilization from the jungles into which i had strayed. for the future i need him so much that i have brought him home with me, to remain permanently." "indeed!" said the judge, much interested, for if leon were to be always with his friend, it was of more than passing moment to himself. "in what way do you need him?" "judge, as you know, my good wife here has not given me the son that i have longed for." madame scowled, enraged by the speech which however had not been meant to wound her. the doctor had not thought of her at all, but merely mentioned what was a fact. "therefore i have no heir. i do not mean in connection with my worldly goods. i speak of my profession. i wish a student to whom i may impart my methods, so that after my day has passed my people may still have some one to depend upon. you see, i look upon my practice, much as a shepherd would consider his sheep. i am responsible for them. they depend upon me to keep them out of danger. i consider it a duty to supply a successor to myself." "and this young gentleman is to be he?" asked the judge. "leon is my choice before all whom i have known. above all others i have decided that he is the most worthy of the trust that i shall impose in him." the doctor spoke feelingly. "young man," said the judge, addressing leon, "i hope you appreciate the rare opportunity offered to you by my friend. if you are really capable of becoming his successor, then you are destined to be a power in the community, as he is to-day." "judge dudley," said leon, "i know that i am most fortunate. dr. medjora has taken me from beggary, and placed before me a future which would tempt any young man. but, to me, it means more than a salvation from drudgery; it means more than a high-road to fortune. i feel that i am destined to realize the hopes of my life, the yearnings of all my past days. i shall have a chance to acquire learning, to cultivate my intellect, to gain knowledge, which in my mind is the supremest power." the judge was somewhat surprised to hear such words from a country lad, still habited in clothing more suited to a farmer than to one with such aspirations. he said: "young man, you interest me. evidently you have learned to think for yourself. come, tell me! why do you lay such store by knowledge, when the rest of mankind are crying for money?" "money! money! money!" repeated leon with a contemptuous curl of the lip. "judge dudley, i am nearing my majority, and i can say, that in all my life i do not think that i have owned more than fifty dollars. my food, clothing, and a home, have been provided for me, but aside from that i have not spent more than the sum named, and most of that went for books. so, you see, one may live without wealth, if enough to cover actual necessities be his. without knowledge, a man would be an idiot. i think that is a logical proposition. if you grant that, then the less knowledge one has, the nearer he must be to the imbecile, and the more he acquires, the closer he approaches the highest stage of existence. money we leave behind us at death. knowledge, on the contrary, not only goes with us, but is really the only guarantee the individual has of a continuance of existence beyond the grave." the judge became more and more interested, and dr. medjora, observing the good impression which his _protégé_ was making, was content to remain silent and listen. "your last statement indicates that you have formulated some mode of reasoning, upon which to base your convictions," said the judge. "will you take us a little further into your doctrine?" "i am afraid that my ideas are rather crude, sir. i have had access to few standard works, and have been compelled to think out things for myself. but if i do not bore you, i shall be only too willing to continue. indeed, it is a great treat to me, to speak with some one who may contradict me where i fall into error." "you are a modest young man, mr. grath. please continue. you were saying that one's knowledge might assure him a life hereafter." "so i believe. of course it is almost impossible, if not quite so, to prove anything in connection with the great future. but it is the prerogative of man to reason upon all subjects, and it is eminently fitting that he should study that one which most nearly affects himself. in the absence of absolute proof, i claim that one may adopt any theory that appeals to him as reasonable and probable. now in relation to knowledge. i say it is more important to amass knowledge than to hoard up wealth. money belongs to the material plane, and, having no relation to any other, it is as perishable, as far as it affects one individual, as is the human body. money buys luxuries and comforts for the body only. it can add nothing to intellectual attainment. you may say that with it one may purchase books with which to improve the mind. that is true, but does not invalidate my argument, for it is not the book which is pabulum to our intellect, but only the thoughts which have been recorded upon its pages. money procures us the possession of the book, whereas if we borrow it, and return it again, in the interval we may receive all the mental benefit which it can bestow upon the owner. knowledge, on the other hand, is immaterial. it is an attribute of what has been called the soul. it is potent while being invisible, and though invisible it has a market value as well as things material. all the wealth of the world may not suffice to make one man wise, while all the wisdom in the world would surely make its possessor wealthy, but for the fact that he would probably be too wise to wish for riches. if, then, knowledge is such a potent factor in the world's affairs, can it be that it ceases to exist when a man dies? it is reasonable to suppose that it does not: then what becomes of it? the man cannot leave it to his heirs, as he does his chattels. therefore it must continue where it has always been, and that is within the mind, which must have a continuance of existence to retain its knowledge." "ah! very good! but dr. medjora has just announced that he is preparing to bequeath his knowledge to you, who are to be his heir in that respect. how do you make that conform to your curious theory? "you misapprehend the true condition. dr. medjora does not purpose giving me his knowledge, as one gives money, thereby lessening his own store. he merely intends to cultivate my own intellect, training it in grooves parallel with those which he himself has followed. he might live until i know as much as he does now, yet he would be no less wise than he is. rather, he would have grown wiser himself in having acquired the experience of teaching another." "you should study law instead of medicine. if you grow tired of the doctor, you must come to me. only, let me ask you one more question. if, according to your tenets, the wisest man is most certain of a future life, what of the most idiotic?" "he is most apt to meet with annihilation. but he would cease to exist, only as to his individuality. i have not thought very deeply in that direction, but as my mind cannot conceive of the actual annihilation of anything that is existent, i have surmised that perhaps the minds of many idiots may become coalescent, so that a new individual might he created, who would possess sufficient intellectuality at birth in the world, to realize the importance to himself of mental cultivation." "ha! ha! doctor," said the judge, laughing. "if two idiots may eventually be rolled into one, there is some hope for you and me. we may be joined together in the next world, and what a fellow we would be on our next trip to this old-fashioned planet! but seriously, mr. grath, your theories interest me. we will talk together again. you must come to our house some day. but i have not time for theology now. my daughter has a little bet on the first race, and if i delay longer she will miss seeing it. she has been making impatient signs to me for some time." "father!" exclaimed agnes, deprecatingly; then turning to leon, she continued: "mr. grath, you must not lay too much stress upon what my father says, when he is not upon the bench. when acting in his official capacity, his word is law, but at other times----" "my daughter's is," interrupted the judge, with a good-humored laugh. "at other times," agnes resumed, "he often prevaricates. he is constantly endeavoring to impress people with the idea that i am only a child, and not capable of comprehending serious conversation. let me assure you that i have been highly entertained and edified by what you have been saying." leon bowed gravely without a suspicion of a blush, or embarrassment of manner, at thus receiving a compliment for the first time in his life from the lips of beauty. he was very self-reliant, though never obtrusively so. what he said was very simple. "that you have been pleased to listen to me with attention, was sufficient proof to me, miss dudley, that at least i was not trying your patience too far by my speech." "come, agnes, or we will miss that race, and whether you care or not, i confess that i do." then adieux were made and dr. medjora accompanied his guests to the door, where he paused a moment to say a word to the judge, leon having remained behind. "what do you think of the lad?" he asked. "a promising pupil, medjora," replied the judge. "he has brains, an uncommon endowment in these days. he is worth training. do your best with him." "i will!" answered the doctor. as the carriage bore the judge and agnes towards the race-track, the former asked his daughter this question. "agnes, what do you think of mr. grath?" "he is bright," she replied, "but what he was saying impressed me from the fact that he seems to have convinced himself of the correctness of his theories, rather than from any argument which he offered, which would satisfy another's mind. nearly all of it i have read." when the doctor returned to the room, he found leon looking at a book on the table, whereas he had expected to see him at the window watching the departing girl. therefore he asked: "what do you think of miss dudley?" "miss dudley?" repeated leon. "oh! she has a face which one would not easily forget. i met her once, some years ago, but only for a few minutes. long enough only to answer some question which she asked, yet also long enough to impress her face upon my recollection indelibly. but i suppose you mean the girl herself, and all i can say is, that i should never form an opinion after an interview so brief. i would add, however, that she seems to be intellectually superior to her sex." he spoke entirely dispassionately, and dr. medjora said no more. madame medjora had quietly left the room while leon was expounding his views to the judge. during the afternoon, the doctor took leon down into the city, to show him about, and more especially to have proper clothing prepared for him. they returned to the villa medjora, as madame called their home, just in time to hear the voice of the doctor's wife raised in anger. she was enraged because the butler had opened a box and released lossy. "it is bad enough to have the beggar boy thrust upon me," she had exclaimed. "i will not tolerate the nuisance of having a pest like this about the premises. put him back in his box, and take him away from here instantly. do you hear?" the butler heard, but did not heed. he had learned that the doctor was the master, and having received explicit orders in relation to the dog, he proceeded to put them into effect, despite the protests of madame. thus lossy was bathed, combed, dried, and fed, madame watching the performance from a window, and continuing her violent tirade, becoming more and more angered as she realized the impotency of her wrath. as the doctor and his _protégé_ entered the grounds, lossy bounded along the walk, barking delightedly at the sight of his master. for one moment the lad's cup of happiness was full, but in the next a dread entered his heart. he distinctly heard madame say: "i'll poison that beast!" with which she closed the window and disappeared. leon looked appealingly at the doctor, whose brows were knit together in an ominous frown. "do not be alarmed, leon," said he, "i will guarantee that madame will not carry her threat into execution. she is a woman of hasty temper, and often speaks without reflection. she is annoyed because the dog has come, but when she learns that he will not disturb her in any way, her resentment will pass. lossy is safe. let your mind rest easy on that point." he placed his hand upon leon's shoulder and looked at him with reassuring kindliness. leon felt slightly relieved, but when he retired to rest that night, in the room allotted to him, he secretly carried lossy with him, and the dog slept at the foot of his master's bed. chapter vii. a wizard's teaching. during the six months which followed, leon advanced rapidly in his studies. his regular routine was to spend a specified number of hours each day in the magnificently appointed chemical laboratory; to accompany the doctor upon many of his professional rounds, especially to hospital cases, and to the tenements of the poor; and in the evening it became usually their custom to spend an hour together, during which the doctor gave his pupil oral instruction, rehearsed him in what he had already learned, and set new tasks for him to master. this hour was generally the last before bedtime. after dinner the doctor's habit was to yield himself to the demands of his wife, who delighted to carry him off to social functions, or to the theatres. leon very rarely accompanied them. he remained at home to study, and was ready to meet his teacher at the appointed hour, which was seldom later than eleven o'clock. dr. medjora was a great disciplinarian, and had leon been differently constituted, he might have rebelled at the amount of work which he was expected to accomplish each day. but he never uttered complaint of any sort. indeed, he seemed to have an unlimited capacity for study, so that his assiduity, coupled with a marvellous memory, rendered his progress very rapid. nevertheless the doctor was not satisfied. he was impatient to see the day arrive when leon should reach the same pinnacle of knowledge which he himself had attained, in order that thereafter they might traverse the road to fame hand in hand, leaning upon and assisting one another. at last the day, the hour, arrived, beyond which the doctor had decided to pursue their sluggish method no further. he knew how to teach leon in one year, all that he had learned by weary plodding throughout the greater part of his life. but it was essential to his scheme, that he should be able to hypnotize leon, and in this he had made one trial which had failed. during the months which had passed since then, he had matured a plan which he was sure would prove successful, and now he entered his pupil's presence prepared to carry it into execution. leon was reading, but instantly closed his book and laid it aside, greeting the doctor, not as the foolish schoolboy afraid of his master, but as the ardent student eager for learning. the doctor seated himself in a comfortable turkish chair, and began as follows: "leon, are you tired? could you prolong the hour a little to-night if i should not otherwise find time for what i wish to say?" "i will gladly listen to you till morning, doctor," replied leon. "you have been taking every night the draught which i prescribed?" "yes, sir. there on the table is the potion for to-night." "you do not know what it is, leon, and the time has not yet arrived when i can explain its decoction to you. suffice it for me to tell you, that this colorless liquid is practically the elixir of life, for which the ancients sought in vain." "the elixir of life? why, that is a myth!" leon almost smiled. but he did not quite, because the expression on the doctor's face was too serious. "i said that it is practically the magic fluid. it has the property of supplying the body in twenty-four hours, with the vital energy which it would otherwise need several days of rest and recreation to recover. that is why i prescribe it to you, while you are engaged so arduously upon your studies. do you not find that you are less easily fatigued?" "i do, indeed. it is certainly a wonderful invigorator!" "leon," said the doctor, after a slight pause, "i believe that i have your confidence and trust?" "absolutely, doctor!" "would you take any drug that i might administer, without knowing its effects, and without questioning my motive, so long as i assure you that you would be benefited?" "i would!" "i will put you to the test, but, in exchange for your trust, i will tell you in part what i mean to do." he took a small phial from his pocket, a tiny tube containing less than five minims of a clear colorless liquid. "in this little bottle, leon, there is a medicine of frightful potency. one drop would suffice to destroy a human life. but mixed with your nightly draught, a new chemical compound is produced, which, though harmless, will so energize the brain-cells that the powers of recollection will be more than trebled. by this means, your progress can be very much enhanced, for instead of receiving what i offer to you each night, and assimilating a part of it, you will find in the future that all my words will be indelibly imprinted upon your mind." "i would have taken the drug without your explanation, doctor, but now i am eager for the experiment." "this is no experiment, leon. beware of operating upon a human being when your knowledge is so meagre that you must resort to experimental tests." there was a touch of deep feeling in the doctor's tones, as though he might at some time have made the error against which he admonished the lad. leon, however, did not observe anything out of the common. he was intent upon what the doctor was about to do. dr. medjora carefully removed the tiny glass stopper from the phial, and, holding it in his left hand, took up the glass from the table with his right. pausing a moment he exclaimed: "watch!" then with a quick movement he poured the contents of the phial into the liquid in the glass. instantly there was a commotion. there was a sound of water boiling, and a sort of steam arose. "the poisonous properties are thrown off, you see, in the form of gas," said the doctor. the liquid in the glass, from having been colorless, was now converted into a bright green, but as leon watched he was astonished to see this emerald hue gradually fade, until within a minute it had disappeared, and the fluid was as colorless as before. "observe, leon," said the doctor, "how easily i could have administered the added drug without your knowledge, for just as you see no difference that the eye can detect, so also will your potion be as tasteless as before. will you drink it?" leon took the glass and drank, without hesitation. "i thank you for this evidence of your faith in me," said the doctor, and pausing awhile, presently spoke again: "leon, you were probably surprised when, as a part of your task for to-night, i told you to read a portion of the book of genesis, in the bible. i had a special purpose in view, which i will now explain. i have a sort of story to tell, which at first may seem entirely unconnected with our work, but bear with me, be closely attentive, and you will soon discover that all i shall say has an important bearing. the beginning of the bible of the jews should make all who study it pause to consider a singular circumstance. the creation of the world, and all that occurred up to the time of the flood, is narrated in seven short chapters, the end of the seventh recording the flood itself, and the almost total annihilation of all the creatures of the earth. but from the flood up to the nativity of the christ, we find the historian well stocked with facts, and hundreds of pages are filled with his narration." "was it not because moses, or the author of the earlier books, had more data concerning the events following the flood, than those which preceded it? indeed, it is probable that the flood itself obliterated the records of previous times." "a good argument, my boy, if we consider the bible as a mere history. but does not the religious world claim that it is an inspired work? if the creator actually revealed the past to moses, then there was no reason why he could not have been as explicit about the occurrences before the flood, as after? but your explanation is the true one. the author of genesis did not have access to actual records, but could merely generalize from the legends then in existence. there are two events in the history of the world which stand out pre-eminently important. first, the flood, which destroyed mankind, and second, the discovery of america, which restored a lost continent. that these two events have a very close relationship is suspected only by a few scientists." "how are they connected? a great period of time separates them." "true. but let me tell you the real story of the flood, and you will comprehend my meaning. i shall not stop to give you arguments to substantiate what i say, because that would take too long, and would lead us away from what i am aiming at. however, while my own knowledge of the facts was received from other sources, when you have the time you will find the whole subject ably expounded in a work in my library, entitled _the lost histories of america_, by blacket. "at the time of the flood, or just prior thereto, the highest civilization in the world existed in mexico. there, a vast empire flourished. the arts and sciences had received much attention, and beautiful cities, populated by cultured people, abounded everywhere in the land. navigation was well understood, and colonies from mexico had made new homes for themselves on the western coast of africa, in ireland and england, along the mediterranean, and, in the opposite direction, they had even penetrated asia, crossing the vast pacific. then came that great convulsion which all peoples, in all climes, remember to-day through legends of waters rising and submerging the whole surface of the earth. it is probable that a great tidal wave narrowed the continents of north and south america along both shores, eating away the central portion more extensively, the complete division of the two being prevented only by the mountainous character of the region. in south america, we find the southermost part narrowed to a point." "do you mean that south america was once wider?" "the proof of my assertion lies in the ruins and monuments still to be found buried beneath the waves, hundreds of miles from the shore, though some were undoubtedly on islands which also sunk at this time. what would be the first effects of a cataclysm of such magnitude? the ships at sea, if they escaped at all, would sail for home. arriving where the original shores had been, and finding nothing for even fifty miles beyond, the survivors would imagine that the whole country had been lost, and so would turn towards those other shores which their race had colonized. they would carry with them the story of the flood which had submerged the whole of the western continent, and from this account we would finally inherit our version of the awful event. having accepted the theory of the destruction of their home-land, and being thus compelled to adopt permanently their new abiding-places, would not these colonists immediately set about making their new home to resemble as much as possible the old? undoubtedly! hence we find them building the tower of babel, in which project they were foiled by the confusion of tongues. would it surprise you, however, to know that a similar legend is found in central america?" "i am ignorant, doctor, of all that pertains to the subject. therefore, of course, i should be surprised, but i am deeply interested." "the legend is still current among the natives dwelling near the pyramid of cholula, to which it alludes, but i will give you a version of it which is recorded in a manuscript of pedro de los rios. it is as follows: "before the great inundation, which took place four thousand eight hundred years after the creation of the world, the country of anahuac was inhabited by giants. all those who did not perish were transformed into fishes, save seven, who fled into caverns. when the waters subsided, one of these giants, xelhua, surnamed the architect, went to chollolan, where, as a memorial of the mountain tlaloc, which had served for an asylum to himself and his six brethren, he built an artificial hill in form of a pyramid.... the gods beheld with wrath this edifice, the top of which was to reach the clouds. irritated at the daring attempt of xelhua, they hurled fire [lightning?] on the pyramid. numbers of the workmen perished; the work was discontinued." "indeed, doctor, the two traditions are similar. how is that to be understood, since certainly from the time of the flood, until the discovery by columbus, there was no communication between the old and the so-called new world?" "wherever, in two places devoid of communication, similar occurences are recorded, they have a common inspiration. so it was in this instance. the colonists built the temple to their god whom they had worshipped in mexico. the mexicans did likewise, moved to the action by the destruction of all their places of worship, because of the great inroad made by the sea, and the consequent narrowing of the land. in both instances, we can understand the desire to attain a great height, in order to have a place of safety if a second flood were to supervene. now let me call your attention to a little coincidence. you observe in the mexican story that seven giants were saved. this number seven has always been considered a numeral of great significance, by all the religionists of olden times. thus the author of the book of genesis so divided the beginning of his narration, that the creation of the world and all that occurred up to the flood, is told in seven chapters. depending upon legends for his facts about that period, which the mexican story says covered forty-eight hundred years, he condenses it all into the mystic number of seven chapters." "from all this, then, i am to believe that the story of the flood is true in the main? i had always supposed that it was either a myth, or an exaggeration of some local inundation?" "undoubtedly the great flood occurred. but now i come to the object which i had in telling you all this. the great pyramids in mexico, or _teocali_ as they were called, were temples, places of worship consecrated to the god tesculipoca. would it surprise you to hear that this mexican deity is no other than �sculapius, commonly called the father of medicine?" "it would, indeed!" "yet it is true. like many other of the mythological gods of europe, he really existed in mexico. the quickest manner of recognizing him, is by his name. let us place the mexican and the european, one under the other: tesculipoca aesculapius "now, if we remember that the presence of a diphthong in the transformation of names implies a lost consonant, we see that the names are virtually the same, the o c a being the mexican suffix, and the i u s the greek. to go a little further in our identification, mythology informs us that �sculapius is the son of apollo. we are also told that the tower of babel was consecrated to bel, but that the upper story was devoted to �sculapius. this is significant, from the fact that apollo and bel are forms of the same deity. thus we find that immediately after the flood, those who escape on one side of the great ocean proceed to build a temple to �sculapius, while on the other, in the home country, they build a new pyramid, a _teocali_, in which to worship tesculipoca. are you satisfied that �sculapius was originally an inhabitant of this continent?" "it certainly seems so." "seems so? it is so! and in that fact, leon, abides a secret which has been of vast importance to me, and shall be to you. few men know what i am, or whence i came. let me tell you that the high priests of these _teocali_ were all lineally descended from the great physician, and to this day there are many who still blow upon the embers of the old faith, down in the forest fastnesses of mexico and central america, secure from the prying eyes of white men. i inherited the right of priesthood at my birth." "you? you a mexican priest?" leon started up amazed. "by inheritance, yes! but early in life i made a discovery of vast importance. by deciphering some old hieroglyphical writings, i learned that, somewhere in the north country, the first _teocali_ had been built. that in the topmost chamber of it, as in the tower of babel, the god himself had dwelt. in the dome which surmounted that temple, he had sculptured hieroglyphics, which recorded all the vast knowledge which he possessed. i even found some fragmentary copies of these sculptures, and i learned enough to make me determined to seek, and to find that lost temple." "you succeeded!" ejaculated leon, much excited. "i always succeed," said the doctor, with significant emphasis. "it has been the rule of my life, from which i have never deviated. yes! i succeeded! i discovered the dome of the temple, buried beneath the earth. for years i have spent many hours of otherwise unoccupied time, deciphering the sculptured records of the lost past. lost to the world, but found by me, emanuel medjora, whom men call wizard!" there was a flash of triumph in the doctor's eye, as he uttered these words. leon looked at him, but did not speak. "yes! the knowledge garnered by �sculapius has been inherited by me. this it is, that i mean to bequeath to you. is it not better than money?" "you mean that you will take me into that chamber, which you have found?" leon was incredulous, yet hopeful of receiving an affirmative reply. "that is what i will do, but not to-night. the hour is now late. you must retire to rest. to-morrow night, i will give you proof of what i have told you. now, good-night, and remember that i have intrusted you with a secret more valuable than all the world. beware of betraying me." "doctor!" expostulated leon, much hurt. "you need not speak so, leon. if i doubted you, i would never have confided in you. once more, good-night." "good-night!" and leon turned to leave the room. "pleasant dreams," said the doctor, and leon had no suspicion that there was a studied purpose in the utterance. after the lad's departure, the doctor sat alone, musing upon the situation. he did not go to rest, because his work was not yet complete. he recalled the night on the fall river boat, when he had endeavored to hypnotize leon, and had failed. to-night he would try again. for months he had been arranging all the preliminaries, and now he was confident of success. the object which he had in view was this: he desired to teach leon more rapidly than the lad could learn in his normal condition. this he hoped to accomplish with the aid of hypnosis. by gaining control of leon, in this manner he expected to utilize the marvels of suggestion. he would instruct him, and then charge him to remember all that he had been taught, and the result would be that the mind would obey the injunction, and thus acquire knowledge more rapidly than by ordinary study. but, for the present, he believed it to be of vital importance that leon should not suspect what he was doing. to this end he had arranged his mode of procedure with the caution of a master of psychology. in the first place, he had prepared leon's mind for the rapid progress of the future, by telling him that the drug administered would increase his mental powers. this was false. what he had added to the usual tonic draught, was not a poison, as he had claimed, but a powerful narcotic. in order, however, to make an impression upon his mind, he had relied upon the chemical reaction, and the changing color, which has been described. then he had related to him enough of the history of �sculapius and of the secret chamber, so that if on the morrow leon should remember the visit to the dome, where he meant to carry him presently, he would easily account for it to himself, as a dream. to make sure of this, he had suggested dreaming to him as they parted. so, as he reviewed his arrangement, the doctor was satisfied that he had taken all necessary precautions, and with patience he awaited the time which he had set for further action. the minutes crept by, until at last a little door in the front of the great clock opened, and a silver image of vulcan raised a tiny hammer and brought it down upon the anvil before him with force enough to draw forth a sharp ring from the metal. then the door closed again. it was one o'clock. the doctor arose and went to a closet, whence he brought forth a pair of soft slippers which he put on instead of his shoes. leaving the room, he climbed the stairway as noiselessly as a cat, not a board creaking as he slowly lifted himself from one step to the next. he had no fear of arousing leon, but he did not wish to attract the attention of any other one in the house. soon he was in leon's room, standing beside the bed. leon lay sleeping as calmly as a babe. dr. medjora knelt beside him, and listened to his heart beating. he felt his pulse, and seemed satisfied. from a couch he took a heavy slumber robe, and without hesitation lifted leon from the bed and wrapped him in the robe. next he raised him in his arms and carried him from the room. at the end of the hall he paused long enough to open the door which led to his laboratory, which occupied a wing of the building, and passing through he closed the door behind him, and laid his burden on the floor. next he lighted a small lamp which shed but a dim light, and stooping, felt along the floor until he found a secret spring which he released, and then slid aside a trap-door, exposing to view a flight of stairs. down these he descended, the ruby-colored shade of his lamp throwing red rays upward as he disappeared. in a few moments he returned without the lamp, which, placed somewhere below, still lighted the opening with a dull glow. the doctor took leon in his arms, and carried him down the steps, until he reached the same door through which he had taken young barnes on the memorable night of the fire. in rebuilding upon the property, the doctor had purposely placed his laboratory over his secret underground chamber. having entered the remains of the temple of �sculapius, he laid leon upon a comfortable mass of rugs which covered the central stone. taking from his pocket a small phial, he opened leon's mouth and poured the contents into it, holding his nose until, in an effort to breathe, the drug was swallowed. this accomplished the doctor retired behind a screen, which had been formed by him in such accurate reproduction of the walls of the chamber, that one would not readily suspect that it was not a part of the original structure. "within ten minutes he should awaken," mused the doctor. "but when he does, and his eyes rest upon the scene about him, he will surely think that he is dreaming of the temple of �sculapius. then, while his brain is heavy with drugs, and his mind mystified, he will yield readily to hypnotic influences." the ten minutes had barely elapsed, when the sleeper moved. a moment later, leon opened his eyes, and as the dim light from the little lamp enabled him to see the dome above him, he lay still, regarding it with some surprise. a few moments more, and he rubbed his eyes with the knuckle of his forefinger, and the doctor knew that he was wondering whether he were awake or dreaming. not fully satisfied, leon sat up, and gazed about him. he was becoming more thoroughly awake, and very soon he would know that he was not in dream-land. but the doctor no longer delayed his plan of action. ere leon could recover from the surprise of his first awakening, and as he gazed directly in front of him, dr. medjora touched an electric button with his foot, and instantly a blaze of light appeared upon the wall. a hundred tiny incandescent lamps, arranged in the form of radiating spokes from a wheel, placed before a brightly burnished silver reflector, with thousands of facets upon its concaved surface, shed a light as dazzling as a sun. leon closed his eyes to protect them from the glare, but when he opened them again another surprise awaited him. by touching another button, the doctor had started a motor, which, with a dull humming sound, set the wheel of lights in motion, the reflector revolving rapidly in one direction while the fixture which contained the lamps turned swiftly the opposite way. the scintillating rays were so dazzling, that it was impossible for leon to gaze upon it more than an instant. he turned his back upon it, bewildered, but immediately before his eyes there appeared on the wall confronting him another similar wheel of light, which began to revolve also. again he turned his eyes away, and again, and again, and again; but wherever he looked, the rapidly moving electric suns burst forth, until a dozen of them surrounded him. he stood a moment with his gaze upon the floor, trying to recover control of himself, for his astonishment was such that he felt as though he were losing his mind. but all in vain. as much as he dreaded those fiery suns, as well as he knew instinctively that to look upon them was to be lost, he could not resist the temptation. slowly, as with an effort, he raised his eyes and stared at the scintillating suns before him. for a brief time his eyes turned from one to another, but finally they became fixed and he gazed only at one. in a moment all the others were turned out, and that one revolved faster and faster. two or three times it seemed as though he tried to withdraw his gaze, but eventually all resistance to the influence of the dazzling light ceased. leon sank back into a partly sitting posture upon the rugs, and in a few moments the eyelids closed heavily, the head sank upon the breast, the body quivered, and the limbs hung limp. leon was passing into a hypnotic, sleep, caused by the ingenious mechanical device coupled with the skilfully prepared surprise which the mind had received. the doctor pressed a button, and the last wheel was extinguished and stood motionless. once more the only light was from the little lamp, which now, by contrast with the recent glare, seemed like a glowworm. dr. medjora came forth and placed himself in front of leon. with the palms of his hands on the lad's temples, he rubbed the eyeballs through the closed lids, with his thumbs. after a short time he spoke. "leon! leon! are you asleep?" there was no reply. "leon! you are asleep, but you can speak!" an indistinct murmur escaped from the sleeper. "leon! you are asleep! but you are also awake! open your eyes, but do not awaken entirely! open your eyes!" in response to the command, authoritatively given, leon's eyes opened slowly, and he stared before him, as though seeing nothing. "look! you can see me if you try! you can recognize me! you can speak! speak to me!" the sleeper gazed at the doctor a while, but said nothing. "do you not hear me? i tell you that you can speak! you must speak! speak! i command you! speak!" "doc-tor med-jo-ra!" was the reply uttered in separate syllables, with a pause between each, and in hollow tones. "good! you see you can speak if you will. you will find it easy enough directly. look about you now, and tell me where you are." "i think i am in the temple!" "you are correct. you are in the temple of �sculapius. do you understand?" "the temple of �sculapius! i understand!" "do you know how you came here?" "no!" "do you wish to know?" "no!" "i brought you here. do you understand that?" "yes!" "are you glad or sorry?" "glad!" "you are asleep! you know that, do you not?" "i am asleep!" "do you wish to awaken?" "i did at first! now i do not!" "then you are happy in your present state?" "i am with you! i am happy! i am with you!" "then you trust me?" "i do, now!" "you do now! did you ever mistrust me?" "yes! once!" "when was that?" "on the boat! you tried to make me sleep!" "but i have made you sleep now. do you still trust me?" "yes!" "why did you mistrust me before then?" "i did not know how pleasant it is to sleep!" "then you are happy, when you are asleep like this?" "i am with you! i am happy! i am with you!" "very well! in the future if i try to make you sleep, you will not resist me?" "no!" "say, i will not resist you!" "i will not resist you!" "you will sleep, whenever i wish you to do so?" "i will sleep, when you wish me to do so!" "now, if i ask you a few questions, will you answer me truthfully?" "yes!" "i wish you then to tell me whether you are in love with agnes dudley?" "what is love?" "do you not know?" "only what i have read!" "you have not felt what it is to love a woman?" "i have not!" "then you do not love agnes dudley?" "i suppose not!" "have you thought of it at all, as possible?" "i have not!" "not even for an instant?" "not even for an instant!" "that is very strange. she is a magnificent girl. beautiful, intellectual, and cultured. you have observed that?" "yes! i have observed all that!" "nevertheless, you have not thought of loving her?" "nevertheless, i have not thought of loving her!" "are you tired now of sleeping?" "i would like to sleep the other sleep! i cannot explain! yes, i am tired!" "you need not explain. i understand. this is your first experience, and must not be continued longer. but you must promise me something." "i will promise!" "you remember all that i told you to-night before you went to sleep?" "i do!" "you must never forget any of it. you must remember it all. not the words, but the substance. you will remember?" "i will remember!" "now i will take you back to your bed. when you have been there ten minutes, you will awaken!" "i will awaken!" "you will remember this place, but only as though you had seen it in a dream!" "i will remember the dream!" "then you will immediately fall into a natural sleep!" "i will fall into a natural sleep!" "in the morning you will either remember nothing, or if anything only that you have had a dream!" "only a dream!" "now sleep! sleep deeply!" the doctor pressed leon's eyes with his thumbs, and when he released them the lids remained closed. "you cannot open your eyes!" "no! i cannot open my eyes!" "now you cannot speak!" there was no reply. dr. medjora wrapped the sleeper in the robe and carried him upstairs, and back to his own room again. he placed him in his bed, and covered him carefully, as a mother would her babe. stooping over him he placed his lips close to leon's ear and said: "can you hear me? if so, raise your arm," a feeble elevation of the arm was made in response. "good, you hear! remember! awaken in ten minutes! awaken from a dream! then sleep again!" the sleeper stirred slightly, and breathed a long sigh. dr. medjora leaned over him, and imprinted a kiss upon his forehead. then he left the apartment, closing the door cautiously behind him, and sought his own room. chapter viii. the faithful dog. on the following morning, when leon entered the laboratory, he found dr. medjora busily engaged upon a chemical analysis. he, therefore, without interrupting him, went to his own table, and took up his morning's task. half an hour passed in silence, and then the doctor spoke: "good-morning, leon," said he. "i hope that the late hour at which you retired last night did not interfere with your rest?" "on the contrary, doctor," said leon, "i slept very soundly; so soundly that i did not awaken as early as usual this morning. yet i am puzzled by one thing." "and that is----?" "a dream. i have a distinct recollection of a dream, and yet i am sure that i slept soundly until the very moment of my awakening. i have always thought that dreams come only when one dozes, or is half awake. do you think that one might sleep soundly, and nevertheless dream?" "it is a question much disputed. if you have done so, however, you have proven the possibility. tell me your dream." thus adroitly did the doctor avoid committing himself by a statement which would have lead to an argument, leon's controversial instinct being a prominent characteristic. "the dream was singular," replied leon, "not so much because of what i dreamed, but rather because of the impression made upon my mind. as a rule, what one dreams is recalled as a dimly defined vision, but in this instance, i can see the temple of �sculapius as clearly as though i had really visited the place." "then in your dream you imagined that you saw that wonderful place?" "yes. there is nothing odd about that, because you told me that you would take me into the chamber to-night. i went to sleep with the desire to see the temple prominently present in my thoughts, and consequently, in my dream, that wish was gratified. but now i am anxious to verify my vision, to note how much resemblance there will be between the real and the imaginary. it would be very curious if i should be able to recognize the place!" leon looked away off into space, as one gazes at nothing when deeply absorbed in the contemplation of some perplexing problem. the doctor at once recognized the danger that presented. leon's memory was more vivid than he had intended it to be. if taken into the crypt, in his present state of active inquiry into the phenomenon which his mind was considering, and if he really should become convinced that what he thought a dream was the exact counterpart of the real, it would not be improbable that his suspicion of the truth might be aroused. it was therefore essential that his mind should be led into a safer channel. the doctor undertook to do this. "leon," said he, "you are always interested in psychological phenomena, and therefore i will discuss this with you. the action of the mind is always an attractive study; attractive mainly because man cannot thoroughly unravel the mysteries surrounding the working of a human mind. ordinarily, what one cannot comprehend and explain, is written down as a miracle. there are no miracles, except as the words may be used to describe that which mystifies. but the mystification passes, as soon as the explanation is arrived at. now it is manifestly impossible that you should dream of a place which you have never seen, and obtain an accurate mental image of it." "i do not say that i have done so. i only wonder how much resemblance will exist between the dream and the chamber itself." "true! but i should not be at all surprised, when i take you there, if you claim that it is the counterpart of your dream." "why do you think that, doctor, when you have just said truly, that such a fact would be impossible?" "it would be impossible that such a thing should be a fact, but it is not at all impossible that you should think it to be a fact. let me explain myself more clearly. as i said before, one cannot produce in the mind an absolutely accurate image of a thing which he has never seen. but mental images may be created, not alone through the sense of sight, but also through the sense of hearing. last night i told you the story of �sculapius. i described to you the _teocali_ which had been reared in his memory. i told you that at the very top a dome-like chamber was specially dedicated to �sculapius. i also explained to you that in the dome which i have discovered the walls are covered with hieroglyphical sculpturing. with such a description of the place, meagre as it is, you could readily construct a mental image, which would be sufficiently like the original for you to believe it identical. a dome is a dome, and, in regard to hieroglyphical figures, in the books in my library you have seen many pictures of those found on this continent." "still, doctor, that would only enable me to create an image which would be similar. it could not be identical." "no! it could not be identical. but suppose that you enter the crypt! instantly you look about you, and an image of the place is imprinted upon your brain. this is objectively produced. you compare it with the subjective image left by your dream, and you are astonished at the similarity. note the word! you look around you again, and again an objective image is formed. again you essay a comparison: but what happens now? as clearly fixed upon your brain as you believe your dream to be, it is but a shadowy impression compared to those which come to you when awake. so your subjective image of the place is readily displaced by that first objective impression, and when you compare the second, it is with this, and not with your dream at all. as both are identical, you form the conclusion that your dream and the actuality are identical. so your first idea that they are similar passes, and you adopt the erroneous belief that they are identical. you have compared two objective impressions, where you believe that one was the subjective image of your dream. thus you are deceived into believing that a miracle has occurred. and thus have all miracles been accepted as such; thus have all superstitions been created, through the incorrect appreciation of events and their causes." "i see what you mean, doctor, and i recognize, now, how easy it is to fall into error. few in this world have the analytical instinct possessed by yourself. yet, i must confess, i am anxious for the test to-night. now that you have warned me, i wish to see whether my first comparison will give me the idea that the two images are identical, or merely similar." from this speech dr. medjora saw that the lad was not entirely convinced. he concluded therefore to risk a test, that would definitely settle the question. "leon," said he, "you are a good draughtsman. draw for me a picture of any part of the hieroglyphical sculpture which is most distinct in your recollection!" in this the doctor depended upon the fact that leon could have but an indistinct remembrance of the place itself, because, from the moment of his awakening in the crypt, his mind had been confused by the rapid series of surprises presented to his eyes. the revolving lamps, and the glare emitted by them, would have been sufficient to create such shadows, that the sculptured figures would have been distorted, the mind itself being too much occupied for more than a very cursory glance at the walls of the place. leon, however, at once began to draw, and within a few minutes he handed the paper to the doctor, who was pleased to find upon it a poor copy of some figures in _kingsborough's antiquities_. thus the doctor's speculation was vindicated, because as soon as leon had endeavored to draw, he copied an image in his mind, made by a picture which he had had time to study closely, yet which in his thought replaced the indistinct impression obtained in the crypt. "you are quite sure, leon," asked the doctor, "that this is a figure which you saw in your dream." "quite sure," answered leon, promptly, "although, of course, there may be some slight inaccuracy in my draught of it." the doctor then went to the library, and returned with the volume of kingsborough, in which was the picture which leon had really copied. when he showed this to the lad, he convinced him of his original proposition, that the hieroglyphical sculptures of his dream were but recollections of what he had seen in books. thus he averted the threatening danger, and once more proved that, through his knowledge of psychical laws, he was an adept in controlling the minds of men. later in the day, leon called at the home of mr. dudley, having been sent thither by the doctor. doctor medjora had given leon a letter, with instructions to take it to the house, and if mr. dudley should be out, to await his return to deliver it and obtain a reply. in this he was actuated by a motive. he chose an hour when he knew certainly that the judge would not be at home, though agnes would. he wished leon to be thrown into her society more often than circumstances had permitted heretofore. in the future, he intended so to arrange that the young people should meet more frequently. dr. medjora was willing to abide by the acts of providence, as long as they aided his own designs; when they failed to do so, then he considered it time to control providence, and guide it to his will. when leon was admitted into the reception-room at judge dudley's, he found agnes reading. she laid aside her book and arose to greet him cordially. he explained the object of his visit, and that he would like to await the return of the judge. agnes therefore invited him to be seated. his great fondness for books led him to utilize her reading as a starting-point for conversation. "i am sorry, miss dudley," he began, "that i have interrupted your reading. may i be permitted to ask what book you have?" "certainly!" she replied. "i have been reading a novel!" "oh!" was all that leon said, but the tone excited agnes at once, for in it she thought she detected a covert sneer. "do you never read novels?" she asked. "i have little time for anything but science. i think that i have read but two novels in my life." "may i ask what they were?" "george macdonald's _malcolm_ from which i named my dog 'lossy,' and a book called _ardath_. i do not remember the name of the author." "_ardath_, and you do not remember the name of the author? she would feel quite complimented at the impression made upon you, i am sure. perhaps you would like to refresh your memory?" agnes spoke with a tone of triumphant satisfaction, as she handed to him the book which she held. he took it and read on the title-page, "_ardath; the story of a dead self_; by marie corelli." "this is a coincidence, is it not, miss dudley," said leon, returning the volume. "i suppose it was very stupid of me to forget the author's name, but really i am so much more interested in the world of science, that romance has little attraction for me. in the one we deal in facts, while the other is all fiction." "is that your estimate of the relation existing between the two," said agnes, with a twinkle in her eye. she always delighted in an argument, when she felt that she held the mastery of the situation, as she did now. therefore she entered the combat, about to begin, with a zest equal to the love of debate which leon possessed. "you say that science deals only in facts. if you remember anything of _ardath_, which is not probable, since you forget the writer, you may recall that in his wanderings through the city, al-kyris, theos meets mira-khabur, the professor of positivism. the description of this meeting, and the conversation between the men is admirable, as a satire upon the claims of the scientists. let me read to you one of the professor's speeches. theos has said: "then the upshot of all your learning sir, is that one can never be quite certain of anything?" "exactly so!" replied the pensive sage, with a grave shake of the head. "judged by the very finest lines of metaphysical argument you cannot really be sure whether you behold in me a person, or a phantasm! you _think_ you see me,--i _think_ i see you,--but after all it is only an _impression_ mutually shared--an impression which, like many another less distinct, may be entirely erroneous! ah, my dear young sir! education is advancing at a very rapid rate, and the art of close analysis is reaching such a pitch of perfection, that i believe we shall soon be able logically to prove, not only that we do not actually exist, but, moreover, that we never have existed." "what have you to say to that?" asked agnes closing the book, but keeping one finger between the leaves, to mark the place. "why," said leon, smiling, "that it is a very clever paragraph, and recalls to my mind the whole scene. i think that, later, this same professor of positivism declares that the only thing he is positive of, is the 'un-positiveness of positivism!'" "ah! then you do remember some of the novel. that is a hopeful sign for novelists, i am sure. but, jesting aside, you have not defended your pet hobby, science, from the charge brought against her!" "if you wish me to take you seriously, then of course i must do so. what you have read, is clever, but not necessarily true. it is good in its place, and as used by the author. it typifies the character of the man, from whose mouth the words escape. but, in doing this, it shows us that he is merely the disciple of a school which depends for its existence upon bombast rather than true knowledge; upon sophistical cloudiness of expression rather than upon logical arguments, based upon reason and fact." "ah! now i have you back to your first statement, that science deals with facts. but is it not true, that by your logical arguments various and varying deductions are obtained by different students, all seeking these finalities, which you term facts? then which of them all is the true fact, and which is mere speculation?" "i am afraid, miss dudley, that you have asked me a question which i am scarcely qualified to answer. all i can say is, that so long as matters are in dispute, we can have no knowledge of what is the truth. in speaking of facts, i only alluded to those proven hypotheses, which have been finally accepted by all scientists. those are the facts of which science boasts." "yes, many of them are accepted for a decade, and then cast aside as exploded errors. but come, i do not wish to argue too strongly against science. i love it too well. what i prefer to do, is to defend my other hobby, romance; that which you called fiction. i will give you a paradox. i claim that there is more fact in good fiction, and more real fiction in accepted fact, than is generally credited." "i am afraid i do not comprehend what you mean," said leon, very much puzzled. he was growing interested in this girl who talked so well. "good," said agnes. "i will gladly expound my doctrine. the best exponent of so called fact which i can cite, is the daily press. the newspapers pretend to relate actual events; to tell us what really occurs. but let us look into the matter but a moment, and we discover that only on rare occasions is the reporter present when the thing happens, of which he is expected to write. thus, he is obliged to depend upon others for his facts. each person interrogated, gives him a version of the affair according with his own received impressions. but occurrences impress different persons in very different ways. thus mr. reporter, when he comes to his desk, finds that he must sift out his facts from a mass of error. he does so, and obtains an approximation of the truth. it would be erroneous enough if he were now to write what he has deduced; but if he is at all capable, as a caterer to the public taste, he is compelled to serve his goose with a fancy sauce. he must weave an amount of fiction into and around his facts, so that the article may have some flavor. and the flavor is sweet or sour, nice or nasty, in accordance with the known predilections of the subscribers. what wonder that one who truly seeks for the facts in the case, endeavoring to obtain them by reading several accounts, finally throws all the newspapers away in disgust!" "bravo, miss dudley! you have offered an excellent arraignment against the integrity of the press. but i am more curious than ever to hear you prove that fiction contains fact." "it must, or it is essentially inartistic. the writer who seeks to paint the world, the people, and the events of the world, as they really are, sets up in his mind, as a subject for copy, the sum of his observation of the world and the people in it. first, we will imagine that he weaves a plot. this is the fiction of his romance. if he writes out this story, adhering closely to his tale, calling the hero a, the heroine b, and the villain c, he deals in fiction only. but even here it would have no material attraction, unless it is conceded to be possible; it need not be probable. but if it is a possible sequence of events, at once we see that the basis is in fact. but when he goes further, and calls a, arthur, b, beatrice, and c, clarence, at once they begin to acquire the characteristics of real people, or else puppets. if the latter, there is no value to the conception, while if the former, then in dealing with these creations of his mind, the writer must allot to each a personality, emotions, demeanor, and morality, which must be recognizable as human. he must in other words clothe his dummies with the semblance of reality, and for that he must turn to the facts of life, as he has observed them. thus good fiction is really all fact. q. e. d." "your argument is certainly ingenious, and worthy of consideration. it is a new way to look upon fiction, and i am glad that you have reconciled me to the idea of reading novels, for i must confess that though, when reading _ardath_, i felt guilty of neglecting more important studies, nevertheless i was very much entertained by the book, which contains many ideas well thought, and well presented. but to resume the argument, as to the facts of fiction, let me say this. is it not true that the predominant theme with novelists is love? and would you contend that love is the most important fact in the world?" "unquestionably it is the predominant fact, to use your own word. all the joy and misery, good and evil, is directly traceable to that one absorbing passion." "you speak with feeling. pardon my asking if it is a predominant emotion with yourself?" "it is not," answered the girl, quickly and frankly. "of course i understand you to mean by love, the feeling which exists between two persons of opposite sex, who are unrelated by ties of consanguinity; or, where a relationship does exist, that sort of affection which is more than cousinly, and which leads to marriage. such an emotion is entirely foreign to my nature, and therefore of course does not form a predominant characteristic of my being. but on this you cannot base an argument against what i claim, because i am an exception to the rule. with the vast majority, love is undoubtedly the leading motive of existence." "miss dudley, if you find the study of mankind interesting in the form of novels, which you say record the impressions of the authors, then you must pardon my studying your character as you kindly reveal it to me. this must explain my further questioning. may i proceed?" "oh! i see! you wish to use me as the surgeon does the cadaver. you would dissect me, merely for the purposes of general study. it is hardly fair, but proceed." she laughed gayly. "you said," continued leon, "that love, such as you have described, is foreign to your nature. am i to understand that you could not form an attachment of that kind which leads to matrimony?" "well, all girls say that. but i believe i may say so, and be truthful. i doubt whether any man will ever inspire me with that love, without which i would consider marriage a sin. i do not say this idly, or upon the impulse of the moment. while i have never felt those heart-aches of which the novelists write, yet i have considered the subject deeply, in so far as it affects myself. so i say again, love is foreign to my nature." "it is very singular!" said leon, and he spoke almost as though soliloquizing. "i have the same feelings. i have always thought that no one would ever love me; but, latterly, i have come to consider the subject from the other stand-point, and now i believe as you do that i shall never love any woman. if i may go further, i would like to ask you why you have adopted this theory about yourself? i will agree to explain myself, if you will reply." "with pleasure! from childhood i have been thrown almost exclusively into the companionship of two exceptional men, my father, and dr. medjora. i have the sincerest affection for them both. i say this, for without loving them i would probably never have been so influenced by them as i have been. while they are very unlike in their personalities, yet they have one characteristic in common: a deep longing for intellectual advancement. growing up in such an environment, i have acquired the same predilection, so that now my one aim in life is knowledge. i do not see how love could aid me in this, while i do see how it might prove a great obstacle in my pathway. household cares, and with them the care of a man, are not conducive to the acquirement of learning. now i will listen to you." "in a measure our cases are similar. i too have always deemed the search for knowledge the highest aim in life, but i did not extract that desire from my surroundings, for there was no inspiration about me. what i have learned, prior to my companionship with dr. medjora, was rather stolen sweets, that i obtained only in secret. the ideas about love, however, probably did emanate from my environment, for while i believe that my adopted mother loved me, i did not discover it until the day on which she died. because no one loved me, i believed that no one ever would. but in my later analysis i have come to believe, that after starving from the lack of affection for so many years, i have finally lost the responsive feeling that gives birth to the emotion. i think that no one can attract me to that extent necessary to enkindle in my heart the emotion called love." he looked away in a wistful manner, and agnes felt a slight pity for the lad who had never known the love of his parents. "does it sadden you to think that way?" she asked softly. "you have detected that? yes! it is very curious. ordinarily i accept the idea calmly. but occasionally i seem to be two persons, and one, who recognizes the happiness possible from love, looks at the other with pitying sympathy, because he will never love. then in a moment i am my single self again, but the momentary hallucination puzzles me. it is as though i had been in the presence of a wraith, and the name of the spectre, dead to me, were love itself. it is not a pleasant thought, and you must pardon my telling you. ah! there comes the judge!" he bowed his adieux and went out into the hall to meet judge dudley. agnes took up her book and essayed to read again, but the spectre of love which he had described, danced like a little red demon with forked tail, up and down the pages, until she put the book aside and went up to her room, where she threw herself on her lounge and lost herself in thought. when leon reached his room, upon returning home, he was surprised to find his dog, lossy, lying under his bed, growling ominously at madame medjora, who was poking at him with a broom handle. she was evidently disturbed at leon's entrance, and turned upon him angrily. "this dog of yours must not come in the house. i will not have it. i am mistress here, and dogs must be kept in the stable." without waiting for a reply she hurried out of the room. leon, not comprehending what was the matter, but realizing that his pet was unhappy, stooped to his knees and coaxed him from his hiding-place. he was much astonished to find that lossy held a letter between his teeth, which, however, he yielded readily to his master. when leon had taken it from him, lossy stood in the middle of the floor and shook himself, as a dog does after swimming, until his rumpled fur stood smooth and bushy. in the same moment his good temper returned. leon recognized the letter, as one which he had read that morning, but though he perused it again mechanically, it did not explain to his mind the scene, of which he had witnessed only the end. had he been able to comprehend the situation, much of what occurred later might have been avoided. what had happened was this. in the morning's mail a letter had come for leon, and he had read it at the breakfast-table. this excited the curiosity of madame medjora, because it was the first that had come to the boy since he had lived with them. she therefore had noted that he placed it in his pocket, and she studied how she might become possessed of it. no chance offered until leon went out, to call at judge dudley's. then he changed his coat, and he had scarcely left the house, before the woman entered his room and eagerly searched for, and found the letter. so engrossed was she in the perusal of it, that she did not notice that lossy had followed her from his master's apartment into her own boudoir, whither she had gone, before reading it. the letter was as follows. as a specimen of chirography, and an example of high grade orthography, it was worthy of a place in a museum. "mister leon grath, my dare nevue have you forgot yore ant matildy i hav not hearn frum you in menny menny wekes an i mus say i have fretted myself most to deth abowt my dare sisters little boy leon all alone in this wide wide wurld a weke ago mister potter the man that ocshioned off the farm wuz up to owr plase and he tole us how you wuz makin lots of money in york along of doctor mejory. now ef its tru that you be makin so much money i think it only fare to let you know how much yore ant matildy who wus always gud an kined to you is now in knead of help the farm is goin to rack an ruin sence you lef and i want you to sen me a hundred dollars as sune as this reaches you as i knead it dredful it would be better for you and for doctor mejory too ef the money is sent rite off as if not i mite tell things i know wich wont be plessant matildy grath" unfortunately for leon's future happiness later in the day madame copied this letter carefully, and also noted the postmark on the envelope. otherwise the action of lossy would have left her dependent upon her memory, to do what she had immediately decided upon. it was while she was reading over her copy, that lossy came stealthily forward, stood upon his hind legs and took the letter, which he had seen her steal from his master's coat. before she fully realized her loss, the dog was scampering along the hall. she followed him into leon's room, and used every means to get him from under the bed. coaxing failed, and she tried the broomstick, which she was still using when leon entered. but of all this the lad knew nothing. he read the letter again; then tore it up and threw it into the fire, supposing that the matter ended there. chapter ix. a wizard's knowledge. during the next three months madame medjora waited and watched. she watched for another letter to leon. she judged the writer by herself, and she decided that matilda grath would not abandon her project, having once decided that she possessed knowledge, by the judicious use of which she could extort money. she knew that leon had no means of sending her such a sum, and she was sure that doctor medjora would never part with one penny under compulsion. he was a man who ruled others. he was never to be intimidated. yet the woman had said that it would be better for the doctor too, if the demand were satisfied. how to construe this she could not tell. did matilda grath know a secret which the doctor would wish to have suppressed? or did the threat merely mean that the doctor could be made to suffer through his affection for leon? the mention of the doctor's name in the letter had a twofold effect. it incited her all the more to carry out her project and ferret out the secret, if one existed; while on the other hand it made her hesitate to do that which might bring down the wrath of her husband upon her head. she did not openly admit it, but she feared him. thus it was that she waited. waited hoping that her watching might enable her to intercept the second letter from matilda grath, which she thought must inevitably follow, and which might give her a more definite due upon which to base her action. but as the weeks went by and no letter came, she grew restive. in this mood one day she read of the remarkable capture of the true criminal, made by mr. barnes, in the petingill case. she did not know that this detective was the office boy who, while in the employ of dudley and bliss, had had the temerity to shadow her husband, hoping to convict him of murder. had she known, it is doubtful whether she would have visited him. as it was, she impulsively determined to engage him to unravel the mystery connected with leon, and she decided to give him the copy of the letter which she had made, as a clue with which to begin. thus it was that mr. barnes, at the height of his ambition, the chief of a private detective agency, was astonished one morning to read the name "madame emanuel medjora," upon a card handed to him in his private office. he pondered awhile, and searched his memory to account for the fact that the name sounded familiar, as he muttered it aloud. in an instant he recalled his first attempt at unravelling a great crime, and, with a feeling that chance was about to give him an opportunity to retrieve the bungling failure of that day, long ago, he invited the lady into his sanctum. once in the presence of the detective, madame was half frightened at what she had undertaken, but it was too late to retreat. so in hurried words she explained her case, gave mr. barnes the letter, and engaged him to investigate the matter. "find out for me," said she, "who this leon grath really is. i will pay you well for the information. but understand this. i exact the utmost secrecy. you must not come to my house, nor write to me. when you wish to communicate with me, put a personal in the _herald_ saying "come," and i will understand. above all things, promise me that whatever you discover shall be known only to myself; that you will make no use of the knowledge except as i may direct." "madame may depend upon my discretion," answered the detective, and with a restless doubt in her breast, which was to gnaw at her peace of mind for weeks to come, madame medjora returned to the home of the husband whom she had promised to love, honor, and obey, and against whom she was now secretly plotting. after the first time when dr. medjora had taken leon into the temple of �sculapius while asleep, and there hypnotized him, the two spent an hour together in the crypt nightly. the doctor deciphered for his pupil the meaning of the hieroglyphics in the order in which he had studied them out for himself. his method was peculiar. on the second night, he revealed to leon the secret approach, and took him into the buried dome whilst yet awake. then before his astonishment and admiration for the place had subsided, and, therefore, while his mind was yet off guard, as it were, he suddenly commanded him to sleep, just as he had done on the fall river steamboat, only this time he succeeded. with scarcely any resistance, leon passed into a hypnotic trance, and while in that condition the doctor began expounding to him the sculptured records of a forgotten knowledge. at first the tasks were brief, but they were increased, and more and more was accomplished each night as he acquired greater hypnotic control over his subject. at the end of each lesson, he would say to his pupil: "leon, to-morrow you will remember that we have been here together, that i have taught you a part of the knowledge inscribed upon these walls; you will forever retain a recollection of that knowledge which you have gained to-night; but you will imagine that you have been with me in your normal waking condition, and you will forever and forever forget that i have commanded you to sleep. do you promise?" "i promise!" would be the reply, and then, to assure success, he would awaken the lad and continue awhile his teaching, so that leon would depart awake, as he had entered. thus it was, that the doctor's scheme for educating his _protégé_ was meeting with marvellous success, and leon was rapidly assimilating the wisdom which was offered to him. already he knew more of diseases and their treatment, of the science of chemistry and bacteriology, than many graduates of medical schools. in addition to what may be termed his hypnotic education, he was acquiring practical experience through his daily work in the laboratory, so that at length dr. medjora thought that he could see a promise of fruition for his cherished scheme. in one thing he was disappointed. it was his hope to effect a love match between leon and agnes, but his keen study of both of the young people convinced him that they were as indifferent to one another, after nearly a year's acquaintance, as they had been at first. dr. emanuel medjora, however, was not a man to be thwarted, and he had long decided upon a course of action, whereby he might further his design, if the current of ordinary events did not turn the tide in his favor. finally he decided to act, and in furtherance of his purpose he invited judge dudley to spend an evening with him. "come promptly at eight o'clock," his note had said, "and be prepared to remain as long as i may require. the business is of great moment to us both, and to those whom we love." in response to such a summons, the judge reached villa medjora just as the clock chimed the appointed hour. he was conducted into the doctor's study, which opened into the laboratory. when his guest was announced, dr. medjora rose at once to greet him. when the two men were seated comfortably, the doctor opened the conversation at once. "judge dudley," said he, "i have, as you know, a young man with me, in whom i have taken the deepest interest,--leon grath, my assistant and pupil. let me tell you something of him." "with pleasure," replied the judge. "you already know, that i look upon the knowledge which i possess as a sacred trust, which i must utilize for the benefit of my fellows. i have held that it is incumbent upon me to transmit this knowledge to some one younger than myself, that he may be my successor. i searched for years for such a lad. the exactions were great. he would need extraordinary endowments. he should be superior to his fellows, intellectually and physically. i decided that i had found such a man, when i selected leon." "i hope you have not been disappointed?" "on the contrary. he has exceeded my expectations, though my estimate of his powers could not be far wrong, because i rarely make a mistake." the egotism of these words did not appear to effect the judge. he was too well acquainted with dr. medjora, who continued: "leon has evinced such worthiness of the trust which i have reposed in him, that i know he will not only be a capable successor to me, but he will achieve that which i cannot hope to accomplish within the few years which are left to me." "come, my friend," said the judge, "you must not talk as though you were nearing the end of life. you will be with us twenty years longer at least." "they will not be twenty years of usefulness, if i should." the doctor spoke as though in augury of his own fate. he continued: "but it is not of myself that i desire to speak. leon, i say, will be a wiser and a greater man than i. he will be beloved by his associates, and will be a blessing in the world." "i do not doubt it!" said the judge, impulsively, not knowing to what the words would lead him. "i am glad you appreciate his worth," replied the doctor, quickly. "i have already taught him much, and i will teach him more, if i am spared, but, even without my assistance, the fountain of knowledge from which he now draws will supply him amply. one thing he needs. a cloud hangs over his past, because he knows not who were his parents. he has no name, and that thought hangs as a millstone about his neck, and often weighs him down with discouragment, as he feels that he is alone in the world. i intend to remedy that. i shall bestow upon him my own name." "your own name?" ejaculated the judge. "my own name! i will formally adopt him, and he shall take my name. i wish you to aid me in the legal steps requisite." "i will do so with pleasure. medjora, you are a noble man. i honor you with all my heart." the judge occasionally lost his usual dignified reserve, when his emotions were deeply touched. "i thank you," said the doctor. "but, judge, if i am noble in doing what i purpose, you have the chance to be even more so." "what do you mean?" "leon needs more than a name. as i have said, the past hangs over his heart like a pall. even with my name, he will be a lonely man. he will continue his habits of studiousness, but he will become a recluse. he will shun his fellows, because of his sensitiveness upon one point. he will fear to intrude himself, where he might not be welcome. in such a life, he would be of little value to his fellows. the world will lose a great benefactor. there is but one salvation for him, from such a fate." "and that is?" "marriage! marriage with a woman of kindred spirit. marriage with a woman, possessing equal intellect, and capable of spurring him to ambitious deeds, at the same time soothing his hours of fatigue. marriage, in short, with your daughter." "with agnes!" exclaimed the judge, almost horrified, so great was his surprise. "with agnes!" repeated the doctor, calmly. "impossible! you are mad!" ejaculated the judge. "and yet, despite your protest, the marriage will occur," said dr. medjora, in tones so portentous, that the judge paused and looked at him almost in fear. for one instant, the cry of the public that this man was a wizard flashed across his mind, but in the next he cast it aside with scorn, and again he said peremptorily. "i tell you no! it is impossible!" "nothing is impossible," said the doctor, impressively, "if i have decided in my own mind that it must be. i have never failed in any purpose of my life, and i will not fail in this. judge dudley, listen to me. i have a claim upon your daughter agnes, equal to, yea greater, than your own." "what!" exclaimed the judge, more amazed. he sank back in his chair bewildered. how could this man have a claim upon his child greater than his own? it was an unsolvable riddle to him. "you do not comprehend me," said the doctor, "and to explain myself it will be necessary for me to speak at some length. shall i do so?" "you must do so! after what you have said, i must hear more. go on!" "very well. if at first i seem to speak of matters unconnected with the subject, bear with me and listen attentively. i shall be as brief as possible, and yet give you a thorough insight into my meaning. as you are well aware, men call me a wizard. now, what is a wizard? the dictionary says he is a sorcerer, and that a sorcerer is a magician. in olden times the magicians were of two kinds, evil and good, accordingly as they practised black art, or the reverse; which only means that they were men endowed with knowledge not shared by their fellows, and that, armed with the powers thus acquired, they used their abilities either for evil or for good purposes. thus, if in this day of civilization i possess any knowledge in advance of other scientists, i suppose that i am as truly a wizard, as were the magicians of the ancients." "nonsense!" "not at all. i claim to have knowledge which is fully twenty years in advance of to-day, just as i know that the present generation is but slowly awakening to truths which were known to me twenty years ago. but before i speak of what i myself know, let me give you a summary of the advance which modern science has made in a specified direction. you have heard of what is commonly called the 'germ theory' of disease?" "yes! certainly!" "you say yes, and you add certainly, by which latter you mean that it was folly for me to ask you such a question. yet how much do you really know of the great progress which has been made in mastering the secret causes of human disease? you are a learned judge, and yet you know comparatively little of the subject which is of most vital interest to mankind. i mean no offence, of course. i am as ignorant of the law, as you are of medicine. let me open a window that you may peep in upon the scientific students busy with their investigations. the 'germ theory,' briefly stated, is this. there are all around us millions of micro-organisms, parasites which thrive and grow by feeding upon the animal world. in proportion as these parasities infest, and thrive upon a given individual, so will that individual become diseased, and it has been shown that in many cases a special germ will cause a special disease. i could deliver you a lecture, hours long, upon the classification, morphology, and pathogenic action of bacteria, but i wish at present to lead your mind into a different channel. undoubtedly the most important question in biology is the immunity from disease-generating germs, which is possessed by various animals." "do you mean that some animals can resist the attacks of bacteria?" asked the judge. anxious as he was to arrive at the point where his daughter's name would be again introduced, his natural love of knowledge caused his interest to be aroused as the doctor proceeded. "i do," continued dr. medjora. "it has long been known that certain infectious diseases, such as typhoid fever, are peculiar to man, while the lower animals do not suffer from them; and that, on the other hand, man has a natural immunity from other diseases which are common among the lower animals. again, some species will resist diseases which become epidemic among others. in addition to an immunity peculiar to a whole race, or species, we have individual differences in susceptibility or resistance. this may be natural, or it may be acquired. for example, the very young are usually more susceptible than adults. but a difference will also be found among adults of a race. the negro is less susceptible to yellow fever than the white man, while, contrarily, small-pox seems to be peculiarly fatal among the dark-skinned races." "have the scientists been able to account for these phenomena?" "they theorize, and many of them are making admirable guesses. they account for race tolerance by the darwinian theory, of the survival of the fittest. imagine a susceptible population decimated by a scourge, and the survivors are plainly those who have evidenced a higher power of resistance. their progeny should show a greater immunity than the original colony, and, after repeated attacks of the same malady, a race tolerance would become a characteristic." "that is certainly a plausible theory." "it is probably correct. but acquired immunity, possessed by an individual residing among a people who are susceptible, is the problem of greatest interest. the difference between a susceptible and an immune animal depends upon one fact. in the former, when the disease-breeding germ is introduced, it finds conditions favoring its multiplication, so that it makes increasing invasions into the tissues. the immune animal resists such multiplication, and possesses inherent powers of resistance which finally exterminates the invader. but how can this immunity be acquired by a given individual?" "upon the solution of that question, i would say depends the future extermination of disease," said the judge. "you are right," assented the doctor. "ogata and jashuhara have recorded some interesting experiments. they cultivated the bacillus of anthrax in the blood of an animal immune to that disease, and when they injected these cultures into a susceptible animal, they found that only a mild attack of the disease ensued, and that subsequently the animal was immune to further inoculation." "why, if that is so, it would seem that we have only to use the blood of immune animals, as an injection, to insure a person against a disease!" "behring and kitasato experimenting in that direction, found that the blood of immune animals, injected into susceptible individuals, after twenty-four hours rendered them immune, but this would not follow with all diseases. in many maladies common to man, a single attack, from which the person recovers, renders him safe from future epidemics. the most commonly known example of this is the discovery by jenner, who gave the world that safeguard against small-pox, known as vaccination. but the most important discovery in this direction yet made is one which is not fully appreciated even by the discoverer himself. chauveau, in , ascertained that, if he protected ewes by inoculating them with an attenuated virus, their lambs, when born, would show an acquired immunity." "this is incredible!" "i have now related all that the modern scientists have recorded up to the present date, and when i tell you that all of this, and very much more than is at present recognized, was known to me twenty years ago, you will see that my claim that i am twenty years in advance of my generation is well founded. i shall not enter into the many theories advanced to explain the phenomenon of acquired immunity from disease, because it would be unprofitable to take up such a discussion, while you are waiting to hear what concerns you more closely. suffice it to say, that various scientists have learned that immunity may be produced in a previously susceptible animal by the injection of various preparations. but in each instance, the injection is expected to produce immunity from only one disease. my own studies were at first in this direction, and i have succeeded not only in learning how to prevent each malady separately, but what is far better, i have discovered a method by which i can render an individual immune to all zymotic diseases." "then, indeed, are you a wizard!" "yes, because i do that which transcends the powers and knowledge of my fellows! but mark my prophecy! just so surely as the scientific investigators of to-day have learned what i knew twenty years ago, so will the investigators of the future master the secrets which now are known only to myself. i am a wizard, perhaps, but i am a modern wizard. there is nothing of the supernatural about my methods. but now let me be more explicit. what chauvau did with sheep, i have done with the human being." "what! you have dared to make such an experiment?" "dared? emanuel medjora dares all things, in the pursuit of knowledge!" the man had arisen as he warmed to his subject, and now, as he drew himself up erect, he towered over the judge as a giant might. "listen, and be convinced. i discovered a precious preparation, which, if injected at the proper time would, in my opinion, bring me the consummation of my dreams. a single fluid, which would produce immunity from all diseases. just after you had procured my acquittal, and thus saved me and my learning for the benefit of the world, you were kind enough to intrust me with the care of your wife's health." "i had no hesitation in doing so. i had faith in you." "the result has shown that your faith was well founded. at the proper time, i injected the preparation which i had formulated, into the arm of your wife." "you did that?" "i did. you will recall the fact that from being feeble she began to gain strength. periodically i repeated my injections, and renewed vigor coursed through her system." "you certainly worked wonders. i distinctly remember that i marvelled at the improvement which followed your treatment." "in due season you were presented with a daughter. a beautiful, baby girl!" "my little angel agnes!" the judge spoke softly, and with tenderness. in fancy he looked back to the day when the nurse brought him the little cherub, newly arrived, and he felt again the tightening of his heart-strings which told him that he was a father. "you held the babe in your arms," said the doctor, "and you, as well as all the others, recognized that it was an exceptional infant. but none of you guessed that a child had been born, who, like chauvau's lambs, would be immune to all disease!" "do you really mean that you accomplished that almost incredible miracle?" exclaimed the judge, as at last he perceived the nature of the claim upon agnes, which the doctor was endeavoring to establish. "do you doubt it? glance back over her career. remember the various climates that she has visited; the many epidemics which she has passed through in safety. yellow fever in memphis, small-pox in the indies, and several seasons of diphtheria at home, here in new york. she has been near typhoid and scarlet fever; la grippe has visited us twice in epidemic form, and is carrying off hundreds at this very time. can you recall a day in all her life, when agnes has been ill? no! you cannot!" the doctor's tone was triumphant. the judge's reply was low. "providence has certainly blessed her with remarkable health," he murmured. "providence?" exclaimed the doctor, passionately. "no! not providence, but i! i, emanuel medjora, the wizard! i have blessed her with her wonderful health! to me she owes it all! i claim her! she is as much mine as yours!" he was grandly dramatic as he uttered these words, but, marvelling as he did at what he had heard, the judge was not yet ready to yield. this iteration of the fact that he claimed agnes, aroused the father's antagonism, and, in an almost equally imperious tone, he sprang to his feet and cried: "no! she is mine! i am her father, and she is mine! all mine! i deny your claim, and wizard though you be, i defy you!" the two men glared at each other for a moment, and then the doctor spoke suddenly. "you defy me! ha! ha! ha!" his laugh rang through the chamber with a weird sound. "agnes is yours! ha! ha! ha!" again the laugh, prolonged and piercing. in an instant his manner changed. grasping the judge by the arm, he said: "come with me!" then half dragged him towards, and through the door that led into the laboratory. chapter x. the betrothal. the judge offered very slight resistance as doctor medjora urged him forward, and even in the pitchy darkness of the laboratory he made no effort to free himself. he was no coward, and in defying this man whom so many feared, he showed that he feared no man. the doctor went straight to the trap-door, and began to descend the stairway. his reason for having no light in the laboratory was, that he did not wish the judge to know by what way they went down. as the trap-door was open, he would not suspect its existence; all that he would be able to recall would be that they had descended a flight of stairs. should he enter the laboratory, at some future time, he would be unable to discover the way to the crypt below. but it was not to the temple of �sculapius that the doctor now led his companion. he had decided not to divulge that secret to any other person, besides leon. mr. barnes, it is true, had been taken into the crypt, but by hypnotic suggestion the doctor had eradicated all recollection of that visit. you will remember that on the night when the doctor had controlled mr. barnes by making him sleep, he had subsequently taken him through an old wine cellar. this vault still existed, though it had been remodelled at the time when the new house was built. it was into this secret chamber that the doctor now took the judge. closing the door behind him, he touched a button, and an electric lamp illumined the apartment. the chamber was comfortably carpeted and furnished, and in all ways presented the appearance of a luxurious living room, except that there were no windows. on this night, a silk curtain, stretched across from wall to wall, seemed to indicate that there was something beyond. what that was, at once arrested the attention of the judge, but he exhibited no curiosity by asking questions, preferring to await the unfolding of events as they might occur. "now, judge," said the doctor, "i must ask you to pardon my having brought you here. i may also have seemed rude or brusque in manner, which you must set down to excitement, rather than to malicious intent. you understand that i would not harm my friend?" "i have no fear!" replied the judge, coldly. "be seated, please," said the doctor, and then both took chairs. "judge dudley," continued the doctor, "i have expressed to you my opinion that i have a claim upon your daughter. you have denied it. or, rather, you have probably conceded in your mind that what i have done for agnes creates an obligation, but you are not willing to admit that on that account i should have the privilege, of selecting her husband? do i state the facts clearly?" "sufficiently so! proceed!" "very well! i have brought you to this apartment to demonstrate to you, first, that the obligation is greater than you suspect, and secondly, that your daughter's fate is entirely in my hands. in fact that you are powerless to oppose my will." "i have, perhaps, more determination than you credit me with. it will be difficult for you to swerve me from my purpose." "those men, who have the strongest wills, are the ones most easily moved. you are as just, as man ever is. when you learn that your daughter's happiness, after this night, will depend entirely upon her marriage with leon, you will yield." "i certainly would make any sacrifice for the happiness of my daughter. but i must be convinced." "you see! already you are amenable to reason. i will proceed. judge dudley, a while ago i told you something of the present theories concerning the existence of germs which affect physical life. i also explained to you, how, by using greater knowledge than has as yet been generally disseminated, i have succeeded in producing in the person of your daughter a physically perfect being; one who cannot be attacked by bodily ailments. i will now unfold to you some theories which are even more in advance of the thought of to-day. it has long been conceded that man is a dual creature; that is, there is a material and, i will say, another side, to every human being. what is that other side? it is immaterial; it is intangible but nevertheless we know that it exists. at death there remains everything of the physical body that existed a moment before. what then has departed? an instant before death, a muscle will lift a given weight, and a second after, long before mortification of the flesh could operate to disintegrate the fibres, we find that one tenth of that weight will suffice to tear the same muscle. what then is this potential power which has left the body? for the purposes of the present argument, i shall call it the psychical side of man. the physical and the psychical, dwelling in harmonious unison, produces a living creature. this much is plain, and of course presents no new thought to you." "true, but i suppose you are leading to something else?" "yes! the introduction is necessary. given then these two divisions of human life, and, i submit it to you, is it not curious that the physical has received a hundred times as much study as has the psychical? with myself it has been different. i have studied both together, because i have ever found them together. i argued that i could never fully comprehend the one, without an equal knowledge of the other. so i know as much about the psychical side of life as i do of the physical." "then you must know a great deal!" "i do! in the beginning of my career i grasped one truth, which seems to have escaped the majority. the secrets of nature are simple. we do not discover the mysteries, because we think them more mysterious than they are. the key to the knowledge of nature's methods is in her analogies. all natural laws operate on parallel lines, because the aim of all is the same; evolution towards perfection. thus, in studying the psychical, i had but to master the physical and then discover the analogy which exists between the two." "and you claim to have done this?" "in a great measure. leon, before he dies, will achieve more than i, because he will begin where i shall be compelled to abandon my work. but i have accomplished more than any other mortal man, and that is a gratifying thought, to an egotist. there is but one phase of this subject which i wish to submit to you. i have explained the germ theory of disease. i will now announce to you the germ theory of crime." "the germ theory of crime?" asked the judge, utterly amazed. "do you mean that crime is produced by bacteria? as a jurist, i certainly will be interested in your new doctrine." "you do not yet grasp my meaning. it is manifestly impossible that bacteria, which are living parasites, could affect the moral side of a man. i have said that the secret is in analogy; the two germs, the physical and the psychical, are not identical. but i will start your thought in the right direction, when i say that all forms of vice and crime are diseases, as much as scarlet fever or small-pox. it is a curious fact that many great secrets which have escaped the individual have been recognized by the multitude. many expressions in the language, which are counted as metaphorical, are truly exponents of unrecorded facts. one says that a girl has died of a 'broken heart,' without suspecting that disappointed love has been known to cause an actual heart rupture, demonstrable by _post-mortem_ examination. so, to return to my subject, people say that an immoral man has 'a diseased imagination,' without realizing that they state the exact condition from which he suffers." "why, if such were the case, it would be improper to punish criminals!" such an idea seemed rank heresy to the judge. "it is entirely wrong to punish criminals. we should however imprison them, because they are dangerous to the community. but their incarceration should be precisely similar to the forcible confinement of individuals suffering with diseases which threaten to become epidemic, and for very similar reasons. first, to endeavor to effect their cure, and second, and most important, to prevent the spread of the malady." "you mean that jails should be reformatories?" "exclusively. moreover, the length of the confinement should not be regulated by statute, but should depend upon the intensity of the attack of crime or vice, which has occasioned the arrest of the prisoner. he should be jailed until cured, just as a leper is, even though it be for life. however, i cannot now discuss that aspect of the question. i wish to more fully explain the germ theory of crime." "i am impatient to hear you." in his interest in the subject the judge had almost forgotten his recent feeling of animosity. "the idea then is this. suppose that a babe could be born, with a perfect psychical endowment. we would have a being in whom all the higher virtues would predominate, while the vices would be non-existent. but take such an individual and place him in an environment where he would daily be associated with vice in its worst form and it would be inevitable that he would become vicious, for crime is as contagious as small-pox. the germ of a physical disease is a parasite so small in some instances, that when placed under a microscope and magnified one thousand times, it then becomes visible as a tiny dot, which might be made by a very sharp pencil. the germ of crime is even more minute and intangible. it exists as a suggestion." "a suggestion?" "yes! suggestion is the most potent factor in the affairs of the world. there is never a suggestion without an effect. wherever it occurs an impression is created. no living man is free from its influence. a common example which i might cite is the congregation of a crowd. without knowing what he goes to see, a man crosses the street and swells a growing crowd merely because others do so. the idea is suggested, and the impulse becomes almost irresistible. even if resisted, the temptation will be appreciated. the suggestion has produced an effect. to explain the specific growth of a crime by this means, i will remind you of the woman who, when leaving home, told her children not to go into the barn and steal any apples, but that if they did go, above all things not to lie about it when she should return. of course they went, and of course they lied to her upon her return. she had suggested both actions to them. the child who sees theft for the first time, may look upon it with abhorrence, because home influence has suggested to it that stealing is wrong. but permit a daily association with theives, and the abhorrence will pass into tolerance, and thence into imitation." "i begin to perceive your meaning, and after all it is only the old idea, that conscience is merely the result of education." "precisely so! but that very expression is but another example of the indefinite recognition of an important fact. you say my theory is old. perhaps! but my utilization of it is new. just as there are pathogenic bacteria which produce disease, so there are also non-pathogenic bacteria which not only do not cause bodily affliction, but which actually are essential and conducive to perfect health. the one takes its sustenance by destroying that which is needed by man, at the same time generating poisons which are deleterious, while the latter thrives upon that which is harmful to the human body. analogously, just as there are germs, or suggestions which debase the morality, so also there are suggestions which produce the highest moral health." "that seems probable enough!" "by the means which i have explained to you, your daughter was born, immune to all diseases. you have heard that certain maladies, as consumption, can be transmitted, and are therefore inherited. this is not true. but a parent who has suffered with phthisis, may transmit to his progeny what is termed a diminished vital resistance. the child is not born consumptive, but he is poorly equipped to contend against the germ of that disease. if thrown into contact with it, consumption will probably follow. but it is possible that as he matures his environment may be such, that his vital resistance may increase, so that the time might come when he would not acquire the disease, even though brought into contact with it. the reverse follows as a logical deduction. agnes was born with an enormous stock of vital resistance, which would operate to protect her from all diseases. but it would have been possible for her to degenerate as she matured. this i guarded against. by cultivating her companionship, and yours, i have had access to her at all times, and i have periodically supplied her with potions containing those germs which are conducive to health. in a similiar way, i have cared for her psychical life, by advancing her moral nature!" "what is that? i do not comprehend your meaning!" "i have said that no person is exempt from the influences of suggestion. but it has been demonstrated that, when hypnotized, an individual is singularly susceptible to suggestion, and many phenomena have been recorded. but as yet little practical use has been made of this knowledge. with me it has been an endless source of power. especially have i used hypnotic suggestion for the moral advancement of your daughter!" "you mean that you have hypnotized agnes?" the judge was stunned by the announcement. "i began the practice when she was five years of age, and have continued it up to the present moment. by this means i have made her psychically as perfect as she is physically. i have inculcated in her the highest virtues, and i have taught her to love intellectuality above all things. thus again i show you a claim that i have upon her. but the highest obligation is that which is based upon the good of the world, and the advancement of science. she is now so fond of knowledge that she would never marry any ordinary man. there is but one man living, to whom she can be united, and be happy, and as yet she does not suspect it. that one is leon. do you not see that you must consent to this union?" "not yet! i must be convinced of the truth of all the extraordinary things which you have told me." "you ask for proof? you shall have it! for that i brought you here! watch what you shall see, but stir not, however great may be the temptation. if you make an effort to interfere, it would be doubly useless, first, because i would restrain you by physical strength, and second, because though you will see your daughter, you will be unable to make her see or hear you. beware how you trifle with what you do not understand! a false move on your part might mean a lifelong injury to agnes. behold!" the doctor touched a spring and the silk curtains parted. the judge started forward with a cry, but the doctor grasped him by the arm and cried "beware!" upon which he subsided, but gazed with intense anxiety upon what followed. behind the curtains, there appeared a sort of stage, which was divided in half by yet another curtain. to one side, leon lay reclining on a couch, as though asleep, his eyes closed. on the other side, agnes lay in similar posture. the doctor spoke: "agnes! when i command you to do so, you will open your eyes, and awaken enough so that you may speak to me! you will see me! you will hear my voice! but you will neither see nor hear any other person! awaken!" agnes slowly opened her eyes, and gazed steadily towards the doctor. otherwise, she did not move. "you see and hear me?" asked the doctor. "yes!" "do you see any other person?" "no!" "agnes, i wish to question you upon a very important subject. will you reply truthfully?" "i will reply. of course it will be truthfully, because i do not know falsehood." "do you love any one, so that you would marry him?" "i do not know what love is. i do not know what marriage means for me." the judge breathed a sigh of relief as he heard these words. he thought that his daughter was safe, but even yet he did not comprehend the power of the man beside him. "i will now tell you what it is to love. listen!" "i will listen!" "in heaven's name, medjora," cried the judge, "go no further!" he grasped the doctor's arm as he made the appeal, but he might as well have addressed a thing of stone. he was unheeded. the doctor proceeded: "somewhere in a secret corner of thy soul, as yet unreached, there is a spot more sensitive than all the rest. a single vibration penetrating there, if harmonious and according with thine own desires, would awaken a joyousness to which all other joys compare as the odor of the rankest weeds to the fragrance of the sweetest rose. a thousand, thousand dreams of happiness are insignificant to the thrill which courses through the veins when that centre of thy soul is touched by love. forever and forever after, wilt thou be a different being; thine old self cast behind and buried in the oblivion of the past, whilst thy new existence will remain incomplete, until coupled with that other dear one, whose glancing eye hath pierced and found the deepest corner of thy heart. but this is not all. if the first recognition of the existence of thy love be delirious ecstacy, by what name shall i nominate that joy which issues from the consummation of thy heart's desire, when thy love is perfected by a union with one that loves thee better than he loves himself? this is love! wouldst thou not taste it?" the girl's lips quivered, and she spoke as one enraptured. "i would! i would! o give me love! love! sweet, sweet love!" "thy wish shall be gratified. look towards that curtain!" she raised herself into a sitting position, and did as directed. "now sleep until i bid thee awaken into love! sleep!" the eyelids closed, and the bosom heaved gently as the girl slumbered. the doctor addressed leon. "leon! awaken! i have promised you that you shall meet your future love. she will be life and love to you forever! awaken!" leon stirred, opened his eyes, and looked at the doctor. "you cannot see anyone unless i tell you! look towards that curtain!" leon obeyed, and he and agnes were gazing towards each other, but the silk curtain divided them. "now sleep, and when you again awaken, your happiness will be complete!" leon's eyes closed. the doctor touched another spring, and the curtain was drawn aside. at the same instant a fragrant aroma filled the apartment, as though the sweetest incense were burning. he stood a moment in silence, gazing upon the two figures who looked at each other, but did not see. the judge was overcome so that he found it difficult to speak. he essayed to address the doctor, but his tongue was heavy, and words were impossible. the doctor looked towards him an instant, as a slight gurgling sound issued from his lips, and he saw the appeal in the father's eyes; but swiftly he turned away and spoke: "awaken! awaken both! leon and agnes, awaken! awaken and love!" having reached the climax of his experiment, even the doctor himself felt a twinge of anxiety lest he might fail. but, as the possibility flashed across his brain, he cast it out again and gazed the more intently at the scene before him. the judge also watched in dread anxiety, and with waning strength. he hoped almost against hope that the trick would fail. leon opened his eyes, and instantly rested them upon agnes. no sign of recognition appeared upon his face, but only admiration was pictured there. the girl awakened, too, and her eyes gazed upon leon's face. instantly there was a convulsive trembling, and she breathed heavily. her lips parted and closed, again and again. it seemed as though a word sought utterance, but was restrained by some secret emotion. leon began to move towards her, his eyes fixed upon hers, and an expression of ecstatic pleasure spreading over his features. slowly but surely he advanced, and, as he approached, agnes trembled more and more. a swift alteration in the attitude of the girl then took place. in one instant she became thoroughly controlled; all quivering ceased. she stood erect, exhibiting to its fullest her marvellously attractive form. then, with a bound, she sprang forward, and cast herself upon the breast of her dream-land lover, with a cry that went straight to the heart of her father. "leon! leon! i love you! i love you!" she exclaimed, and as the youth folded her in an enraptured embrace, judge dudley fell to the floor senseless. chapter xi. the genesis of love. i must explain more fully how the scene just related was pre-arranged. as dr. medjora told the judge, it had been a common occurrence for him to hypnotize agnes whenever favorable occasions presented. these had not been infrequent, because the girl had exhibited a great fondness for the study of chemistry, and therefore often visited the doctor in his laboratory. since the advent of leon, this habit had been discontinued, or only rarely indulged, and the doctor, appreciating the maidenly reserve which prompted her, had made no comment. when, however, he decided that the time had arrived when it would be best for him to put his scheme into operation, he had one day invited agnes to be present at some interesting experiments which he wished to show. thus she had readily been enticed to the laboratory, and then the doctor had hypnotized her, and subsequently led her to the chamber where he had arranged the paraphernalia for his little scene. before this, he had commanded leon to sleep, and in a similar condition the lad had been conveyed to the couch whereon he was afterward shown to the judge. the doctor had calculated to meet opposition in the judge, and his hypnotic _séance_ had been conceived with the double purpose of convincing him of the uselessness of antagonism, while at the same time he would utilize the opportunity to suggest the idea of love to both of the young people. ordinarily, by which i mean with subjects having less individuality than these, he would have been content to operate upon one at a time; but with agnes and leon, he knew that he could succeed only by acting upon both simultaneously, and at the moment of suggesting love, to present them each one to the other, _in propria persona_, rather than through the imagination. he counted upon personal contact so to intensify the suggestion, that it would not be overcome by will power exerted in the waking state, which would ensue. all had passed to his entire satisfaction, and he had little doubt that his experiment would succeed, but there was still much to do. first, he again commanded leon and agnes to sleep deeply, and then leaving them slumbering on their respective couches, he bore the body of the judge to the floor above. examining him closely he soon satisfied himself that his friend had only succumbed to emotional excitement, and that he would soon recover from his swoon. he then took him to the study and placed him in the chair which he had occupied earlier in the evening. hastily returning to the secret chamber, he brought agnes upstairs, taking her through the hall and down to the parlor. here he suggested to her that, when she awakened, she should think she had merely been visiting the house, but that it was then time to return to her home. in a moment more she opened her eyes, and in natural tones, which showed that she was devoid of any suspicion of what had transpired, she asked if her father was ready to take her home. the doctor replied that the judge would join her in a few moments, and returned to the study just in time to find judge dudley rubbing his eyes and staring about him bewildered. at sight of the doctor much of what had happened recurred to him, though he doubted whether he had not been dreaming. "doctor medjora," he exclaimed, "what has happened? tell me! tell me the truth!" "all that is in your mind has occurred," replied the doctor, calmly. "you have not been dreaming as you suppose, though you have been unconscious for a brief period." "and my daughter?" asked the judge, anxiously. "agnes is waiting for you to escort her home. as it is late, i have ordered my carriage to be at your disposal. it should be at the door now. will you accept it?" the quiet tone, and the commonplace words disconcerted the judge. he would have preferred discussing what was pressing heavily upon his thoughts, but after gazing steadily at his host for a moment he decided to let the matter rest for a time. thus he demonstrated the truth of the doctor's suggestion theory, for the language used, and the manner adopted, had been chosen with the intention of producing this effect. the judge, however, did not entirely avoid the topic. his reply was: "medjora, you have given me food for deep thought. i cannot at once decide whether you are the greatest charlatan, or the most advanced thinker in the world. i am inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. the other affair shall have my consideration. good-night!" "i thank you, judge," said the doctor, suavely, "and believe me that i speak with sincerest truth, when i assure you that your daughter's happiness is now, as it has always been, the chief aim of my life. i will accompany you to the carriage." having seen his friends depart, the doctor immediately sought the secret chamber again, and brought leon up to the laboratory, thence taking him to his room, where he awakened him, and chatted with him for a few minutes, after which he left him to go to rest. during the long ride home the judge and his daughter were both silent, each being lost in thought. the judge was endeavoring to disentangle from the maze of his recollection a history of the night's events which would appeal to his mind as reasonable. had agnes been asked to proclaim her thoughts she would have replied that she was "thinking of nothing special." yet in a dim indefinable way she was wondering how a woman could become so attached to a man, that she would be willing to yield her whole life and independence to him. she was, therefore, a little startled, when just before reaching home her father suddenly addressed her, saying: "agnes, my daughter, i wish you to answer a question. are you particularly interested in any young man? are you in love with any one?" "why, what a question, father! of course not!" she replied, with some asperity, the more so because she felt the blood mount to her face, and was annoyed at the idea that she was blushing. her father did not pursue the subject, but leaned back in his seat, mentally relieved. he thought that he had received satisfactory proof that, whatever the doctor might make agnes say under hypnotic influence, his spells could not enthrall her during her waking hours. the judge was not yet convinced of the doctor's suggestion theory. when agnes retired to rest, as she lay in her luxurious bed, her head pillowed on soft down, with silken cover, she began to seek for an explanation of that blush in the carriage, which she was so glad that the darkness had screened from the eyes of her father. she argued to herself that, as she did not love any one, and never would or could do so, she had answered quite truthfully the question which had been put to her. then why the blush? she had always understood a blush to be a sign of guilt or shame, and she was not conscious of either. she did not readily read the riddle, and while yet seeking to unravel it, she gently drifted away into dream-land. how long she wandered in this mystic realm without adventure worthy of recollection i know not, but at some hour during that night she experienced a sense of heavenly happiness. it seemed to her that she was walking along a trackless desert. the sun beat down heavily, withering up the shrubbery, and drying up all the moisture in the land. everything about seemed parched and dying except herself. she had a plentiful supply of water, and walked along without fatigue or suffering from the heat. presently she came to a stone, upon which sat an old woman, who looked at her and begged for water. agnes immediately took her water-bottle, and was about to place it to the lips of the old woman, when lo! she observed that the water had nearly all evaporated, so that only enough was left to slake the thirst of one person. at this she was surprised, having thought that there was a plenty, but not even for an instant did she consider the propriety of keeping the water for her own uses. without hesitation she allowed the old woman to drink all, to the last drop. in a second, the woman had disappeared, and in her place there was a most beautiful being, a fairy, as agnes readily recognized, from the many descriptions which she had heard and read. the fairy thus addressed her: "my dear, you have a kind heart, and shall be rewarded. presently you will leave this desert, and come into a garden filled with delicious flowers. choose one, and the wish that enters your heart as you pluck it shall be gratified. but of two things i must warn you. the flowers are all symbolic, and your wish can only be appropriate to the blossom of your choice. second, you can go through the garden but once; you cannot retrace your steps. so be careful how you decide." as the last words were uttered, the fairy vanished, and agnes walked on, hoping soon to enter the garden of promise. a mile farther, and the fragrance of many flowers was wafted towards her on a light zephyr which now tempered the heat of the sun. she hastened her steps, and very soon stood before a curiously carved gate made of bronze. as she approached, the gate opened, and admitted her, but immediately closed again behind her, thus proving the correctness of what the fairy had said. in all directions before her were rose-bushes in bloom, but she observed that the whole appeared like a huge floral patch-work quilt, because all of one kind had been planted together, so that great masses of each color was to be seen on every side. just before her the roses were all of snowy whiteness. she moved along a glittering path, and admired the flowers, ever and anon stooping over one more exquisite than its neighbors, and pressing her face close against its petals, inhaling its sweet fragrance. when she thus stooped over the largest and choicest which she had yet seen, a tiny sprite appeared amidst the petals, and, stretching out his arms invitingly, addressed her in a voice which reminded her of a telephone. "maiden fair, choose this blossom. pluck this bloom, and wear it in thy bosom forever. in return thou shalt be the purest virgin in all the world, for these roses are the emblems of chastity!" but, for reply, agnes shook her head gaily, and merely said: "all that you promise is mine already," and then passed on. the next were gorgeous yellow roses. they were rich in color and regal in form and stateliness, as on long stems each full-blown rose stood boldly forth above the bush of leaves below. again a sprite popped out his head, and oped his lips: "stop here, fair girl. pluck one of these, and thereby gain wealth and all that wealth implies. these are the symbols of gold!" "i want no more of wealth," said agnes, and again she refused the tempting offer. the next were roses of a size as great as those just left behind. there was just as much of fragrant beauty, too, or even more, perhaps, in these most glorious roses, just blushing pink. "choose one of us, dear girl, and beauty will adorn thy cheek forever more!" the little sprite invited, but once more agnes would not acquiesce, and so went on. what next appeared was somewhat puzzling. the bushes were filled with buds, but at first she could not find a single flower in full bloom. at last, however, she did espy just one, a rose of crimson color and luscious fragrance. with a strange yearning in her breast, she stooped, and almost would have plucked it, when, as she grasped the stem, a sharp pain made her desist. she looked at her hand and saw a drop of blood, of color which just matched the rose. a silvery laugh, like the ripple of a mountain brook, attracted her, and she looked up to see a little fellow, with bow and quiver, smiling at her from the centre of the flower. "fair maiden," said the sprite, "if thou wouldst taste the joy of paradise, the happiness which transcends all other earthly pleasure, choose one of these unopened buds. take it with thee to thy home, and nurse it as thou wouldst care for thine own heart. tend it, nourish it, and cherish it. then, in time, it will expand and unfold, and from its petals you will see emerge, not a tiny sprite like me, but the spirit face of one such as thou, though of other sex, who will arouse within thy breast that endless ecstacy which men call love. for these deep red roses are the emblems of love!" without hesitation agnes plucked the largest bud within her reach, unmindful of the pricking thorns which pierced her flesh, and then hurried on, passing the roses of wisdom, and many other flowers of great attractiveness. and as she ran the wish that surged up in her soul was that the words of the sprite might prove true, and that she might see that face: the face of him who was born to be her master; the one for whom she would slave, and be happy in her slavery. then it seemed that she was at home again, in her own room, and that the cherished bud was in her most beautiful vase. she thought that she supplied fresh water, placed the vase where the sun would kiss the bud for one full hour every day and in every way did all that she could devise to hasten its maturing. at last one morning, a tiny bit of color gladdened her eyes as the first tips of the petals burst from their sheath and pushed themselves out into the great world. from that hour, as the bud slowly unfolded, she felt within her heart a sympathetic feeling which was a pleasure and yet was painful too. it seemed as though the fate of the flower was interlaced with her own so tightly, that if it should die, why then no longer would she wish to live. and so she waited and watched and tended the blooming rose with anxious patience, awaiting that hoped-for day when the promise of the fairy, and the sprite, would be fulfilled. but the days went by, and at last the rose began to fade, and as the petals dropped away one by one, she felt an answering throb as she thought that her hope would die. at length, when half of the rose lay a shower of dead petals on the table around the vase, it seemed as though she could no longer endure the suspense. she became desperate, and determined to end it all by destroying the rose which had caused her such sweet hope, and such bitter disappointment. she grasped the flower and took it from the vase, but, as she essayed to crush it, her soul was filled with remorse and she hesitated. she gazed at it for a time, as tears filled her eyes, and finally with a sob of pain she began to dismember the bloom, plucking the petals one by one and throwing them idly in her lap. at last, only a half dozen remained about the heart of the flower, when in an instant she was amazed and overjoyed to see a face slowly emerge from amidst the stamens. at the same moment an overpowering fragrance welled up and enthralled her senses, so that she almost sunk into unconsciousness. then, as she knew that her hope was realized, that the fairy's promise was fulfilled, and that love was within her grasp, she leaned forward eagerly, to scan the feature of the face before her. it was but a miniature, but after a very brief scrutiny she readily recognized it, and knew that it was leon's. with a cry of surprise she awakened, while all the details of the dream were yet fresh within her mind. as the morning sun shed a ray across the features of agnes dudley, now freed from the bondage of sleep, it illumined a puzzled countenance. agnes could not quite understand the feelings which swayed her heart. the sense of gladness was new, as was also a dread anxiety which rose up, and almost suffocated her as she thought, "it is only a dream!" she had dreamed of love, and she had coupled leon with that idea in some way, but why should it disturb her to find that it was but a dream? surely she could not be in love with leon? of course not! the very thought was preposterous, even coming to her as it had, while she was asleep. springing out of bed she was astonished to find that it was already nine o'clock, for usually she was an early riser. she began dressing hurriedly, and rang for her maid. when the girl came she brought with her a beautiful bunch of red rosebuds, half blown. instantly agnes was reminded of her dream, but when she noted that a card was attached, and read upon it the words, "with the compliments of leon," she felt a blush creep over her face, neck, and shoulders, which made her for the first time in her life feel ashamed. she was ashamed because she thought that the maid might observe and understand her confusion, and she was very angry with herself to find that so simple a gift should so disturb her. she sent the maid away that she might once more be alone. then she read the card again, and noted the signature more closely. why should he sign only his first name? that was a privilege accorded only to very close friendship. it seemed presumptuous, that the first note received by her from this young man should be so signed. she certainly would show him that she resented what he had done. indeed she would! then, with an impulse which she did not analyze, she crushed the buds to her lips and kissed them rapturously. in another moment she realized what she was doing, and again a blush colored her fair skin, and as she observed it in her mirror, she exclaimed, half aloud: "a red blush, the symbolic color of love!" she paused, retreating before her own thought. but there was no repressing it. "do i love him?" she did not reply to this aloud, but the blush deepened so that she turned away from the glass, that she might hide the evidence of her own secret from herself. if the judge could have guessed what was passing through the mind of his daughter, he might have more fully respected the suggestion theory which doctor medjora had propounded to him. as it was, a night's sleep, and an hour's consideration of the matter on the following day, enabled him to conclude that there was nothing about which he need disturb himself. he had come to admit, however, that assuredly agnes was a wonderfully healthy and intellectual girl, and he was willing to accord some credit therefor to her association with his friend, the doctor. feeling consequently indebted to dr. medjora, he hastened to write to him that he would immediately take the steps necessary for his legal adoption of leon, and for giving the lad the name medjora. the receipt of this letter gratified the doctor very much, and for the rest of the day he was in high spirits. chapter xii. the marquis of lossy. with leon, the doctor's suggestion had worked differently, though none the less potently, despite the fact that the lad himself did not detect the symptoms, as did the girl. i think a woman's instincts are more attuned to the influences of the softer passions than are a man's. certainly it has been often observed that she will recognize evidences of love, which man passes by unnoted and unheeded. if a girl is quicker to discover that she is loved, she also admits sooner that she is in love, though the admission be made only to herself. thus, as we have seen, the doctor's charm operated upon agnes. when leon awoke that same morning, it was a sudden awakening from dreamless sleep. he recalled nothing of what had occurred during the previous night, nor had he even a suspicion that agnes had been in his thoughts at all. nevertheless he dressed himself with feverish haste, and, contrary to his usual custom, he left the house and went "for a walk," or so he explained his action to himself. yet very soon he had reached the nearest station of the suburban elevated railroad, and was rapidly borne towards the city. during this trip he thought that he was going to town to obtain some chemicals which he needed in the laboratory, but, as there was no immediate necessity for them, he might have delayed their purchase for several days. the truth was he was answering a scarcely recognized inward restlessness, which demanded action of some sort. the cause of this change from his normal habit was that "something was the matter" with him, as he afterwards expressed it. but at the time he did not seek an explanation of his mood. he did procure the chemicals, but having done so, instead of returning home, he walked aimlessly for several blocks, until he stopped, seemingly without purpose, before a florist's shop. in an instant he had formulated a design, "on the spur of the moment" he told himself, though it was but the outcome of the secret agency which controlled his whole conduct that day. he went in and purchased some rose-buds, selecting red ones, and he wrote the card which agnes found upon them. when he reached the signature he quickly scribbled "leon," and then he paused. the thought within his mind was, "i have no other name." therefore he did not continue. thus it is evident that the single signature was not a familiarity, either intended or implied, but a response to that feeling, ever within his consciousness, that he had no right to call himself "grath"! upon this point he was ever sensitive. he hastened to the judge's house and left the bouquet at the door. then he returned to villa medjora with a lighter heart, and, man-like, he wrongly attributed this to the ozone with which the morning air was laden. as yet he did not suspect that he had fallen in love. i wonder why we use the term "fallen" in this connection, as though the acquirement of this chief passion of the human heart were a descent, rather than an elevation of the soul, as it surely is. for one must be on a higher plane, from that moment when he abandons himself as the first consideration of his thoughts, and begins to sacrifice his own desires, that he may add to the pleasures of another. the first meeting between agnes and leon was one to which the former looked forward with anticipated embarrassment, while leon scarcely thought of it at all, until the moment came. but when they did meet, all was reversed. the girl was self-possession personified, while leon never before found words so tardily arriving to meet the demands of conversation. he went to his own room that night, and wondered what had come to him, that he should have been so disturbed in the presence of one for whom hitherto he had had rather a tolerance, because of her intellectuality, than any feeling of personal inferiority such as now occupied his thoughts. how could he be less than she? was he not a man, while she--she was only a woman? only a woman! ah! therein lies the mysterious secret of man's undoing; of his lifelong slavery, that the wants of woman shall be supplied. yet women prate of women's rights, deploring the fact that they are less than those, who, analysis would show, are but their slaves. from this time on, the bud of love in the hearts of these two young people advanced steadily towards maturity, and, before very long, agnes was living in a secret elysium of her own creation. she no longer questioned her own feelings. she freely admitted to herself that all her future happiness depended upon obtaining and enjoying leon's love. but she had come to be very sure of the fulfilment of her heart's desire, since leon's visits became more and more frequent, and his books and science apparently lost their power to allure him away from her side. the situation was very entertaining to her, who was so fond of analyzing and studying the intricate problems of life; and, to such as she, what could be happier occupation than probing the heart of him to whom she had intrusted her own? she thought she saw so plainly that he loved her, that it puzzled her to tell why it was that as yet he himself was not aware of this fact. but at last the awakening came. one pleasant afternoon in early summer, they were walking down fifth avenue, deeply engrossed in a discussion of another of correlli's novels. leon read novels in these days. he said he did so because it was so pleasant to discuss them with agnes. besides, he found that even in novels there might be something to learn. they were speaking of that excellent work, _thelma_. "i think that it is correlli's most finished work," agnes was saying; "but i am surprised at the similarity between it and black's novel, _the princess of thule_." "i have not yet read that. wherein lies the resemblance?" "in both books we find the story divided into three parts. first, the young englishman seeking surcease from the _ennui_ of fashionable society by a trip into the wild north country. black sends his hero to ireland, and correlli allows hers to visit norway. each discovers the daughter of a descendant of old time kings; the _princess of thule_ in one, and _thelma_, the daughter of the viking, in the other. the marriage ends the first part in each instance. in the second, we find the wedded couples in fashionable london society, and in each the girl finds that she is incongruous with her surroundings, and after bearing with it awhile, abandons the husband and returns to her old home, alone. the finale is the same in each, the husband seeking his runaway wife, and once more bringing her to his arms." "still, miss agnes,"--the formal "miss dudley" of the earlier days had been unconsciously abandoned--"what you have told is only a theme. two artists may select the same landscape, and yet make totally different pictures." "so they have in this instance, and i think that correlli's management of the subject is far in advance of black's, as beautiful and as touching as that master's story is. the death of the old viking transcends anything in _the princess of thule_. i do not at all disparage correlli's work, only--well--it is hard to explain myself--but i would be better pleased had there been no likeness between the two." "yet i have no doubt that it is accidental, or, if there was any imitation, that it was made unconsciously. i believe that a writer may recall what he has read long before, and clothing the idea in his own words, may easily believe that it is entirely original with himself. there is one speech which thelma makes, which i think most beautiful. you remember where the busy-body tries to make mischief by telling thelma that her husband has transferred his love to another? thelma replies, in substance, that if her husband has ceased to love her, it must be her own fault, and to illustrate her meaning she says that one plucks a rose, attracted by its fragrance, but when at last it is unconsciously thrown away, it is not because of fickleness, but rather because the rose having faded, has lost its power to charm, and so is cast aside. i think it was very touching for thelma to make such a comparison, charging herself with the fault of losing the love of her husband." "yes! it is very pretty and poetical, but like poetry in general, it is not very sensible. i think that if a man has enjoyed the attractions of his wife in her youthful days he should cherish her the more when her charms have begun to fade. there is quite a difference between a rose, which in losing its outward beauty loses all, and a woman who, however homely in feature, may still possess a soul as beautiful as ever." "indeed, miss agnes, i indorse your sentiments. such a man would be a brute. but thelma's husband was not of that mould. he was true to her." "yes," said agnes, smiling; "but thelma's charms had not faded, nor even begun to decline. her simile was inapt as applied to herself." "exactly! it was her heart, and not her head that gave birth to the beautiful sentiment. but i am sure that her husband would have loved her, however ugly she might have grown. i am sure that, in his place, i would have done so." "you? why, mr. grath, i thought that you told me you would never love any one?" she spoke the words with mischievous intent, and glanced at him archly, as she watched the effect of the speech. leon blushed and became confused. he was at a loss for words, but was relieved from the necessity of formulating an answer, by an occurrence which threatened to end in a tragedy. they were crossing a street at the moment, and so intent had they become upon their discourse, that they scarcely heard the warning cries of the excited people. a maddened horse was running away, and as at length leon was aroused to the imminence of some danger, intuitively, rather than by any well-defined recognition of what threatened, he gave one hasty glance in the direction from which the animal was approaching, and with a rapid movement he encircled agnes's waist with his arm, and drew her back, barely in time to escape from the horse and cab which rattled by. it was in this instant that leon's awakening came to him. in presence of a danger which threatened to deprive him forever of the girl beside him, he became suddenly aware of the fact that she was essential to his future happiness. at last he knew that he loved agnes, and from his silence as he took her home, and the tenderness of his tones at parting, agnes instantly knew that he had been aroused. she already began to look forward to their next meeting, and to wonder whether he would at once unbosom himself. she meant to help him as much as possible. poor fellow! he would be very much abashed, she had no doubt. she would not be coy and tantalizing as so many girls are. she thought that such affectation would be beneath her. her sense of justice forbade it. no! she would be very nice to him. she would show no signs of uneasiness as he floundered about seeking words. she would wait patiently for what he would say, and then, when he had said the words, why, then--well, then it would be time enough at that sweet moment to decide what to do. she would make him happy, at any rate. of that she was determined. there should be no ambiguity about her reply. and in this mood the girl awaited the wooing. leon did not sleep at all that night, or if he slumbered, it was only to dream of agnes. a hundred times he saw her mangled beneath the hoofs of that runaway horse, and suffered agonies in consequence; each time awakening with a start, to find beads of perspiration upon his brow. again his vision was more pleasing, and in dream-land he imagined himself united to agnes, and living happily ever afterward, as all proper books tell us that married lovers do. at last the day dawned, and with impatience he awaited that hour when with propriety he could call upon his sweetheart. he had a very good excuse, for by accident, (_sic?_) he had left his umbrella at the house the day before, and already it was growing cloudy. he might need it, and therefore of course he should go for it before it should actually begin to rain. it was scarcely noon when leon was announced to agnes, who was in her morning room, sipping a cup of chocolate, and wondering when he would come. and now he was here. she expected to find him _distrait_, and lacking in manner and speech, as she had seen him in the dawning of his passion. she was therefore wholly unprepared for what followed. if leon had been bashful in her presence when he did not comprehend the cause of his disconcertion, having discovered that he loved agnes, hesitation vanished. there was no circumlocution about his method at all. he was impulsive by nature, and, when a purpose was once well defined in his breast, he was impatient until he had put it into operation. thus, without even alluding to the umbrella which he had ostensibly made the object of his visit, in accounting for it to himself, he addressed agnes as follows: "miss agnes, i have scarcely slept all night because of what might have happened through my carelessness yesterday." "i do not understand you," said agnes, and indeed she did not. she saw, however, that he intended to speak very directly, and was herself disconcerted. "i mean the narrow escape which you had from being run over. i should have had my wits about me, and have prevented you from being in such danger." "you saved my life!" she spoke softly, and drooped her head. "i do not know. but for me it would not have been in need of saving. but if i did save your life, i know that i preserved what is dearest in all the world to myself. no! let me speak, please! i have awakened from a dream. i have lived in dream-land for many weeks, and i have not understood. i have been near you, and i have been happy, but in my stupidity i did not see that it was because of your companionship that i was happy. in the moment when i was in danger of losing you, i realized how great the loss would be. had you died, i must have died too. because--because, agnes, i, i, to whom the idea of love has always been repellent, i tell you that i love you. i love you with a species of worship which is enthralling. my whole being, my life, my soul is all yours. if you do not accept my love, then i have no further wish to live. speak! speak to me! i cannot wait longer. tell me that you love me, or--or merely nod your head, and i will go!" to such wooing as this how could woman answer? she had promised herself that she would not be ambiguous in speech, but now she learned that directness was demanded, and though her whole heart yearned for him, and she pitied the anguish which was born of his anxiety, she found it hard to say the words, which could not in honor be retracted. so, for a moment, she was silent, and he misunderstood. he thought that her hesitation was born of sympathy for him, and that she did not speak because she feared to cause him pain by refusing him. he felt a piercing throb of agony cross his heart, and his cheek paled. he reeled and would have fallen, for he had not seated himself, but he clutched the mantel for support. in a moment he mastered himself sufficiently to say hoarsely: "i do not blame you! i am a nameless vagabond, and have been presumptuous! good-bye!" he turned away and was leaving the apartment swiftly, when his steps were arrested by a cry that thrilled him through with joy that was as painful as his sorrow had been. "leon! leon! i love you!" agnes cried, arresting his departure, and, as he turned and came again towards her, she was standing upright, and herself made the movement which gave him the privilege of embracing her. by a singular chance, while they were thus enfolded in love's first rapturous clasp, and therefore oblivious of all the world except themselves, judge dudley, who had not yet left the house, entered the room. he saw them, but they did not observe him. instantly he realized that the doctor's scheme had borne fruition. he hesitated but for a moment, and then, stepping lightly, he went out of the room, and departed from the house. how often do our joys and sorrows approach us hand in hand? there comes a moment fraught with bliss; the draught is at our lips, and we take one lingering sip of ecstasy, when on a sudden the brimming glass is dashed aside, and a cloud of misery enshrouds us round about! thus it happened to leon. after an hour of joyous converse with agnes, now "his agnes," he started for home. arriving there, he ran lightly up the steps, as if treading on air. he was whistling a merry tune, as he opened the door of his room, and closed it again having entered. his mind was filled with ecstatic anticipation of what the future had in store for him. it did not seem possible that anything could happen to disturb the sweet current of his thoughts. yet a moment later he was arrested by the sound of a moan, an agonizing groan that filled his heart with dread. again it was repeated, and immediately he knew that it was lossy, who was suffering. he stooped and looked under the bed. there, indeed, was his fond animal friend, but around his mouth there was an ominous mass of foam. had the poor beast gone mad? with a pang of anxiety, leon drew the bedstead away from the wall, and went behind it to where lossy had dragged himself. one glance into the dog's eyes turned up to meet his with all the loving intelligence of his customary greeting, and leon dismissed the idea of rabies. tenderly he lifted the dog and carried him to a table near the window, upon which he made a bed with pillows. he wiped the foam from his lips, and as he did so lossy gently protruded his tongue and licked his master's hand. he also feebly wagged his tail, and endeavored to rise, but his exhausted condition prevented, and with a groan he dropped back and lay there crying piteously as a child might do. leon could not comprehend the trouble. "what is the matter with him?" he asked himself. "he certainly was well this morning." as he looked, the foam began to gather again, as lossy worked his lips in such a way as to eject the saliva from his mouth. suddenly the explanation came to leon. "aconite!" he cried aloud. "lossy has been poisoned! by whom? perhaps he got into the laboratory. but how? how did he get at the poison? oh! if i had only remained at home this morning!" but regrets for the past are ever impotent, and leon did not waste much time deploring what had gone before. he quickly procured some charcoal, and mixing it with milk administered it to his dog. the foaming ceased, and the beast seemed more comfortable, but it was questionable whether any permanent benefit would result from the use of the antidote. while leon sat watching his pet, with a growing pain gnawing at his heart as the conviction thrust itself upon him that the dog would die, his door opened and madame medjora appeared. coming forward she looked at lossy a moment, and then said: "do you think that the brute will die?" "i am afraid that he will," mournfully answered leon. "then why doesn't he die right off," she said. "it is several hours since i gave him the poison." "you gave him the poison?" exclaimed leon, springing up in wrath. "you poisoned lossy, and you dare to tell me of it?" "i dare to tell you? yes! i dare do anything that woman can do. i am a descendant of soldiers. the brute ate one of my lace handkerchiefs, and i was glad of the excuse to be rid of him. there! you know the truth now, what will you do about it?" as she uttered the words, madame drew herself up to the full height of her commanding figure, and it would have been a daring man who would have attacked her. but when even feeble men are urged on by rage, they do deeds which braver men would hesitate to attempt. utterly bereft of the restraining faculty of reason, by the information that his pet had been intentionally destroyed, leon sprang forward, and would have seized the proud neck of madame between his powerful hands, in an endeavor to carry out the desire to throttle her, which had forced itself upon his brain, but at that very instant dr. medjora came in, and, with a single glance, appreciating that the lad was beside himself, he rushed forward and held him firmly. "what does this mean, leon?" the doctor demanded. "she has poisoned lossy! let me go! i will kill her!" leon struggled fiercely to be free, but he found himself restrained by muscles which were like steel. the doctor, however, was himself tremendously moved by what he heard. addressing his wife he asked: "did you do that? does he speak the truth?" "i gave the beast poison. yes! what of it?" "then you are a wicked fiend, madame. leave the room!" "i will not!" replied madame, with energy. "leave the room, or else i will release the boy. go! go quickly whilst you may!" the doctor's tones were imperative, and as the woman looked into the faces of the two men, her courage left her, and with a muttered imprecation she hurried from the room. as the door closed after her, the doctor released leon, but by a swift movement intercepted him as he endeavored to escape from the apartment, and turning the key in the lock he took it out, and thus prevented leon from following his wife. "leon, my dear boy," said the doctor, in tones expressive of the deepest sympathy, "let us see what we can do for lossy. perhaps it is not too late to save him, and it is better to do that, than to vent your anger upon a woman." "a woman! do not call her by that name. she is a contamination to her sex. pardon my speaking so of your wife, doctor, but--but--she has murdered lossy. murdered my dog, just as i called such a deed murder, in the little story which i showed to you that day in the woods. do you remember?" "perfectly, but there can be no murder unless he dies. let me see!" "yes! yes! save him! use your wonderful knowledge to save this dumb brute, as i have seen you pluck infants from the brink of the grave. save my pet, my kind friend! save him and i will do anything for you! only save my lossy!" poor leon! this was the one love which had been his for so many years. how long he had taken comfort and pleasure in lavishing his affection upon his dog, who had learned to understand and obey his slightest nod. dr. medjora examined lossy carefully, and looked very grave. presently he looked up, and placing one hand tenderly on leon's head, he spoke softly: "be brave, my lad. many such bitter moments as this must be borne through life. you must meet them like a courageous man." "there is no hope?" sobbed leon. "none! he is dying now! see how faint his respirations are?" with a cry of anguish leon fell to his knees and gazed into his dog's eyes. he patted the head lying so limp and listless, and in response poor lossy made one feeble effort. he gazed back into his master's face, and leon ever afterward claimed that, in that last lingering look, he detected the living soul which was about to depart from his dying dog. lossy painfully opened his mouth and protruded his tongue so that it barely touched leon's hand in the old-time affectionate salutation, and the soul of the dog departed for that realm beyond the veil. leon leaned forward a moment, with his ear to the dog's heart, listening for an answering vibration, which would indicate that life yet lingered, but, receiving none, with a cry he fell forward to the floor and burst into uncontrollable sobs. doctor medjora, wise physician that he was, made no futile effort to restrain these tears, knowing them to be the best outlet for natural grief. with a glance filled with tender love for his _protégé_, he unlocked the door and passed out unobserved, leaving leon with all that remained of the marquis of lossy. chapter xiii. the discovery. early in the morning of the same day upon which leon had offered himself to agnes, madame medjora, reading her _herald_, had at last found the long-awaited personal, "come," the signal which she had arranged with the detective. immediately after breakfast, therefore, she had started forth to learn what had been discovered. arrived at the agency, she was at once ushered into the presence of mr. barnes. "well," said she, scarcely waiting to be seated, "what have you found out?" "i have learned everything," said mr. barnes, without any show of feeling. "you have? well, go on. why don't you tell me?" madame was very impatient, but the detective was in no hurry. "i have known what i have learned for over a week, madame medjora," said he slowly, "and during that time i have hesitated to send for you. even now, when you are here, i am not sure that i shall be doing the right thing to give you any information upon this subject, without first communicating with your husband." "ah! i see," said madame, with a sneer, "you think he would pay you better than i. you are mistaken. i have plenty of money. my own money. what is your price?" mr. barnes arose from his seat, in anger, but perfectly calm outwardly. as deferentially as though he were addressing a queen, he bowed and said: "madame, pardon me, but be kind enough to consider our interview at an end." "what do you mean? you wish me to go?" "precisely, madame. that is my wish." "but you have not yet told me--ah! i see! i have made a mistake. but you will pardon me, mr. barnes. i did not know. how could i? i judged you by what i have heard of detectives. but you are different. i see that now, and i ask your forgiveness. you will forget my stupid words, will you?" she extended her hand cordially, and appeared truly regretful. mr. barnes yielded to her persuasive influence, and sat down again. "madame medjora, i do not fully comprehend your motives in this matter. that is why i hesitate to speak." mr. barnes paused a moment. "suppose you answer one or two questions. will you?" "certainly! ask me what you please." "very well, madame! you married dr. medjora after his trial for murder. at that time he had little money. am i right, then, in concluding that you married him because you loved him?" "i loved him with my whole soul!" "and now, do you love him as well now?" mr. barnes scrutinized her closely, lest her words should belie her real feeling. but her answer was sincere. "i love him more now than i ever did. he is all the world to me!" "ah! i see!" mr. barnes communed with himself for a brief moment, then suddenly asked: "you have had no children, i believe?" madame grew slightly paler, and answered in a low tone: "none!" "just so! now then, madame, you of course recall the trial. it was more than hinted at that time that the doctor had a child by his first wife. did he ever tell you the truth about that?" "never!" "suppose that he had done so, and had confided to you the fact that rumor was right, and that there was a child. understand i am only supposing a case! but if so, what would you have done?" "i would have taken the little one, my husband's child, and i would have cherished it for its father's sake!" this was a deliberate lie, but madame uttered the words in tones of great sincerity. she was a very shrewd woman, and half-suspecting the object of the detective's questioning, did not hesitate to tell this falsehood in order to gain her own end. she succeeded, too, for after a few moments more, mr. barnes said: "after all, madame medjora, i am merely a detective, and it is my business to take commissions such as you have intrusted to me, and work them out. i will make my report to you. with the letter which you gave me it was easy enough to make a start. i found the writer, matilda grath, and a particularly unprepossessing old hag she is. as is readily seen by her letter, she is ignorant of even common-school knowledge. she is simply a rough product of her surroundings, and is as untutored as when she was born. but she had a younger sister, margaret, who was very different. this margaret was a very attractive girl, and having some ambition, attended school until she was fairly well educated. this her elder sisters called "putting on airs" and "flyin' in the face of the lord, tryin' to know more 'n her elders." margaret also had numerous beaux, and this was another source of irritation to her sisters. finally there came a young man to the neighborhood, and in the language of the people thereabout, margaret "set her cap" for him. however, he did not marry her, but after he had left the vicinity, margaret went to boston, where she remained several months. when she returned she brought a baby back with her. that baby was leon." "then he was her child?" "the gossips said so, but there is no doubt in my mind that he was not. he was the child of the man to whom she had given her heart, but the mother was his lawful wife." "then why was the baby given to margaret grath?" "because the mother died, and the father was tried for murdering her!" "my god! you mean that----" "i mean that leon's father is your husband, dr. medjora!" "impossible!" madame wished to disbelieve exactly what she had always suspected to be the truth. "what i tell you is fact. i never do anything by halves. in the first place i had a hint of the truth from your own suspicions. you of course had little to go on, but you loved your husband, and when a jealous eye watches the relation between the beloved one and another, it will see much. i had no doubt that you had taken your idea from your observation of the love which the doctor bestowed upon his _protégé_. next i noted the coincidence of the dates. margaret grath appeared with the child a very few months prior to the death of mabel sloane. but i obtained substantial proofs." "what are they?" "matilda grath is an avaricious old woman. her letter was in the nature of blackmail. she did not actually know that the doctor is the boy's father, but she adopted that idea merely from the fact that he appeared upon the scene as soon as the guardian died. then at the auction, it appears that there was a squabble over the possession of a collie dog, and the doctor settled the dispute by purchasing the animal, and presenting it to leon." "oh! he did that?" madame was inwardly incensed, but she quickly suppressed any expression of her emotion. "yes! old miss grath thought this was 'queer.' then when she subsequently learned, what she did not at first know, that leon had been taken into the doctor's home, her doubts vanished. this accounts for her allusion to the doctor in the letter, and the reason why she did not write again, was that she had no proof with which to substantiate her suspicions. i instituted a search, however, and unearthed a package of old letters in a worm eaten writing-desk, upon which no bid had been offered at the auction, so that it had been thrown into the waste bin in the barn. among these i found two, which were from the doctor, alluding to the boy, and also a photograph of himself sent at the earnest solicitation of margaret grath, as one letter explains. i suppose he thought that this was the least repayment he could make for a lifelong sacrifice." "you have those letters?" asked madame, with some anxiety. "i have them here," answered the detective. "do you wish them?" "i do!" "i will give them to you upon one condition,--that you give them to your husband. they are perhaps more valuable to leon, as the only evidence which would prove that he is the doctor's son. but as the doctor has taken him into his house, it is evident that he means to provide for him." "i will accept your terms. my husband shall know what you have told me, and i will give him the letters to-night." "with that understanding, i give them into your custody." he handed a packet to madame, who quickly placed it in her hand-satchel. then she arose to depart. handing him a check already signed she said: "please fill in the amount of my indebtedness to you." mr. barnes took the check, wrote "five hundred dollars" on the proper line, and handed it back to madame medjora. "will that be satisfactory?" he asked. "quite!" she answered shortly, and left the office. having accomplished her purpose she had no further need to assume a friendliness which she did not feel. all the way home this woman's heart grew more and more bitter because of the jealous thoughts that rankled in her breast. her love for her husband was of that selfish sort, that exacted all for herself. she wished not only to be first in his affections, but she desired to be second, third, and last. he must not love any other than herself, unless indeed it might have been a child of hers. having been denied that boon, she could not bear to think that he had been the father of a child not hers. she hated that dead mother, and lacking opportunity to vent her spite in that direction, she transferred her venom to her offspring. she had never liked leon, but now she despised him utterly. she thought of lossy, the dog which her husband had bought and presented to leon. that the doctor should have been so solicitous for the lad, galled her. the dog had always been an object upon which she would vent her spite when it could not be known, but now she would give some open evidence of her displeasure. as she entered the hallway at home, imagine her delight to see lossy, poor dog, sitting down idly tearing a fine lace handkerchief with his teeth. it seemed to her that providence offered her an excuse for what she contemplated. she called the dog to her, and the faithful, unsuspecting creature followed her up the stairs to his doom. she went into the laboratory, knowing that both the doctor and leon were out, and readily found a bottle marked "aconite." she sat upon a low bench and called lossy. the confiding beast went to her, and, raising himself, planted his forepaws in her lap. he would have kissed her face, but she prevented him. grasping his jaws in her powerful hands she forced them open, and poured the entire contents of the bottle into his mouth, holding his jaws apart until he was forced to swallow the liquid. then she released him, and he ran to that asylum of refuge and safety, his master's room. alas, that master was away, courting! thus lossy's fate was sealed! madame awaited for leon's return, anxious to gloat over his grief at the death of his pet, and it was for this, and to carry out another design, that she went to his room while he was ministering to his dog. before she could fulfil her other project her husband, having returned home, interrupted them, having been attracted by the noise from leon's room. when she left them madame went to her own apartment, and after the death of the dog, dr. medjora followed her there, determined to discover the whole truth. as he entered she arose to meet him, facing him with an undaunted air. "cora," demanded the doctor, "how dared you commit such a hideous crime? why did you poison that dog?" "because it was my pleasure to do so!" "your pleasure to deprive a poor dumb brute of life? you should be ashamed to make such a confession!" "i am not the only one who might make confessions!" "what do you mean?" the doctor instantly realized that a covert threat lay hidden in her words. "you have deceived me," cried his wife, at last giving full play to her anger. "for years you have lied to me. but at last i know everything. i know who leon is!" "do you?" the man was exasperatingly calm. he folded his arms and, gazing coldly upon the wrathful woman, added, "what is it that you think you know?" "i do not think! i tell you i know! you brought him here, calling him a poor boy whom you wished to befriend. that was a lie! he is your own child!" "how do you know that?" "i hired a detective. he found out the whole hideous truth. i have your letters for proof, so you need not attempt denial." "so you have found letters? are they genuine? let me see them?" "i am not such a fool as that. i have hidden them where you cannot find them. i have a better use for them than to give them to you!" "indeed, and may i ask what use you intend to make of them?" "i mean to take them to judge dudley, and to his daughter agnes! ha! that idea does not please you, does it?" "with what purpose would you show them the letters?" "i know what you are aiming at! i am not the fool that you think! i have studied you, and watched you all these years, and i understand you very well. you wish leon and agnes to be married?" "i do! what of it?" "what of it? it shall never be! that shall be my vengeance for your long deception. i will prevent that marriage if it cost me my life!" "if you dare to interfere with my plans it may cost you your life!" the words were said in threatening tones, which at any other time would have cowed madame, but now she had thrown aside her mask, and could not be stayed from her purpose. she answered haughtily, and with a tantalizing sneer: "no! no! my fine doctor! you cannot rid yourself of me, as you did of mabel sloane! i will not drink your poison!" "woman! beware!" he grasped her wrists, but with a wrench she freed herself, and stepping back spoke wildly on: "yes! you can strangle me perhaps! you are strong, and i am only a woman. but, before i die, i will frustrate your grand scheme to marry this miserable son of yours to an aristocrat. when i tell judge dudley that the boy is yours, he will hesitate to admit the son of a murderer into his family. for though he obtained your acquittal, and though he has been your friend for so many years, mark me, he will decline an alliance with one who was so near the gallows!" she paused to note the effect of her words, a slight fear entering her heart, as she thought that perhaps she had said too much. to her amazement, her husband, without answering a single word, turned and left the room. leon lay beside his dog so long, that at last the twilight closed in, and slowly the light of day faded until darkness surrounded him. he heard the strokes upon the japanese bronze which summoned him to dinner, but he did not heed. it seemed to him that he would never care to eat again. through the weary hours of the night leon was struggling against suggestion. it will be remembered that, in his little story, he likened the killing of a dog to murder. therefore in his opinion the killing of lossy, was a murderous act; and thus the thought of murder occupied his mind. he considered madame a self-confessed criminal, and, as such, justice demanded that she should be punished. but the justice of man did not include her act within the statutes of the criminal code. she had killed lossy, but, were he to demand her punishment at the hands of the law, the law's representatives would laugh at him. but punished she should be, of that he was already determined. if it seem to you that leon over-estimated the wrong which had been done to him, then one of two things is true. either you have never loved and been loved by a dog, or else you forget that the love lavished upon him by lossy was all the affection which leon had enjoyed for years. to the lad, his collie was his dearest friend. in the grief for his death he had even forgotten for the time his human love, agnes. thus it was that the idea of meting out justice against madame himself, having once entered his mind, took a firm hold upon him. how should he accomplish it? what should her punishment be? what is the usual punishment of murder? death! a chill passed over him at the thought. yet was not lossy's life as dear to him, as madame medjora's was to her? then why should not she lose her life in payment for the crime which she had committed, her victim being a defenceless and confiding dog? leon pictured to himself how she had accomplished the deed. he saw, in his mind, the poor creature going to her, and thus placing himself within her power. the thought maddened him, and setting his teeth together he muttered audibly: "she shall die!" then his brain sought some way to compass such an end with safety to himself, and before long he had concocted a scheme of devilish ingenuity. his knowledge of chemistry warned him that poisons could be traced in the tissues of the body after death, and that such means would be suicidal. "but suppose she were to die a natural death? then, not even suspicion would be aroused." that was the idea. he must convey to her the germs of some deadly disease from which she would be apt to die. then the _post-mortem_ would show nothing out of the common. there would be no way to detect how the disease had been contracted. the attending physician would certify that the death was due to a known disease, and an autopsy, if held, would substantiate his statements. what disease should he choose? asiatic cholera? he had some pure cultures in a tube in the laboratory. but no! that would not serve his purpose. cholera is such an uncommon and dangerous malady, that the board of health would strictly investigate a sporadic case. it might not be difficult to trace the fact that he had obtained the germs from the european laboratory whence they had been sent to dr. medjora for experimental purposes. it would be safer to select some disease of frequent occurrence. he had the germs of diphtheria also, in the form of a pure culture. should he use them? it would not be sure that the woman would die, but at any rate she might, and surely she would suffer. yes! he would cause her to contract diphtheria. but how to proceed? ah! he would use chloroform upon her in her natural sleep, and thus obtain the opportunity for his inoculation. and so the idea grew, and his plans were arranged and perfected hour after hour, until at last midnight had arrived. stealthily he left his room and went towards the doctor's study. arrived there, he was about to cross and enter the laboratory, when his attention was attracted by a line of light under the door. some one was evidently in the laboratory. leon slipped behind a curtain and waited. the minutes passed tediously, but at last the door opened, and there appeared dr. medjora, only partly dressed, his feet slippered. in one hand he carried a night lamp, and in the other he held a bottle and a test tube. of this leon was certain. closing the door of the laboratory, the doctor crossed the study and went out into the hall. leon stole after him, and saw him start up the stairs. he watched until, as the doctor ascended, the light gradually disappeared. then he heard footsteps overhead, and knew that the doctor had gone to his own room. madame slept at the other end of the dwelling. "some experiment which he is studying out," muttered leon, and proceeded with his own grim purpose. he went into the laboratory, and lighted a lamp which was on the bench. he searched the closet where the drugs were kept, but the chloroform bottle was missing. he turned to the rack where he had left the tube in which the diphtheria bacillus had been cultivated, but that also could not be found. in a moment, realizing that the means of committing the contemplated crime had in some mysterious way been taken from him, he awoke from the delirium of his thoughts, which had been brought on by his grief at the death of his dog, and he fervently thanked the fortune which had saved him from committing murder. like a culprit, he returned stealthily to his room, head down, and there he sat at the window, looking out at the stars, grateful that he could do so, free from that dread secret which might have been his. he was saved! on the next morning, however, leon was horrified to hear that madame had been suddenly taken ill, and that the malady was diphtheria, in its most virulent form. he could not understand it, but he was more than glad that his own conscience was free from stain. two days later, madame medjora succumbed to the disease, which is often fatal when it attacks one of her age; and so she went to her long account, with her sins upon her head. chapter xiv. sanatoxine. mr. barnes was sitting in his office, looking listlessly over his morning paper, when his eye suddenly met a headline announcing the death of madame medjora. instantly his interest was aroused, and he read the account with avidity until he reached the statement that the disease of which madame had died was diphtheria. then he put his paper down upon his desk, slapped his hand upon it by way of emphasis, and ejaculated: "foul play, or my name is not barnes!" he remained still for a few moments, thinking deeply. then he resumed his reading. when he had reached the end, he started up, gave a few hurried instructions to his assistant, and went out. he visited the academy of medicine and obtained permission to enter the library, where he occupied himself for a full hour, making a few memoranda from various books. next he proceeded in the direction of villa medjora, and arriving there he asked to see leon grath. leon entered the reception-room in some surprise, and seeing mr. barnes he asked: "is your errand of importance? we have death in the house." "it is in connection with the death of madame medjora that i have called to see you, mr. grath. i am a detective!" the effect of this announcement was electrical. leon turned deathly pale, and dropped into a seat, staring speechless at his visitor. mr. barnes also chose to remain silent, until at last leon stammered forth: "why do you wish to see me?" "because i believe that you can throw some light upon this mysterious subject." "mysterious subject? where is the mystery? the cause of madame's death is clearly known!" "you mean that she died of diphtheria. yes, that is a fact. but how did she contract that disease? is that clearly known? can you throw any light upon that phase of the question?" leon controlled his agitation with great difficulty. he had thought, when urged on by that terrible temptation which he had resisted, that a death such as this would arouse no suspicion. yet here, while the corpse was yet in the house, a detective was asking most horribly suggestive questions. questions which had haunted him by day and by night, ever since that visit to the laboratory. "i am not a physician," at length he murmured. "i am merely a student." "exactly! you are a student in the laboratory of dr. medjora. you can supply the information which i seek. do you know whether, three days ago, there was a culture of the bacillus of diphtheria in the doctor's laboratory?" "why do you ask? what do you suspect?" leon was utterly unnerved, and stammered in his utterance. he made a tremendous effort, in his endeavor to prevent his teeth from chattering, and barely succeeded. indeed, his manner was so perturbed that for an instant mr. barnes suspected that he was guilty of some connection with madame's death. a second later he guessed the truth, that leon's suspicion's were identical with his own. "what i think," said mr. barnes, "is not to the point. my question is a simple one. will you reply to it?" "well, yes! we did have such a culture tube in the laboratory." "did have," said the shrewd detective, quickly. "then it is not there now. where is it?" "i do not know. i think the doctor took it away. of course he used it in some harmless experiment, or--or--or--or for making slides for the microscope." "you mean that you surmise this. all you know is that doctor medjora took the tube out of the laboratory. am i not right? now when did that occur? you saw him take it, did you not?" leon stared helplessly at his tormentor for a moment, great beads of perspiration standing on his brow. then starting to his feet he exclaimed: "i will not answer your questions! i have said too much! you shall not make me talk any more," and with a mad rush he darted from the room, and disappeared upstairs. mr. barnes made no effort to arrest his flight. indeed he sympathized with the lad, well comprehending the mental torture from which he suffered. he pondered over the situation awhile, and finally appeared to have decided upon a plan of action. he took a card from his case, and wrote upon it these words: "mr. barnes, detective, would like to see dr. medjora, concerning the coincidence of the death of his two wives. this matter is pressing, and delay useless." this he placed in an envelope which he took from a desk that stood open, and then he touched a gong, which summoned a servant. "hand this to dr. medjora, immediately. i will await a reply here." ten minutes elapsed, and then the servant returned, and bidding mr. barnes follow him, led the way to the laboratory. here dr. medjora received the detective, as though he were a most welcome visitor. "so, mr. barnes," said the doctor, opening the conversation, "you have attained your ambition, and are now a full-fledged detective. i have read something of your achievements, and have watched your progress with some interest. i congratulate you upon your success." "dr. medjora," said the detective, with much dignity, "the object of my visit is so serious that i cannot accept flattery. we will proceed to business, if you please." "as you choose! let me see! from your card, i judge that you fancy that there is some suspicious circumstance about my late wife's death. you speak of a coincidence which connects hers with that of my first wife. what is it?" "both died of diphtheria," said mr. barnes, impressively. "you are entirely mistaken, sir," said the doctor, with a touch of anger. "my first wife, mabel, died of morphine, self-administered, and fatal because of other organic disease from which she suffered. she did not die of diphtheria." "a physician so testified, and signed a death certificate to that effect." "he did, but he was mistaken. physicians are mortal as other men are, and as liable to errors of judgment. i repeat, mabel died of poison." "well, we will pass that for a moment. your last wife died of diphtheria, and she did not contract that disease legitimately." "no? you interest me. pray then how did she contract it?" "by inoculation with the bacillus of diphtheria, dr. medjora, and you administered this new form of poison, which an autopsy does not disclose." "quite an ingenious theory, mr. barnes, and i admire your skill in evolving it. it shows what an enterprising detective you are. you think that if you make a discovery of this nature, you will cover yourself with glory. only you are wrong. i did not do what you charge. why should i wish to kill my wife?" "because she had discovered your secret!" "what secret?" "that leon is the child of mabel sloane and yourself!" "mabel medjora, you mean," said the doctor, sternly. "when a woman marries, she assumes her husband's name." the doctor was apparently very jealous of the good name of his first wife. mr. barnes was amazed at this exhibition of feeling. the doctor continued, as though soliloquizing: "so you are the detective that my wife engaged? strange fatality! very strange!" he walked up and down the room a few times, and then confronted the detective. "mr. barnes," said he, "it is evident that you and i must have a serious and uninterrupted conversation. leon may come in here at any moment. will you accompany me to a room below, where we will be safe from intrusion?" "certainly!" dr. medjora raised the trap-door, which revealed the secret stairway, and started down. mr. barnes arose to follow him, saying: "you are taking me to some secret apartment, doctor. i will go with you, but this trap must be left open, and i warn you that i am armed." "you need no weapons, mr. barnes. no danger will threaten you. my purpose in taking you below is entirely different from what you have in your mind." at the foot of the stairway he turned aside from the crypt of �sculapius, and led the way into the secret chamber in which the hypnotic suggestion of love had been put into operation. at this time it appeared simply as an ordinary room, the staging and curtains having been removed. "be seated, mr. barnes," said the doctor, "and listen to me. you are laboring under a misapprehension, or else you have not told me all that you know. a most curious suspicion has been aroused in your mind. upon what facts is it based?" "perhaps it will be best for me to explain. i must again refer to the fact that your first wife was supposed to have died of diphtheria. your second wife falls a victim to the same malady. it is uncommon in adults. this of itself might be but a coincidence. but when i know that, on a given day, i revealed to your wife the truth about leon, which you had carefully hidden from her for so many years, and when i subsequently discover that madame was attacked by this disease on the very night following her visit to my office, suspicion was inevitable." "as you insist upon going back to that old case, let me ask you how you can suppose that i induced the disease at that time?" "just as you have done now. by using the diphtheria bacillus." "you forget, or you do not know, that the bacillus of diphtheria was not discovered until klebs found it in , and the fact was not known until löffler published it in . now my wife died in ." "true, these scientists made their discoveries at the time which you name, but i feel certain that you had anticipated them. you are counted the most skilful man of the day, and i believe that you know more than has been learned by others." "your compliment is a doubtful one. but i will not dispute with you. i will grant, for the sake of argument, that your suspicion is natural. you cannot proceed against me merely upon suspicion. at least you should not do so." "my suspicion is shared by another, whose mind it has entered by a different channel." "who is this other?" "your son!" "what do you say? leon suspects that i have committed a crime? this is terrible! but why? why, in the name of heaven, should he harbor such a thought against me?" the doctor was unusually excited. "he saw you take the culture tube, containing the bacillus, out of the laboratory." "you say leon saw me take a culture tube from the laboratory?" the doctor spoke the words separately, with a pause between each, as though stung by the thought which they conveyed. mr. barnes merely nodded assent. "then the end is at hand!" muttered the doctor, softly. "all is ready for the final experiment!" mr. barnes did not comprehend the meaning of what he heard, but, as the doctor walked about the room, back and forth, like a caged animal, seemingly oblivious of the fact that he was not alone, the detective thought it wise to observe him closely lest he might attack him unawares. presently the doctor stopped before the detective, and thus addressed him, in calm tones: "mr. barnes, you are shrewd and you are clever. you have guessed a part of the truth, and i have decided to tell you everything." "i warn you," said mr. barnes, quickly, "that what you say will be used against you." "i will take that risk!" the doctor smiled, and an expression akin to weariness passed over his countenance. "you have said that, in your belief, as early as , i knew of the bacillus of diphtheria, and that i inoculated my wife with it. you are right, but, nevertheless, you are mistaken when you say that she died from that malady. i must go further back, and tell you that the main source of my knowledge has been some very ancient hieroglyphical writings, which recorded what was known upon the subject by the priests of centuries ago. much that is novel to-day, was very well understood in those times. the germ theory of disease was thoroughly worked out to a point far in advance of what has yet been accomplished in this era. the study required to translate and comprehend the cabalistic and hieroglyphical records has been very great, and it was essential that i should test each step experimentally. about the time of mabel's death i had discovered the germ of diphtheria, but i found that my experiments with the lower animals were very unsatisfactory, owing to the fact that it does not affect them and human beings in a precisely similar manner. i therefore risked inoculating my wife." "that was a hideous thing to do," ventured mr. barnes. "from your standpoint, perhaps you are right. but i am a unique man, occupying a unique position in the world. to me alone was it given to resurrect the buried wisdom of the past. even if i had known that the experiment might be attended by the death of my wife, whom i loved dearer than myself, i still would not have been deterred. science transcended everything in my mind. death must come to us all, and a few years difference in the time of its arrival is surely immaterial, and not to be weighed against the progress of scientific research. but i was confident that the disease, thus transmitted, would not prove fatal. that is, i was sure that i could effect a cure." "but it seems that you did not do so. the woman died." "she died from poison. i carefully attended her during her attack of diphtheria, until an unlooked-for accident occurred. i became ill myself. it was not an ailment of any consequence, but i felt that it would be safer to call in assistance, and i placed the case in the hands of dr. fisher. he afterwards stupidly called in dr. meredith. however, despite their old fogy methods, she made a good rally and was on the safe side of the crisis, when that hypodermic case was left temptingly within her reach. i think now that she shammed sleep, in order to distract my attention from her. morphine _habitués_ are very cunning in obtaining their coveted drug. however that may be, i was suddenly aroused to the fact that there was a movement in the bed, and turning my head, i saw her pushing the needle of the syringe under her flesh. i sprang up and hastened to her, but she had made the injection, and dropped back to the pillows, when i reached her. she had not withdrawn the needle, and i was in the act of doing that, when the nurse entered." "then you adhere to the story which you told upon the stand?" "certainly! it is the truth!" "but, doctor," said mr. barnes, "you have not, even yet, proven that she did not die of diphtheria." "she did not! i tell you it was the morphine that deprived her of life. i know it! she died of poison! there is no question about that!" thus the doctor, though admitting that he had produced the diphtheria, persistently asseverated that mabel had not succumbed to its influence. thus is explained his not advancing the theory of diphtheria as a cause of death, when arranging his defence, at the trial. to have escaped the gallows in that manner, would have been to burden his conscience with the murder of the woman whom he loved, for if she died of diphtheria, while he must have escaped conviction by the jury, he would know within his own heart that it was his hand that deprived her of life. mr. barnes replied: "but there is a question in this last case. madame died of diphtheria, and since you admit that you can produce it by inoculation, what am i to believe?" "i care not what you believe," said the doctor, sharply, "so long as you can prove nothing." "well, then, since you do not care," said the detective, nettled, "let me tell you that i believe you deliberately planned to kill your last wife. what is more, i do not doubt that a jury would adopt my views." "in that you are utterly mistaken. were i considering myself alone, i would permit you to accuse me, feeling perfectly confident that i would be in no danger." "you are a bold man!" "not at all! where there is no danger, there can be no special bravery. why, my dear mr. barnes, you have no case at all against me. in your own mind you think that there is ample proof, but much of what you know could not be offered to a jury. you are aware of the fact that the diphtheria bacillus was known to me prior to my first wife's death, and so you trace a connection between the two cases. but my lawyer would merely show that the discovery was made ten years after mabel died, and any further allusion to my first trial would be ruled out. i know enough about law, to know that previous crimes, or accusations of crime, cannot be cited unless they form a part of a system, and as your idea of induced diphtheria could not be substantiated, all of that part of your evidence would be irrelevant." "that would be a question for the presiding judge to decide." "if he decide other than as i have stated, we would get a new trial on appeal. the law is specific, and the point is covered by endless precedents. now then, obliged to confine yourself to positive evidence in the present case, what could you do? you think you could show a motive, but a motive may exist and not be followed by a crime, and your motive is weak besides. next, you declare that i had the knowledge and the opportunity. i might have both, and still refrain from a murder. but you say that the tube containing the bacillus was missing from my laboratory on that very night, and that my son, leon, saw me take it. i think that you have formed a rash conclusion on this point, because i doubt that leon has told you any such thing. however, granting that it is true, and even that the boy would so testify, i am sure that he would admit under cross-examination that it is a common habit for me to take such tubes to my room to make slides for the microscope." the detective recalled that leon had made this same explanation, and he realized that the doctor had made a valuable point in his own defence. dr. medjora continued: "we would produce the slides which i did actually make, and, being warned by you so early, it would be easy for me to remain in your company until i could send for an expert to examine the slides, so that at the trial he would be able to testify, that from the condition of the balsam he could swear that they had been very recently made. thus, by admitting all of the damaging parts of your evidence, and then explaining them so that they become consistent with the hypothesis of innocence, we would feel safe. you would still be at the very beginning of your case. it would devolve upon you to show that i not only made the slides, but that i likewise used a part of the contents of that tube to inoculate my wife. you would need to show how such an act were possible. you have no witness who saw me commit the deed which you charge, have you?" "no," said mr. barnes, reluctantly. "but i still think that the circumstantial evidence is sufficient." mr. barnes felt sure that this man was guilty, and however skilfully his defence was planned he was reluctant to yield. "it is sufficient!" said dr. medjora, "not to convict me at a trial by jury, but to raise a doubt of my innocence in the minds of those, whose good will i am determined not to forfeit. therefore i will not submit to a trial." "how will you escape? i intend to arrest you!" "you intend to arrest me, but your intention will not be carried into effect. i mean to place myself beyond the reach of the law." "you do not contemplate suicide?" asked mr. barnes, alarmed. "not at all! there is no object in such an act, and good reason why i should not resort to it. you do not comprehend my position, and i must explain it to you, because i must depend upon you for assistance." "you expect assistance from me?" mr. barnes was puzzled. "certainly, and you will grant it. i must tell you that for many years i have planned a scheme which is now on the verge of accomplishment. i wish my son leon to marry agnes dudley. i had some difficulty to obtain my friend's consent, but since he has discovered that the young people love one another, he has acquiesced. only to-day he told me this. but if he was reluctant, when leon's parentage was unknown, he would be more so, were he to learn that i am his father." "but i thought that judge dudley was your warm friend?" "he is! but even strong friendships have a limitation, beyond which they must not be tried. judge dudley would strenuously argue that i am innocent of the old charge. his friendship for me, and his pride at winning his first great case, would prompt him thus. but were he to hear your suspicions, like you, he would believe that both women died similarly, and he would not only be apt to accept your theory of madame's death, but he might also come to think that i had murdered mabel also." "so! you admit there is some potency in my charge, after all." "you would fail with a jury, but you would convince judge dudley, and that would forever prevent him from consenting to this marriage. he would move heaven and earth to stop his daughter from marrying the son of one whom he believed to be a murderer. thus you see the disaster that threatens, if you pursue your course. you would blast the lives of two people, who love one another." "duty cannot consider sentiment!" said mr. barnes, though in his heart he was already sorry that he suspected, and that he had followed up his suspicion. "leon now troubles himself because he does not known who his father is," continued the doctor, without noticing what mr. barnes had said. "it would be far worse for him to know his father, and then believe him to be a murderer, and even that he had himself supplied a clue against him. it would be too horrible! agnes too would suffer. she might abandon her love, from a sense of duty to her father, but her heart would be broken, and all the bright promises of her youth crushed. no! no! it must not, it shall not be!" the doctor became excited towards the end, and mr. barnes was startled at his manner. "what will you do?" he asked, feeling constrained to say something. "place myself beyond the reach of the law, as i said before. but not by suicide, as you suggested. do you not see that my only reason for avoiding the trial which would follow your accusation is, that i do not wish the knowledge to reach those three persons, in whose welfare my whole heart is centred? suicide would be a confession of guilt. it is the hackneyed refuge of the detected criminal who lacks brains, and of the story writer, who, having made his villain an interesting character, spares the feelings of his readers by not sending him to prison, or to the gallows. nor do i contemplate flight, because the effect would be the same." "then how do you purpose evading the law?" mr. barnes was intensely interested, and curious to know the plans of this singularly resourceful man. "the law cannot reach the insane, i believe," said the doctor, calmly. "you surely do not suppose that you can deceive the experts by shamming madness?" asked mr. barnes, contemptuously. "we are too advanced in science, in these days, to be baffled long by malingerers." "observe me, and you will learn my purpose!" dr. medjora went to a closet and returned with a hammer, a large staple, and a long chain. mr. barnes watched him closely, with no suspicion of what was to follow. the doctor stopped at a point immediately opposite to the door, and stooping, firmly fastened the chain to the floor by nailing it down with the large staple, which was long enough to reach the beam under the boarding. he then stood up again. taking a hypodermic syringe from his pocket, and also a small phial, he carefully filled the barrel, and was about to inject the fluid into his arm, when mr. barnes ejaculated: "i thought that you said you would not commit suicide?" "i have no such intention. in one moment i will explain my purpose to you. meanwhile watch me!" with dexterous skill he plunged the point into one of the larger veins, and discharged the fluid carefully, holding a finger over the wound as he withdrew the needle to prevent any escape. if mr. barnes was astonished by this, he was more surprised at what followed. the doctor stooped and picked up the ends of the chain, which the detective now observed terminated in handcuffs. these the doctor slipped over his wrists, and snapping together the spring locks, thus virtually imprisoned himself. "what does this mean?" said mr. barnes. "i do not understand." "of course not," said the doctor. "you are accustomed to deal with brainless criminals. despite your boast, science is beyond you. i will explain: my object in thus chaining myself to the floor, is to insure your safety." "my safety?" "yes! in less than half an hour i will be a raving maniac. if not restrained, i might do you an injury." "impossible!" cried the detective, incredulous. "you will see! i ask in exchange for my thoughtfulness in preventing myself from harming you, that when i shall have become irresponsible, you will suggest the idea that i felt this attack of insanity coming on, and took these precautions for the sake of others. will you do this?" "certainly! if----" mr. barnes stopped, confused by his thoughts. "there is no if about this. i do not deal in chances. i have never yet made an error, and you will see that my prediction will be fulfilled. but time, precious time, is passing, and i have much to say before i lose my reason. you have heard of hydrophobia, have you not? and of pasteur's experiments?" "yes! i have read what the newspapers have said." "the investigators in this field have discovered that the virus of this disease is located in the brain, spinal marrow, and nerves of infected animals. they have also extracted the virus, and by inoculation produced hydrophobia in other animals. along similar lines i have extensively experimented in connection with insanity. in the first place, i argued that insanity is due to a specific poison, a toxalbumen, and that this poison is a result of parasitical action. if i could isolate that poison, and the germ which causes it, i would understand the etiology of insanity. the discovery of an antidote would then be an almost assured consequence. to be able to cure insanity, would be a proud distinction for the discoverer of the method. i am convinced that i have the secret almost within my grasp. the preparation which i have injected into my veins is a formula of my own. i have named it 'sanatoxine'!" "sanatoxine?" "yes! the word means 'poison to sanity,' and my sanatoxine will produce insanity, unless i have made some mistake, which is unlikely. hereafter, when the proper antitoxine shall have been discovered, it will be a simple matter to cure insanity. the patient will be given a proper dose of sanatoxine, to convert his malady into a curable form of the disease, and then the antitoxine will counteract the poison which has deprived him of the use of his reasoning faculties." "if you have made such a wonderful discovery," said the detective, "then you should not destroy your own reason, thereby depriving the world of the benefits of your knowledge. in this you commit a greater crime than that with which you stand charged!" "do i? suicide is a crime within the definitions of the penal code, but there has been no enactment against self-inflicted insanity. but i must tell you how sanatoxine is produced, and then explain how posterity may yet benefit by my discovery. one of the curable forms of insanity is delirium tremens. the worst of these cases are truly maniacal neuroses. i have seen a man die of such an attack, and a few minutes later i removed his brain and spinal marrow. these i macerated, and from them i extracted the virus which is the cause of the malady. i have inoculated the lower animals with it, and i have seen results which satisfy me that my deductions are correct. this cannot be absolutely known, however, until my sanatoxine is tried on human beings. that important step in the advancement of science has just been made. if i become insane, my theory will have ample proof. for the future, leon must complete my work. among my papers he will find my views and formulas. it is inevitable that he will solve the riddle." "but you sacrifice yourself, merely to test an experiment? you introduce into your own system a preparation abstracted from such a horrible source! it is fearful to think about!" "let me see," said the doctor, consulting his watch. "ten minutes have passed, and there is scarcely a rise of temperature. singular!" he mused over the problem for a moment, and a shade of anxiety passed across his features, as he murmured, "what if i have made a mistake? no! no! it is impossible! utterly impossible!" reassured he turned again to mr. barnes: "i mentioned awhile ago that i should need your assistance. you have said that i make a sacrifice. from the ordinary standpoint that is true, though not from my own. suicide would have brought me death, an experience for which i yearn, with a longing based upon scientific curiosity, which perhaps you cannot comprehend. but i am equally desirous of knowing by personal experience what it means to be insane. death will come to me in time, therefore i need not interfere, but insanity might never have been my lot, had i not pursued the course which i have followed. to-morrow you will be obliged to explain what you have witnessed, and the favor i ask is this. do not render my self-sacrifice useless, by relating to others those horrible suspicions, the consequences of which i am so desirous of escaping. be as merciful as the law, and keep silent that the innocent may not suffer. may i count upon you to do this?" "dr. medjora, i cannot yet believe that you will succeed in this horrible experiment; but if you do, of course i would not harm others by arousing useless suspicions. if you escape from the law, you need have no fear of what i should do." "i thank you from the bottom of my heart." again he consulted his watch. "twenty minutes gone, and still no alteration. what if i should fail? no! no! failure is impossible! mr. barnes, another matter. my son is my natural heir, but i do not wish him to know it. even without your story, judge dudley might hesitate to let leon marry his daughter, if he knows him to be son of mine. there may be a doubt against me lurking in some corner of his brain, which would be vivified if he learned my secret. you will not reveal it?" "no!" "i thank you. the boy will not suffer. i have left a will in his favor, and there is another paper making him the guardian of my estates should i lose my reason. you see i have contemplated my experiment for a long time, and all my preparations are complete. the judge has arranged to give leon my name legally. so all will be well! all will be well! all my plans successful! i lose my reason without complaint! but, time is passing, and my reason remains! a horrible thought comes over me! i have made a mistake! by all the eternal torments, i have made a mistake, and here i am chained up so that it is impossible for me to rectify the error! they say i am an egotist, yet i have so little remembered my own mental superiority, that i actually have thought that a dose of sanatoxine which would unseat the reason of an ordinary man, would effect me. fool! fool! fool! how could i forget that i, emanuel medjora, the wizard, am not as other men? how can my reason be destroyed by so small a dose as that which i have taken? but stop! there may be yet one chance! there may be more in the phial! where is it?" his excitement increased as he gave vent to his thoughts aloud, as though mr. barnes were not present. now he looked eagerly about, and at last saw the bottle at some distance from him on the floor. mr. barnes also saw it, and stepped forward to pick it up. instantly the doctor sprang towards him, grasping the hammer which had lain within his reach. "touch that phial at your peril!" he screamed. "i will brain you as mercilessly as i would a rat! that phial is mine! its contents are mine! valuable only to me and to science! my experiment must succeed! it must! it must! it shall!" glaring at mr. barnes, who stood back awed by his threatening attitude, the doctor moved towards the bottle, but, as he stooped to reach for it, the chains tightened and impeded his progress. "the chains! i had forgotten the chains! ha! i have never forgotten before! perhaps my reason is yielding already! no! no! i feel that i have full sway over all my faculties! i must have that phial!" he stooped to his knees, and stretched and writhed and twisted, in his efforts to reach the bottle. but ever it was just beyond his grasp. "i will have it! i will! i will!" he muttered, gritting his teeth with such force that one of them was broken. but he took no heed of the accident. down on his back he turned, and, by a wriggling motion, soon lay extended at full length, his feet reaching as far as the chains about the wrists permitted, his arms being stretched backward beyond his shoulders. he could now reach the bottle with his feet, but it was impossible for him to see it, the position of his arms rendering it very difficult for him to hold his head and shoulders high enough from the floor, so that his own body would not impede his vision. however, he did accomplish his purpose, and mr. barnes was amazed to see him at last clutch the phial with his two feet. then began a series of contortions which were painful to see. with the utmost care the doctor drew his feet slowly up, dragging the phial nearer and nearer, meanwhile crying out in a sort of hysteria: "it is mine! i will have it! i will succeed! the wizard never failed! never! never! no! no! never! never!" once, as he moved his feet, the phial slipped from them and rolled away again. "come back!" he shrieked. "come back! stop! stop!" he cried, as though addressing a living thing. it ceased to roll, and with a cry of joy he found that he could still reach it. again he slowly worked it towards him. inch by inch he managed the coveted phial, until at last he assumed another position. springing up from the floor he reached backward with one foot and touched it. "now it is mine! mine! mine!" his voice was shrill, and there was a passionate tone of exultation that smote mr. barnes to the heart. it was terrible to stand by and see the desperate effort which this man made to accomplish that from which all men shrink in horror. slowly the doctor proceeded with his task, until at last he was able to reach the phial with his hands. swiftly stooping, as a hawk descends upon its prey, he grasped the little bottle. "ha! ha! ha! i have it! it is mine! the wizard never fails!" his laugh of joy had scarcely died away, before he uttered a most terrific shriek, and threw the phial from him, crying: "empty! great god! it is empty!" he stood silent and motionless for a moment. then his eyes turned in the direction of mr. barnes, and he glared at him in such a way that the detective felt uncomfortable. suddenly he burst forth with a tirade of abusive language. "you! you are the cause of all this! you are the prying miscreant that has made all my trouble! i will have your life! i will drag you into the crypt of my great ancestor, and tear out your heart on the stone of sacrifice that still exists in there!" he dashed forward with such force that the chains, reaching their limit suddenly, jerked him back so violently that he fell. as he did so his hand chanced to touch the hammer, which he had laid aside while trying to secure the bottle. with a shriek of joy that made mr. barnes shiver, he sprang up, holding the hammer aloft. "i am chained! chained! but you shall not escape! take that!" swiftly he hurled the hammer, but mr. barnes, suspecting his purpose, dropped to his knees, and the missile went harmlessly over his head. "balked! balked! i have failed! but i am the wizard and i will succeed! ha! ha! ha!" his laugh now filled the room. "you wonder how! i am chained and you think that you are safe! ha! ha! ha! you are a fool! you do not know me! i am emanuel medjora! i am powerful. i will rend these chains, and then your life shall pay!" he turned, and wrapping the chains around his two arms, he braced his feet against the floor, and tugged with all his might. he pulled, and swayed from side to side. he savagely jerked the chains, and then again he grasped one with both hands, but his efforts appeared to be in vain. but so much power did he display, that, as his back was turned, mr. barnes decided that it would be safer to prepare for flight. he therefore cautiously advanced towards the door, and there paused, ready, however, to dart out on the instant should it be necessary. still the doctor tugged and jerked and rattled the chains, shrieking and laughing demoniacally at intervals. presently, with a shout of triumph, he did burst one of the chains. turning towards mr. barnes, he shouted: "you see! i am the wizard! i do what i please! you did not think that i could break it! ha! ha! ha! you do not know emanuel medjora! he accomplishes what he wills! the will controls the muscles, and the mind controls the will! but now through my brain a liquid fire courses that makes my mind doubly powerful! i feel that i am getting stronger every moment! in another second i will snap this last chain as easily as you would break a cord! then, then,--ha! ha! ha! i'll have your heart out! ha! ha! ha! i have an idea! i'll kill you now!" he rushed forward as far as the remaining chain would permit, and extending the other arm, to which dangled the end of the chain which he had broken, he drew it back and then switched the dangling links viciously towards mr. barnes, narrowly missing him. as he saw that even now he could not reach the detective, he uttered a cry of rage, and again and again endeavored to strike him with the dangling chain. but it was useless. mr. barnes was beyond his reach. finally, with a cry of despair, the doctor threw himself in a heap upon the floor, now weeping, now laughing, and shrieking madly: "they say i am a wizard! ha! ha! ha! a wizard! i a wizard, and i cannot kill a man! such a simple thing, and yet i cannot do it! a wizard! i a wizard! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" his sanatoxine experiment had proven successful. dr. emanuel medjora was a maniac! the end. works by r. ottolengui. an artist in crime mo, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . "one may safely say that it ranks with the best detective novels yet published in this country."--_boston times._ "'an artist in crime' is the best detective story which has been published in several years."--_new haven palladium._ a conflict of evidence mo, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . "this particular book is the best of its kind, and just what its title sets forth.... it is a masterpiece of consistent theory and will bear reading any time and any place."--_omaha excelsior._ a modern wizard mo, paper, cts.; cloth, $ . g. p. putnam's sons, new york & london. transcriber's note all apparent printer's errors retained. produced from images generously made available by the internet archive.) domesday book spoon river anthology by edgar lee masters some press opinions "one of the greatest books of the present century."--_nation._ "the 'spoon river anthology' has certain qualities essential to greatness--originality of conception and treatment, a daring that would soar to the stars, an instant felicity and facility of expression."--c. e. lawrence in _the daily chronicle_. "mr. edgar lee masters will become a classic ... so close-packed is the book's pregnant wit, so outspoken its language, so destructive of cant and pharisaism and the veneer of the proprieties, so piercingly true in insight."--edward garnett in _the manchester guardian_. "it is a remarkable book and it grips."--_daily telegraph._ "this book is of a quality that will endure.... mr. masters has been daring with the certainty of success."--_liverpool daily post._ "a quite remarkable volume of verse ... quite masterly."--_sphere._ "its reality, ingenuity, irony, insight, and vision are unique."--_bookman._ domesday book by edgar lee masters author of "spoon river anthology," etc. london eveleigh nash company limited copyright in the u. s. a. by the macmillan company _printed in the united states of america_ to my father hardin wallace masters splendid individual of a passing species--an american contents page domesday book the birth of elenor murray finding of the body the coroner henry murray mrs. murray alma bell to the coroner gregory wenner mrs. gregory wenner dr. trace to the coroner irma leese miriam fay's letter archibald lowell widow fortelka rev. percy ferguson dr. burke charles warren, the sheriff the governor john scofield gottlieb gerald lilli alm father whimsett john campbell and carl eaton at fairbanks anton sosnowski consider freeland george joslin on la menken will paget on demos and hogos the house that jack built jane fisher henry baker, at new york loveridge chase at nice the major and elenor murray at nice the convent barrett bays elenor murray the jury deliberates the verdict domesday book domesday book take any life you choose and study it: it gladdens, troubles, changes many lives. the life goes out, how many things result? fate drops a stone, and to the utmost shores the circles spread. now, such a book were endless, if every circle, riffle should be traced of any life--and so of elenor murray, whose life was humble and whose death was tragic. and yet behold the riffles spread, the lives that are affected, and the secrets gained of lives she never knew of, as for that. for even the world could not contain the books that should be written, if all deeds were traced, effects, results, gains, losses, of her life, and of her death. concretely said, in brief, a man and woman have produced this child; what was the child's pre-natal circumstance? how did her birth affect the father, mother? what did their friends, old women, relatives take from the child in feeling, joy or pain? what of her childhood friends, her days at school, her teachers, girlhood sweethearts, lovers later, when she became a woman? what of these? and what of those who got effects because they knew this elenor murray? then she dies. read how the human secrets are exposed in many lives because she died--not all lives, by her death affected, written here. the reader may trace out such other riffles as come to him--this book must have an end. enough is shown to show what could be told if we should write a world of books. in brief one feature of the plot elaborates the closeness of one life, however humble with every life upon this globe. in truth i sit here in chicago, housed and fed, and think the world secure, at peace, the clock just striking three, in europe striking eight: and in some province, in some palace, hut, some words are spoken, or a fisticuff results between two brawlers, and for that a blue-eyed boy, my grandson, we may say, not even yet in seed, but to be born a half a century hence, is by those words, that fisticuff, drawn into war in europe, shrieks from a bullet through the groin, and lies under the sod of france. but to return to elenor murray, i have made a book called domesday book, a census spiritual taken of our america, or in part taken, not wholly taken, it may be. for william merival, the coroner, who probed the death of elenor murray goes as far as may be, and beyond his power, in diagnosis of america, while finding out the cause of death. in short becomes a william the conqueror that way in making up a domesday book for us.... of this a little later. but before we touch upon the domesday book of old, we take up elenor murray, show her birth; then skip all time between and show her death; then take up coroner merival--who was he? then trace the life of elenor murray through the witnesses at the inquest on the body of elenor murray;--also letters written, and essays written, conversations heard, but all evoked by elenor murray's death. and by the way trace riffles here and there.... a word now on the domesday book of old: remember not a book of doom, but a book of houses; domus, house, so domus book. and this book of the death of elenor murray is not a book of doom, though showing too how fate was woven round her, and the souls that touched her soul; but is a house book too of riches, poverty, and weakness, strength of this our country. if you take st. luke you find an angel came to mary, said: hail! thou art highly favored, shalt conceive, bring forth a son, a king for david's throne:-- so tracing life before the life was born. we do the same for elenor murray, though no man or angel said to elenor's mother: you have found favor, you are blessed of god, you shall conceive, bring forth a daughter blest, and blessing you. quite otherwise the case, as being blest or blessing, something like perhaps, in that desire, or flame of life, which gifts new souls with passion, strength and love.... this is the manner of the girl's conception, and of her birth:--... the birth of elenor murray what are the mortal facts with which we deal? the man is thirty years, most vital, in a richness physical, of musical heart and feeling; and the woman is twenty-eight, a cradle warm and rich for life to grow in. and the time is this: this henry murray has a mood of peace, a splendor as of june, has for the time quelled anarchy within him, come to law, sees life a thing of beauty, happiness, and fortune glow before him. and the mother, sunning her feathers in his genial light, takes longing and has hope. for body's season the blood of youth leaps in them like a fountain, and splashes musically in the crystal pool of quiet days and hours. they rise refreshed, feel all the sun's strength flow through muscles, nerves; extract from food no poison, only health; are sensitive to simple things, the turn of leaves on trees, flowers springing, robins' songs. now such a time must prosper love's desire, fed gently, tended wisely, left to mount in flame and light. a prospering fate occurs to send this henry murray from his wife, and keep him absent for a month--inspire a daily letter, written of the joys, and hopes they have together, and omit, forgotten for the time, old aches, despairs, forebodings for the future. what results? for thirty days her youth, and youthful blood under the stimulus of absence, letters, and growing longing, laves and soothes and feeds, like streams that nourish fields, her body's being. enriches cells to plumpness, dim, asleep, which stretch, expand and turn, the prototype of a baby newly born; which after the cry at midnight, taking breath an hour before,-- that cry which is of things most tragical, the tragedy most poignant--sleeps and rests, and flicks its little fingers, with closed eyes senses with visions of unopened leaves this monstrous and external sphere, the world, and what moves in it. so she thinks of him, and longs for his return, and as she longs the rivers of her body run and ripple, refresh and quicken her. the morning's light flutters upon the ceiling, and she lies and stretches drowsily in the breaking slumber of fluctuant emotion, calls to him with spirit and flesh, until his very name seems like to form in sound, while lips are closed, and tongue is motionless, beyond herself, and in the middle spaces of the room calls back to her. and henry murray caught, in letters, which she sent him, all she felt, re-kindled it and sped it back to her. then came a lover's fancy in his brain: he would return unlooked for--who, the god, inspired the fancy?--find her in what mood she might be in his absence, where no blur of expectation of his coming changed her color, flame of spirit. and he bought some chablis and a cake, slipped noiselessly into the chamber where she lay asleep, and had a light upon her face before she woke and saw him. how she cried her joy! and put her arms around him, burned away in one great moment from a goblet of fire, which over-flowed, whatever she had felt of shrinking or distaste, or loveless hands at any time before, and burned it there till even the ashes sparkled, blew away in incense and in light. she rose and slipped a robe on and her slippers; drew a stand between them for the chablis and the cake. and drank and ate with him, and showed her teeth, while laughing, shaking curls, and flinging back her head for rapture, and in little crows. and thus the wine caught up the resting cells, and flung them in the current, and their blood flows silently and swiftly, running deep; and their two hearts beat like the rhythmic chimes of little bells of steel made blue by flame, because their lives are ready now, and life cries out to life for life to be. the fire, lit in the altar of their eyes, is blind for mysteries that urge, the blood of them in separate streams would mingle, hurried on by energy from the heights of ancient mountains; the god himself, and life, the gift of god. and as result the hurrying microcosms out of their beings sweep, seek out, embrace, dance for the rapture of freedom, being loosed; unite, achieve their destiny, find the cradle of sleep and growth, take up the cryptic task of maturation and of fashioning; where no light is except the light of god to light the human spirit, which emerges from nothing that man knows; and where a face, to be a woman's or a man's takes form: hands that shall gladden, lips that shall enthrall with songs or kisses, hands and lips, perhaps, to hurt and poison. all is with the fates, and all beyond us. now the seed is sown, the flower must grow and blossom. something comes, perhaps, to whisper something in the ear that will exert itself against the mass that grows, proliferates; but for the rest the task is done. one thing remains alone: it is a daughter, woman, that you bear, a whisper says to her--it is her wish-- her wish materializes in a voice which says: the name of elenor is sweet, choose that for her--elenor, which is light, the light of helen, but a lesser light in this our larger world; a light to shine, and lure amid the tangled woodland ways of this our life; a firefly beating wings here, there amid the thickets of hard days. and to go out at last, as all lights do, and leave a memory, perhaps, but leave no meaning to be known of any man.... so elenor murray is conceived and born. * * * * * but now this elenor murray being born, we start not with her life, but with her death, the finding of her body by the river. and then as coroner merival takes proof her life comes forth, until the coroner traces it to the moment of her death. and thus both life and death of her are known. this the beginning of the mystery:-- finding of the body elenor murray, daughter of henry murray, the druggist at leroy, a village near the shadow of starved rock, this elenor but recently returned from france, a heart who gave her service in the world at war, was found along the river's shore, a mile above starved rock, on august th, the day year , lasalle set sail for michilmackinac to reach green bay in the _griffin_, in the winter snow and sleet, reaching "lone cliff," starved rock its later name, also la vantum, village of the tribe called illini. this may be taken to speak the symbol of her life and fate. for first this elenor murray comes into this life, and lives her youth where the rock's shadow falls, as if to say her life should starve and lie beneath a shadow, wandering in the world, as cavalier lasalle did, born at rouen, shot down on trinity river, texas. she searches for life and conquest of herself with the same sleepless spirit of lasalle; and comes back to the shadow of the rock, and dies beneath its shadow. cause of death? was she like sieur lasalle shot down, or choked, struck, poisoned? let the coroner decide. who, hearing of the matter, takes the body and brings it to leroy, is taking proofs; lets doctors cut the body, probe and peer to find the cause of death. and so this morning of august th, as a hunter walks-- looking for rabbits maybe, aimless hunting-- over the meadow where the illini's la vantum stood two hundred years before, gun over arm in readiness for game, sees some two hundred paces to the south bright colors, red and blue; thinks off the bat a human body lies there, hurries on and finds the girl's dead body, hatless head, the hat some paces off, as if she fell in such way that the hat dashed off. her arms lying outstretched, the body half on side, the face upturned to heaven, open eyes that might have seen starved rock until the eyes sank down in darkness where no image comes. this hunter knew the body, bent and looked; gave forth a gasp of horror, leaned and touched the cold hand of the dead: saw in her pocket, sticking above the pocket's edge a banner, and took it forth, saw it was joan of arc in helmet and cuirass, kneeling in prayer. and in the banner a paper with these words: "to be brave, and not to flinch." and standing there this hunter knew that elenor murray came some days before from france, was visiting an aunt, named irma leese beyond leroy. what was she doing by the river's shore? he saw no mark upon her, and no blood; no pistol by her, nothing disarranged of hair or clothing, showing struggle--nothing to indicate the death she met. who saw her before or when she died? how long had death been on her eyes? some hours, or over-night. the hunter touched her hand, already stiff; and saw the dew upon her hair and brow, and a blue deadness in her eyes, like pebbles. the lips were black, and bottle flies had come to feed upon her tongue. 'tis ten o'clock, the coolness of the august night unchanged by this spent sun of august. and the moon lies dead and wasted there beyond starved rock. the moon was beautiful last night! to walk beside the river under the august moon took elenor murray's fancy, as he thinks. then thinking of the aunt of elenor murray, who should be notified, the hunter runs to tell the aunt--but there's the coroner-- is there not law the coroner should know? should not the body lie, as it was found, until the coroner takes charge of it? should not he stand on guard? and so he runs, and from a farmer's house by telephone sends word to coroner merival. then returns and guards the body. here is riffle first: the coroner sat with his traveling bags, was closing up his desk, had planned a trip with boon companions, they were with him there; the auto waited at the door to take them to catch the train for northern michigan. he closed the desk and they arose to go. just then the telephone began to ring, the hunter at the other end was talking, and told of elenor murray. merival turned to his friends and said: "the jig is up. here is an inquest, and of moment too. i cannot go, but you jump in the car, and go--you'll catch the train if you speed up." they begged him to permit his deputy to hold the inquest. merival said "no," and waived them off. they left. he got a car and hurried to the place where eleanor lay.... now who was merival the coroner? for we shall know of elenor through him, and know her better, knowing merival. the coroner merival, of a mother fair and good, a father sound in body and in mind, rich through three thousand acres left to him by that same father dying, mother dead these many years, a bachelor, lived alone in the rambling house his father built of stone cut from the quarry near at hand, above the river's bend, before it meets the island where starved rock rises. here he had returned, after his harvard days, took up the task of these three thousand acres, while his father aging, relaxed his hand. from farm to farm rode daily, kept the books, bred cattle, sheep, raised seed corn, tried the secrets of devries, and burbank in plant breeding. day by day, his duties ended, he sat at a window in a great room of books where lofty shelves were packed with cracking covers; newer books flowed over on the tables, round the globes and statuettes of bronze. upon the wall the portraits hung of father and of mother, and two moose heads above the mantel stared, the trophies of a hunt in youth. so merival at a bay window sat in the great room, felt and beheld the stream of life and thought flow round and through him, to a sound in key with his own consciousness, the murmurous voice of his own soul. along a lawn that sloped some hundred feet to the river he would muse. or through the oaks and elms and silver birches between the plots of flowers and rows of box look at the distant scene of hilly woodlands. and why no woman in his life, no face smiling from out the summer house of roses, such riotous flames against the distant green? and why no sons and daughters, strong and fair, to use these horses, ponies, tramp the fields, shout from the tennis court, swim, skate and row? he asked himself the question many times, and gave himself the answer. it was this: at twenty-five a woman crossed his path-- let's have the story as the world believes it, then have the truth. she was betrothed to him, but went to france to study, died in france. and so he mourned her, kept her face enshrined, was wedded to her spirit, could not brook the coming of another face to blur this face of faces! so the story went around the country. but his grief was not the grief they told. the pang that gnawed his heart, and took his spirit, dulled his man's desire took root in shame, defeat, rejected love. he had gone east to meet her and to wed her, now turned his thirtieth year; when he arrived he found his dear bride flown, a note for him, left with the mother, saying she had flown, and could not marry him, it would not do, she did not love him as a woman should who makes a pact for life; her heart was set for now upon her music, she was off to france for study, wished him well, in truth-- some woman waited him who was his mate.... so merival read over many times the letter, tried to find a secret hope lodged back of words--was this a woman's way to lure him further, win him to more depths? he half resolved to follow her to france; then as he thought of what he was himself in riches, breeding, place, and manliness his egotism rose, fed by the hurt: she might stay on in france for aught he cared! what was she, anyway, that she could lose such happiness and love? for he had given in a great passion out of a passionate heart all that was in him--who was she to spurn a gift like this? yet always in his heart stirred something which by him was love and hate. and when the word came she had died, the word she loved a maestro, and the word like gas, which poisons, creeps and is not known, that death came to her somehow through a lawless love, or broken love, disaster of some sort, his spirit withered with its bitterness. and in the years to come he feared to give with unreserve his heart, his leaves withheld from possible frost, dreamed on and drifted on afraid to venture, having scarcely strength to seek and try, endure defeat again. thus was his youth unsatisfied, and as hope of something yet to be to fill his hope died not, but with each dawn awoke to move its wings, his youth continued past his years. the very cry of youth, which would not cease kept all the dreams and passions of his youth wakeful, expectant--kept his face and frame rosy and agile as he neared the mark of fifty years. but every day he sat as one who waited. what would come to him? what soul would seek him in this room of books? but yet no soul he found when he went forth, breaking his solitude, to towns. what waste thought merival, of spirit, but what waste of spirit in the lives he knew! what homes where children starve for bread, or starve for love, half satisfied, half-schooled are driven forth with aspirations broken, or with hopes or talents bent or blasted! o, what wives drag through the cheerless days, what marriages cling and exhaust to death, and warp and stain the children! if a business, like this farm, were run on like economy, a year would see its ruin! but he thought, at last, of spiritual economy, so to save the lives of men and women, use their powers to ends that suit. and thus when on a time a miner lost his life there at leroy, and when the inquest found the man was killed through carelessness of self, while full of drink, merival, knowing that the drink was caused by hopeless toil and by a bitter grief touching a daughter, who had strayed and died, first wondered if in cases like to this good might result, if there was brought to light all secret things; and in the course of time, if many deaths were probed, a store of truth might not be gathered which some genius hand could use to work out laws, instructions, systems for saving and for using wasting spirits, so wasted in the chaos, in the senseless turmoil and madness of this reckless life, which treats the spirit as the cheapest thing, since it is so abundant. thoughts like these led merival to run for coroner. the people wondered why he sought the office. but when they gave it to him, and he used his private purse to seek for secret faults, in lives grown insupportable, for causes which prompted suicide, the people wondered, the people murmured sometimes, and his foes mocked or traduced his purpose. merival the coroner is now two years in office when henry murray's daughter elenor found by the river, gives him work to do in searching out her life's fate, cause of death, how, in what manner, and by whom or what said elenor's dead body came to death; and of all things which might concern the same, with all the circumstances pertinent, material or in anywise related, or anywise connected with said death. and as in other cases merival construed the words of law, as written above: all circumstances material or related, or anywise connected with said death, to give him power as coroner to probe to ultimate secrets, causes intimate in birth, environment, crises of the soul, grief, disappointment, hopes deferred or ruined. so now he exercised his power to strip this woman's life of vestments, to lay bare her soul, though other souls should run and rave for nakedness and shame. so merival returning from the river with the body of elenor murray thought about the woman; recalled her school days in leroy--the night when she was graduated at the high school; thought about her father, mother, girlhood friends; and stories of her youth came back to him. the whispers of her leaving home, the trips she took, her father's loveless ways. and wonder for what she did and made of self, possessed his thinking; and the fancy grew in him no chance for like appraisal had been his of human worth and waste, this man who knew both life and books. and lately he had read the history of king william and his book. and even the night before this elenor's body was found beside the river--this he read, perhaps, he thought, was reading it when elenor was struck down or was choked. how strange the hour whose separate place finds merival with a book, and elenor with death, brings them together, and for result blends book and death!... he knew by domesday book king william had a record of all the crown's possessions, had the names of all land-holders, had the means of knowing the kingdom's strength for war; it gave the data how to increase the kingdom's revenue. it was a record in a case of titles, disputed or at issue to appeal to. so merival could say: my inquests show the country's wealth or poverty in souls, and what the country's strength is, who by right may claim his share-ship in the country's life; how to increase the country's glory, power. why not a domesday book in which are shown a certain country's tenures spiritual? and if great william held great council once to make inquiry of the nation's wealth, shall not i as a coroner in america, inquiring of a woman's death, make record of lives which have touched hers, what lives she touched; and how her death by surest logic touched this life or that, was cause of causes, proved the event that made events? so merival brought in a jury for the inquest work as follows: winthrop marion, learned and mellow, a journalist in chicago, keeping still his residence at leroy. and david borrow, a sunny pessimist of varied life, ingenious thought, a lawyer widely read. and samuel ritter, owner of the bank, a classmate of the coroner at harvard. llewellyn george, but lately come from china, a traveler, intellectual, anti-social searcher for life and beauty, devotee of such diversities as nietzsche, plato. also a reverend maiworm noted for charitable deeds and dreams. and isaac newfeldt who in his youth had studied adam smith, and since had studied tariffs, lands and money, economies of nations. and because they were the friends of merival, and admired his life and work, they dropped their several tasks to serve as jurymen. the hunter came and told his story: how he found the body, what hour it was, and how the body lay; about the banner in the woman's pocket, which coroner merival had taken, seen, and wondered over. for if elenor was not a joan too, why treasure this? did she take joan's spirit for her guide? and write these words: "to be brave and not to flinch"? she wrote them; for her father said: "it's true that is her writing," when he saw the girl first brought to merival's office. merival amid this business gets a telegram: tom norman drowned, one of the men with whom he planned this trip to michigan. later word tom norman and the other, wilbur horne are in a motor-boat. tom rises up to get the can of bait and pitches out, his friend leaps out to help him. but the boat goes on, the engine going, there they fight for life amid the waves. tom has been hurt, somehow in falling, cannot save himself, and tells his friend to leave him, swim away. his friend is forced at last to swim away, and makes the mile to shore by hardest work. tom norman, dead, leaves wife and children caught in business tangles which he left to build new strength, to disentangle, on the trip. the rumor goes that tom was full of drink, thus lost his life. but if our elenor murray had not been found beside the river, what had happened? if the coroner had been there, and run the engine, steered the boat beside the drowning man, and wilbur horne--what drink had caused the death of norman? or again, perhaps the death of elenor saved the life of merival, by keeping him at home and safe from boats and waters. anyway, as elenor murray's body has no marks, and shows no cause of death, the coroner sends out for dr. trace and talks to him of things that end us, says to dr. trace perform the autopsy on elenor murray. and while the autopsy was being made by dr. trace, he calls the witnesses the father first of elenor murray, who tells merival this story: henry murray henry murray, father of elenor murray, willing to tell the coroner merival all things about himself, about his wife, all things as well about his daughter, touching her growth, and home life, if the coroner would hear him privately, save on such things strictly relating to the inquest, went to coroner merival's office and thus spoke: i was born here some sixty years ago, was nurtured in these common schools, too poor to satisfy a longing for a college. felt myself gifted with some gifts of mind, some fineness of perception, thought, began by twenty years to gather books and read some history, philosophy and science. had vague ambitions, analyzed perhaps, to learn, be wise. now if you study me, look at my face, you'll see some trace of her: my brow is hers, my mouth is hers, my eyes of lighter color are yet hers, this way i have of laughing, as i saw inside the matter deeper cause for laughter, hers. and my jaw hers betokening a will, hers too, with chin that mitigates the will, shading to softness as hers did. our minds had something too in common: first this will which tempted fate to bend it, break it too-- i know not why in her case or in mine. but when my will is bent i grow morose, and when it's broken, i become a scourge to all around me. yes, i've visited a life-time's wrath upon my wife. this daughter when finding will subdued did not give up, but took the will for something else--went on by ways more prosperous; but alas! poor me! i hold on when defeated, and lie down when i am beaten, growling, ruminate upon my failure, think of nothing else. but truth to tell, while we two were opposed, this daughter and myself, while temperaments kept us at sword's points, while i saw in her traits of myself i liked not, also traits of the child's mother which i loathe, because they have undone me, helped at least--no less i see this child as better than myself, and better than her mother, so admire. also i never trusted her; as a child she would rush in relating lying wonders; she feigned emotions, purposes and moods; she was a little actress from the first, and all her high resolves from first to last seemed but a robe with flowing sleeves in which her hands could hide some theft, some secret spoil. when she was fourteen i could see in her the passionate nature of her mother--well you know a father's feelings when he sees his daughter sensed by youths and lusty men as one of the kind for capture. it's a theme a father cannot talk of with his daughter. he may say, "have a care," or "i forbid your strolling, riding with these boys at night." but if the daughter stands and eyes the father, as she did me with flaming eyes, then goes her way in secret, lies about her ways, the father can but wonder, watch or brood, or switch her maybe, for i switched her once, and found it did no good. i needed here the mother's aid, but no, her mother saw herself in the girl, and said she knew the girl, that i was too suspicious, out of touch with a young girl's life, desire for happiness. but when this alma bell affair came up, and the school principal took pains to say my daughter was too reckless of her name in strolling and in riding, then my wife howled at me like a tigress: whip that man! and as my daughter cried, and my wife screeched, and called me coward if i let him go, i rushed out to the street and finding him beat up his face, though almost dropping dead from my exertion. well, the aftermath was worse for me, not only by the talk, but in my mind who saw no gratitude in daughter or in mother for my deed. the daughter from that day took up a course more secret from my eyes, more variant from any wish i had. we stood apart, and grew apart thereafter. and from that day my wife grew worse in temper, worse in nerves. and though the people say she is my slave, that i alone, of all who live, have conquered her spirit, still what despotism works free of reprisals, or of breakings-forth when hands are here, not there? but to return: one takes up something for a livelihood, and dreams he'll leave it later, when in time his plans mature; and as he earns and lives, with some time for his plans, hopes for the day when he may step forth from his olden life into a new life made thus gradually, i hoped to be a lawyer; but to live i started as a drug clerk--look to-day i own that little drug store--here i am with drugs my years through, drugged myself at last. and as a clerk i met my wife--went mad about her, and i see in elenor her mother's gift for making fools of men. why, i can scarce explain it, it's the flesh, but then it's spirit too. such flaming up as came from flames like ours, but more of hers burned in the children. yes, it might be well for theorists in heredity to think about the matter. well, but how about the flames that make the children? for this woman too surely ruined me and sapped my life. you hear much of the vampire, but what wife has not more chance for eating up a man? she has him daily, has him fast for years. a man can shake a vampire off, but how to shake a wife off, when the children come, and you must leave your place, your livelihood to shake her off? and if you shake her off where do you go? what do you do? and how? you see 'twas love that caught me, yet even so i had resisted love had i not seen a chance to rise through marriage. it was this: you know, of course, my wife was elenor fouche, daughter of arthur, thought to be so rich. and i had hopes to patch my fortunes up in this alliance, and become a lawyer. what happened? why they helped me not at all. the children came, and i was chained to work, to clothe and feed a family--all the while my soul combusted with this aspiration, and my good nature went to ashes, dampened by secret tears which filtered through as lye. then finally, when my wife's father died, after our marriage, twenty years or so, his fortune came to nothing, all she got went to that little house we live in here-- it needs paint now, the porch has rotten boards-- and i was forced to see these children learn what public schools could teach, and even as i left school half taught, and never went to college, so did these children, saving elenor, who saw two years of college--earned herself by teaching. i choke up, just wait a minute! what depths of calmness may a man come to as father, who can think of this and be quiet about his heart? his heart will hurt, move, as it were, as a worm does with its pain. and these days now, when trembling hands and head foretell decline, or worse, and make me think as face to face with god, most earnestly, most eager for the truth, i wonder much if i misjudged this daughter, canvass her myself to see if i had power to do a better part by her. that is the way this daughter has got in my soul. at first she incubates in me as force unknown, a spirit strange yet kindred, in my life; and we are hostile and yet drawn together; but when we're drawn together see and feel these oppositions. next she's in my life-- the second stage of the fever--as dislike, repugnance, and i wish her out of sight, out of my life. then comes these ugly things, like alma bell, and rumors from away where she is teaching, and i put her out of life and thought the more, and wonder why i fathered such a nature, whence it came. well, then the fever goes and i am weak, repentant it may be, delirious visions that haunted me in fever plague me yet, even while i think them visions, nothing else. so i grow pitiful and blame myself for any part i had in her mistakes, sorrows and struggles, and i curse myself that i was powerless to help her more-- thus is she like a fever in my life. well, then the child grows up. but as a child she dances, laughs and sings. at three years springs for minutes and for minutes on her toes, like skipping rope, clapping her hands the while, her blue eyes twinkling, and her milk-white teeth glistening as she gurgled, shouted, laughed-- there never was such vital strength. i give the pictures as my memory took them. next i see her looking side-ways at me, as if she studied me, avoided me. the child is now ten years of age; and now i know she smelled the rats that made the family hearth a place for scampering; the horrors of our home. she thought i brought the rats and kept them there, these rats of bickering, anger, strife at home. i knew she blamed me for her mother's moods who dragged about the kitchen day by day, sad faced and silent. so the upshot was i had two enemies in the house, where once i had but one, her mother. this made worse the state for both, and worse the state for me. and so it goes. then next there's alma bell. the following year my daughter finished up the high school--and we sit--my wife and i to see the exercises. and that summer elenor, now eighteen and a woman, goes about-- i don't know what she does, sometimes i see some young man with her walking. but at home, when i come in, the mother and the daughter put pedals on their talk, or change the theme-- i am shut out. and in the fall i learn from some outsider that she's teaching school, and later people laugh and talk to me about her feat of cowing certain czechs, who broke her discipline in school. well, then two years go on that have no memory, just like sick days in bed when you lie there and wake and sleep and wait. but finally her mother says: "to-night our elenor leaves for los angeles." and then the mother, to hide a sob, coughs nervously and leaves the room where i am, for the kitchen--i sit with the evening paper, let it fall, then hold it up to read again and try to say to self, "all right, what if she goes?" the evening meal goes hard, for elenor shines forth in kindness for me, talks and laughs-- i choke again.... she says to me if god had meant her for a better youth, then god had given her a better youth; she thanks me for making high school possible to her, and says all will be well--she will earn money to go to college, that she will gain strength by helping self--just think, my friend, to hear such words, which in their kindness proved my failure, when i had hoped, aspired, when i had given my very soul, whether i liked this daughter, or liked her not, out of a generous hand, large hearted in its carelessness to give a daughter of such mind a place in life, and schooling for the place. the meal was over. we stood there silent; then her face grew wet with tears, as wet as blossoms soaked with rain. she took my hand and took her mother's hand, and put our hands together--then she said: "be friends, be friends," and hurried from the room, her mother following. i stepped out-doors, and stood what seemed a minute, entered again, walked to the front room, from the window saw elenor and her mother in the street. the girl was gone! how could i follow them? they had not asked me. so i stood and saw the canvas telescope her mother carried. they disappeared. i went back to my store, came back at nine o'clock, lighted a match and saw my wife in bed, cloths on her eyes. she turned her face to the wall, and didn't speak. next morning at the breakfast table she, complaining of a stiff arm, said: "that satchel was weighted down with books, my arm is stiff-- elenor took french books to study french. when she can pay a teacher, she will learn how to pronounce the words, but by herself she'll learn the grammar, how to read." she knew how words like that would hurt! i merely said: "a happy home is better than knowing french," and went off to my store. but coroner, search for the men in her life. when she came back from the west after three years, i knew by look of her eyes that some one filled her life, had taken her life and body. what if i had failed as father in the way i failed? and what if our home was not home to her? she could have married--why not? if a girl can fascinate the men--i know she could-- she can have marriage, if she wants to marry. unless she runs to men already married, and if she does so, don't you make her out as loose and bad? well, what is more to tell? she learned french, seemed to know the ways of the world, knew books, knew how to dress, gave evidence of contact with refinements; letters came when she was here at intervals inscribed in writing of elite ones, gifted maybe. and she was filial and kind to me, most kind toward her mother, gave us things at christmas time. but still her way was such that i as well had been familiar with her as with some formal lady visiting. she came back here before she went to france, staid two days with us. once upon the porch she turned to me and said: "i wish to honor mother and you by serving in the war. you must rejoice that i can serve--you must! but most i wish to honor america, this land of promise, of fulfillment, too, which proves to all the world that men and women are born alike of god, at least that riches and classes formed in pride have neither hearts, nor minds above the souls of those who work. this land that reared me is my dearest love, i go to serve the country." pardon me! a man of my age in an hour like this must cry a little--wait till i can say the last words that she said to me. she put her arms about me, then she said to me: "i am so glad my life and place in life were such that i was forced to rise or sink, to strive or fail. god has been good to me, who gifted me with spirit to aspire." i go back to my store now. in these days, last days, of course, i try to be a husband, try to be kinder to the mother of elenor. death is not far off, and that makes us think. we may be over soft or penitent; forgive where we should hate still, being soft; and fade off from the wrongs, we brooded on; and cease to care life has been badly lived, from first to last. but none the less our vision seems clearer as we end this trivial life. and so i try to be a kinder husband to elenor's mother. so spoke henry murray to merival; a stenographer took down his words, and they were written out and shown the jury. afterward the mother came and told her story to the coroner, also reported, written out, and shown the jury. but it happened thus with her: she waited in the coroner's outer room until her husband told his story, then with eyes upon the floor, passing her husband, the two in silence passing, as he left the coroner's office, spoke amid her sighs, her breath long drawn at intervals, looking down the while she spoke: mrs. murray i think, she said at first, my daughter did not kill herself. i'm sure someone did violence to her, your tests, examination will prove violence. it would be like her fate to meet with such: poor child, unfortunate from birth, at least unfortunate in fortune, peace and joy. or else if she met with no violence, some sudden crisis of her woman's heart came on her by the river, the result of strains and labors in the war in france. i'll tell you why i say this: first i knew she had come near me from new york, there came a letter from her, saying she had come to visit with her aunt there near leroy, and rest and get the country air. she said to keep it secret, not to tell her father; that she was in no frame of mind to come and be with us, and see her father, see our life, which is the same as it was when she was a child and after. but she said to come to her. and so the day before they found her by the river i went over and saw her for the day. she seemed most gay, gave me the presents which she brought from france, told me of many things, but rather more by way of half told things than something told continuously, you know. she had grown fairer, she had a majesty of countenance, a luminous glory shone about her face, her voice was softer, eyes looked tenderer. she held my hands so lovingly when we met. she kissed me with such silent, speaking love. but then she laughed and told me funny stories. she seemed all hope, and said she'd rest awhile before she made a plan for life again. and when we parted, she said: "mother, think what trip you'd like to take. i've saved some money, and you must have a trip, a rest, construct yourself anew for life." so, as i said, she came to death by violence, or else she had some weakness that she hid from me which came upon her quickly. for the rest, suppose i told you all my life, and told what was my waste in life and what in hers, how i have lived, and how poor elenor was raised or half-raised--what's the good of that? are not there rooms of books, of tales and poems and histories to show all secrets of life? does anyone live now, or learn a thing not lived and learned a thousand times before? the trouble is these secrets are locked up in books and might as well be locked in graves, since they mean nothing till you live yourself. and i suppose the race will live and suffer as long as leaves put forth in spring, live over the very sorrows, horrors that we live. wisdom is here, but how to learn that wisdom, and use it while life's worth the living, that's the thing to be desired. but let it go. if any soul can profit by my life, or by my elenor's, i trust he may, and help him to it. coroner merival, even the children in this neighborhood know something of my husband and of me, our struggle and unhappiness, even the children hear alma bell's name mentioned with a look. and if you went about here to inquire about my elenor, you'd find them saying she was a wonder girl, or this or that. but then you'd feel a closing up of speech, as if a door closed softly, just a way to indicate that something else was there, somewhere in the person's room of thoughts. this is the truth, since i was told a man came here to ask about her, when she asked to serve in france, the matter of alma bell traced down and probed. it being true, therefore, that you and all the rest know of my life, our life at home, it matters nothing then that i go on and tell you what i think made sorrow for us, what our waste was, tell you how the yarn knotted as we took the skein and wound it to a ball, and made the ball so hardly knotted that the yarn held fast would not unwind for knitting. well, you know my father arthur fouche, my mother too. they reared me with the greatest care. you know they sent me to st. mary's, where i learned fine things, to be a lady--learned to dance, to play on the piano, sing a little; learned french, italian, learned to know good books, the beauty of a poem or a tale; learned elegance of manners, how to walk, stand, breathe, keep well, be radiant and strong, and so in all to make life beautiful, become the helpful wife of some strong man, the mother of fine children. well, at school we girls were guarded from the men, and so we went to town surrounded by our teachers, and only saw the boys when some girl's brother came to the school to visit, perhaps a girl consent had of her parents to receive a beau sometimes. but then i had no beau; and had i had my father would have kept him away from me at school. for truth to tell when i had finished school, came back to home they kept the men away, there was no man quite good enough to call. now here begins my fate, as you will see; their very care to make me what they wished, to have my life grow safely, prosperously, was my undoing. i had a sister named corinne who suffered because of that; my father guarded me against all strolling lovers, unknown men. but here was henry murray, whom they knew, and trusted too; and though they never dreamed i'd marry him, they trusted him to call. he seemed a quiet, diligent young man, aspiring in the world. and so they thought they'd solve my loneliness and restless spirits by opening the door to him. my fate! they let him call upon me twice a month. he was in love with me before this started, that's why he tried to call. but as for me, he was a man, that's all, a being only in the world to talk to, help my loneliness. i had no love for him, no more than i had love for father's tenant on the farm. and what i knew of marriage, what it means was what a child knows. if you'll credit me i thought a man and woman slept together, lay side by side, and somehow, i don't know, that children came. but then i was so vital, rebellious, hungering for freedom, that no chance was too indifferent to put by what offered freedom from the prison home, the watchfulness of father and of mother, the rigor of my discipline. and in truth no other man came by, no prospect showed of going on a visit, finding life some other place. and so it came about, after i knew this man two months, one night i made a rope of sheets, down from my window descended to his arms, eloped in short, and married henry murray, and found out what marriage is, believe me. well, i think the time will come when marriage will be known before the parties tie themselves for life. how do you know a man, or know a woman until the flesh instructs you? do you know a man until you see him face to face? or know what texture is his hand until you touch his hand? well, lastly no one knows whether a man is mate for you before you mate with him. i hope to see the day when men and women, to try out their souls will live together, learning a. b. c.'s of life before they write their fates for life. our story started then. to sate their rage my father and my mother cut me off, and so we had bread problems from the first. he made but little clerking in the store, besides his mind was on the law and books. these were the early tangles of our yarn. and i grew worried as the children came, two sons at first, and i was far from well, one died at five years, and i almost died for grief at this. but down below all things, far down below all tune or scheme of sound, where no rests were, but only ceaseless dirge, was my heart's _de profundis_, crying out my thirst for love, not thirst for his, but thirst for love that quenched it. but the only water that passed my lips was desert water, poisoned by arsenic from his rocks. my soul grew bitter, then sweetened under the cross, grew bitter again. my life lay raving on the desert sands. to speak more plainly, sleep deserted me. i could not sleep for thought, and for a will that could not bend, but hoped that death or something would take him from me, bring me love before my face was withered, as it is to-day. at last the doctor found me growing mad for lack of sleep. why was i so, he asked. you must give up this psychic work and quit this psychic writing, let the spirits go. well, it was true that years before i found i heard and saw with higher power, received deep messages from spirits, from my boy who passed away. and as to this, who knows?-- surely no doctor--of this psychic power. you may be called neurotic, what is that? perhaps it is the soul become so fine it leaves the body, or shakes down the body with energy too subtle for the body. but i was sleepless for these years, at last the secret lost of sleep, for seven days and seven nights could find no sleep, until i lay upon the lawn and pushed my head, as a dog does around, around, around. there was a devil in me, at one with me, and neither to be put out, nor yet subdued by help outside, and nothing to be done except to find escape by knife, or pistol, and thus get sleep. escape! oh, that's the word! there's something in the soul that says escape! fly, fly from something, and in truth, my friend, life's restlessness, however healthful it be, is motived by this urge to fly, escape: well, to go on, they gave me everything, at last they gave me chloral, but no sleep! and finally i closed my eyes and quick the secret came to me, as one might find, after forgetting how, to swim, or walk, after a sickness, and for just two minutes i slept, and then i got the secret back, and later slept. so i possessed myself. but for these years sleep but two hours or so. why do i wake? the spirits let me sleep. oh, no it is my longing that will rest not, these thoughts of him that rest not, and this love that never has been satisfied, this heart so empty all these years; the bitterness of living face to face with one you loathe, yet pity, while you hate yourself for feeling such bitterness toward another soul, as wretched as your own. but then as well i could not sleep for elenor, for her fate, never to have a chance in life. i saw our poverty made surer; year by year slip by with chances slipping. oh, that child! when i first felt her lips that sucked my breasts my heart went muffled like a bird that tries to pour its whole song in one note and fails out of its very ecstasy. a daughter, a little daughter at my breast, a soul of a woman to be! i knew her spirit then, felt all my love and longing in her lips, felt all my passion, purity of desire in those sweet lips that sucked my breasts. oh, rapture, oh highest rapture god had given me to see her roll upon my arm and smile, full fed, the milk that gurgled from her lips! such blue eyes--oh, my child! my child! my child! i have no hope now of this life--no hope except to take you to my breast again. god will be good and give you to me, or god will bring sleep to me, a sleep so still i shall not miss you, elenor. i go on. i see her when she first began to walk. she ran at first, just like a baby quail. she never walked. she danced into this life. she used to dance for minutes on her toes. my starved heart bore her vital in some way. my hope which would not die had made her gay, and unafraid and venturesome and hopeful. she did not know what sadness was, or fear, or anything but laughter, play and fun. not till she grew to ten years and could see the place in life that god had given her between my life and his; and then i saw a thoughtfulness come over her, as a cloud passes across the sun, and makes one place a shadow while the landscape lies in light: so quietness would come over her, with smiles around her quietness and sunniest laughter fast following on her quietness. well, you know she went to school here as the others did. but who knew that i grieved to see her lose a schooling at st. mary's, have no chance? no chance save what she earned herself? what girl has earned the money for two years in college beside my elenor in this neighborhood? there is not one! but then if books and schooling be things prerequisite for success in life, why should we have a social scheme that clings to marriage and the home, when such a soul is turned into the world from such a home, with schooling so inadequate? if the state may take our sons and daughters for its use in war, in peace, why let the state raise up and school these sons and daughters, let the home go to full ruin from half ruin now, and let us who have failed in choosing mates re-choose, without that fear of children's fate which haunts us now. for look at elenor! why did she never marry? any man had made his life rich had he married her. but in this present scheme of things such women move in a life where men are mostly less in mind and heart than they are--and the men who are their equals never come to them, or come to them too seldom, or if they come are blind and do not know these elenors. and she had character enough to live in single life, refuse the lesser chance, since she found not the great one, as i think. but let it pass--i'm sure she was beloved, and more than once, i'm sure. but i am sure she was too wise for errors crude and common. and if she had a love that stopped her heart, she knew beforehand all, and met her fate bravely, and wrote that "to be brave and not to flinch," to keep before her soul her faith deep down within it, lest she might forget it among her crowded thoughts. she went to the war. she came to see me before she went, and said she owed her courage and her restless spirit to me, her will to live, her love of life, her power to sacrifice and serve, to me. she put her arms about my neck and kissed me, said i had been a mother to her, being a mother if no more; wished she had brought more happiness to me, material things, delight in life. of course her work took strength. her life was sapped by service in the war, she died for country, for america, as much as any soldier. so i say if her life came to any waste, what waste may her heroic life and death prevent? the world has spent two hundred billion dollars to put an egotist and strutting despot out of the power he used to tyrannize over his people with a tyranny political in chief, to take away the glittering dominion of a crown. i want some good to us out of this war, and some emancipation. let me tell you: i know a worse thing than a german king: it is the social scourge of poverty, which cripples, slays the husband and the wife, and sends the children forth in life half formed. i know a tyranny more insidious than any william had, it is the tyranny of superstition, customs, laws and rules; the tyranny of the church, the tyranny of marriage, and the tyranny of beliefs concerning right and wrong, of good and evil; the tyranny of taboos, the despotism that rules our spirits with commands and threats: ghosts of dead faiths and creeds, ghosts of the past. the tyranny, in short, that starves and chains imprisons, scourges, crucifies the soul, which only asks the chance to live and love, freely as it wishes, which will live so if you take poverty and chuck him out. then make the main thing inner growth, take rules, conventions and religion (save it be the worship of god in spirit without hands and without temples sacraments) the babble of moralists, the rant and flummery of preachers and of priests, and chuck them out. these things produce your waste and suffering. you tell a soul it sins and make it suffer, spend years in impotence and twilight thought. you punish where no punishment should be, weaken and break the soul. you weight the soul with idols and with symbols meaningless, when god gave but three things: the earth and air and mind to know them, live in freedom by them. well, i would have america become as free as any soul has ever dreamed her, and if america does not get strength to free herself, now that the war is over. then elenor murray's spirit has not won the thing she died for. so i go my way, back to get supper, i who live, shall die in america as it is--rise up and change it for mothers of the future elenors. by now the press was full of elenor murray. and far and near, wherever she was known, had lived, or taught, or studied, tongues were loosed in episodes or stories of the girl. the coroner on the street was button-holed, received marked articles and letters, some anonymous, some crazy. david borrow who helped this alma bell as lawyer, friend, found in his mail a note from alma bell, enclosed with one much longer, written for the coroner to read. when merival had read it, then he said to borrow: "read this letter to the other jurors." so he read it to them, as they sat one night, invited to the home of merival to drink a little wine and have a smoke, and talk about the case. alma bell to the coroner what my name is, or where i live, or if i am that alma bell whose name is broached with elenor murray's who shall know from this? my hand-writing i hide in type, i send this letter through a friend who will not tell. but first, since no chance ever yet was mine to speak my heart out, since if i had tried these fifteen years ago to tell my heart, i must have failed for lack of words and mind, i speak my heart out now. i knew the soul of elenor murray, knew it at the time, have verified my knowledge in these years, who have not lost her, have kept touch with her in letters, know the splendid sacrifice she made in the war. she was a human soul earth is not blest with often. first i say i knew her when she first came to my class turned seventeen just then--such blue-bell eyes, and such a cataract of dark brown hair, and such a brow, sweet lips, and such a way of talking with a cunning gasp, as if to catch breath for the words. and such a sense of fitness, beauty, delicacy. but more such vital power that shook her silver nerves, and made her dim to others; but to me she was all sanity of soul, her body, the instruments of life, were overborne by that great flame of hers. and if her music fell sometimes into discord, which i doubt, it was her heart-strings which could not vibrate for human weakness, what the soul of her struck for response; and when the strings so failed she was more grieved than i, or anyone, who listened and expected more. well, then what was my love? i am not loath to tell. i could not touch her hand without a thrill, nor kiss her lips but i felt purified, exalted in some way. and if fatigue, the hopeless, daily ills of teaching brought my spirit to distress, and if i went, as oftentimes i did, to call upon her after the school hours, as i heard her step responding to my knock, my heart went up, her face framed by the opened door--what peace was mine to see it, peace ineffable and rest were mine to sit with her and hear that voice of hers where breath was caught for words, that cunning gasp and pause! i loved her then, have loved her always, love her now no less. i feel her spirit somehow, can take out her letters, photograph, and find a joy that such a soul lived, was in truth my soul, must always be my soul. what was this love? why only this, shame nature if you will: but since man's body is not man's alone, nor woman's body wholly feminine, a biologic truth, our body's souls are neither masculine nor feminine, but part and part; from whence our souls play forth part masculine, part feminine--this woman had that of body first which made her soul, or made her soul play in its way, and i had that of body which made soul of me play in its way. our music met, that's all, and harmonized. the flesh's explanation is not important, nor to tell whence comes a love in the heart--the thing is love at last: love which unites and comforts, glorifies, enlarges spirit, woos to generous life, invites to sacrifice, to service, clothes this poor dull earth with glory, makes the dawn an hour of high resolve, the night a hope for dawn for fuller life, the day a time for working out the soul in terms of love. this was my love for elenor murray--this her love for me, i think. her sacrifice in the war i traced to our love--all the good her life set into being, into motion has in it something of this love of ours. how good is god who gives us love, the lens through which we see the beauty, hid from eyes that have no love, no lens. then what are spirits? effluvia material of our bodies? or is the spirit all--the body nothing, since every atom, particle of matter with its interstices of soul, divides until there is no matter, only soul? but what is love but of the soul--what flesh knows love but through the soul? may it not be as soul learns love through flesh, it may at last, helped on its way by flesh, discard the flesh:-- as cured men leave their crutches--and go on loving with spirits. for it seems to me i must find elenor murray as a spirit, myself a spirit, love her as i loved her these years on earth, but with a clearer fire, flame that is separate from fuel, burning eternal through itself. and here a word: my love for elenor murray never had other expression than the look of eyes, the spiritual thrill of listening to her voice, a hand clasp, kiss upon the lips at best, better to find her soul, as plato says. too true i left leroy under a cloud, because of love for elenor murray--yet not lawless love, i write now to make clear what love was mine--and you must understand. but let me tell how life has dealt with me, then judge my purpose, dream, the quality of elenor murray judge, who in some way, somehow has drawn me onward, upward too, i hope, as i have striven. i did fear her safety, and her future, did reprove her conduct, its appearance, rather more in dread of gossip, dread of ways to follow from such free ways begun at seventeen, in innocence, out of a vital heart. but when a bud is opening what stray bees come to drag pollen over it, and set life going to the end in the fruit of life! o, my wish was to keep her for some love to ripen in a rich maturity. my care proved useless--or shall i say so? or anyone say so? since no mind knows what failure here may somewhere prove a gain. there was that man who came into her life with heart unsatisfied, bound to a woman he wedded early. elenor murray's love destroyed this man by human measurements. and he destroyed her, so they say. but yet she poured her love upon him, lit her soul with brighter flames for love of him. at last she knew no thing but love and sacrifice. she wrote me last her life was just one pain, had always been so from the first, and now she wished to fling her spirit in the war, give, serve, nor count the cost, win death and god in service in the war--o, loveliest soul i pray and pray to meet you once again! so was her life a ruin, was it waste? she was a prodigal flower that never shut its petals, even in darkness, let her soul escape when, where it would. but to myself: i dragged myself to england from leroy and plunged in life, philosophies of life, spinoza and what not, read poetry, heard music too, tschaikowsky, wagner, all who tried to make sound tell the secret thing that drove me wild in searching love. and lovers i had one after the other, having fallen to that belief the way is by the body. but i was fooled and grew by slow degrees. and then there came a wild man in my life, a vagabond, a madman, genius--well, we both went mad, and i smashed everything, and ran away, threw all the world for him, only to find myself worn out, half dead at last, as it were out of delirium. and for four years sat by the sea, or made visits to paris, where i met the man i married. then how strange! i gave myself wholly to bearing children, just to find some explanation of myself, some work wholly absorbing, lives to take my love. and here i was instructed, found a step for my poor feet to mount by. though submerged, alone too much, my husband not the mate i dreamed of, hearing echoes in my dreams of london and of paris, sometimes voices of lovers lost and vanished; still i've found a peace sometimes, a stay, too, in the innocence and helplessness of children. but you see, in spite of all we do, however high and fiercely mounts desire, life imposes repression, sacrifice, renunciation. and our poor souls fall muddied in the ditch, or take the discipline and live life out. so elenor murray lived and did not fail. and so it was the knowledge of her life kept me in spite of failures at the task of holding to my self. these two months passed i found i had not killed desire--found among a group a chance to try again for happiness, but knew it was not there. then to my children i came back and said: "free once again through suffering." so i prayed: "come to me flame of spirit, fire of worship, bright fire of song; if i but be myself, work through my fate, you shall be mine at last."... then was it that i heard from elenor murray-- such letters, such outpourings of herself! poor woman leaving love that could not be more than it was; how wise she was to fly, and use that love for service, as she did; extract its purest essence for the war, and ease death with it, merging love and death into that mystic union, seen at last by elenor murray. when i heard she came all broken from the war, and died somehow there by the river, then she seemed to me more near--i seemed to feel her; little zephyrs blowing about my face, when i sat looking over the sea in my rose bower, seemed the exhalation of her soul that caught its breath for words. i see her in my dreams-- o, my pure soul, what have you been to me, what must you be hereafter! but my friend, and i must call you friend, whose strength in life drives you to find economies of spirit, and save the waste of spirit, you must find whatever waste there was of elenor murray of love or faith, or time, or strength, great gain in spite of early chances, father, mother, too loveless, negligent, or ignorant; her mother instinct never blessed with children. i sometimes think no life is without use-- for even weeds that sow themselves, frost reaped and matted on the ground, enrich the soil, or feed some life. our eyes must see the end of what these growths are for, before we say where waste is and where gain. * * * * * coroner merival woke to scan the _times_, and read the story of the suicide of gregory wenner, circle big enough from elenor murray's death, but unobserved of merival, until he heard the hint of dr. trace, who made the autopsy, that gregory wenner might have caused the death of eleanor murray, or at least was near when elenor murray died. here is the story worked out by merival as he went about unearthing secrets, asking here and there what gregory wenner was to elenor murray. the coroner had a friend who was the friend of mrs. wenner. acting on the hint of dr. trace he found this friend and learned what follows here of gregory wenner, then what mrs. wenner learned in coming home to bury gregory wenner. what he learned the coroner told the jury. here's the life of gregory wenner first: gregory wenner gregory wenner's brother married the mother of alma bell, the daughter of a marriage the mother made before. kinship enough to justify a call on wenner's power when alma bell was face to face with shame. and gregory wenner went to help the girl, and for a moment looked on elenor murray who left the school-room passing through the hall, a girl of seventeen. he left his business of massing millions in the city, to help poor alma bell, and three years afterward in the garden of the gods he saw again the face of elenor murray--what a fate for gregory wenner! but when alma bell wrote him for help his mind was roiled with cares: a money magnate had signed up a loan for half a million, to which wenner added that much beside, earned since his thirtieth year, now forty-two, with which to build a block of sixteen stories on a piece of ground leased in the loop for nine and ninety years. but now a crabbed miser, much away, following the sun, and reached through agents, lawyers, owning the land next to the wenner land, refused to have the sixteen story wall adjoin his wall, without he might select his son-in-law as architect to plan the sixteen-story block of gregory wenner. and gregory wenner caught in such a trap, the loan already bargained for and bound in a hard money lender's giant grasp, consented to the terms, let son-in-law make plans and supervise the work. five years go by before the evil blossoms fully; but here's the bud: gregory wenner spent his half-a-million on the building, also four hundred thousand of the promised loan, made by the money magnate--then behold the money magnate said: "you cannot have another dollar, for the bonds you give are scarcely worth the sum delivered now pursuant to the contract. i have learned your architect has blundered, in five years your building will be leaning, soon enough it will be wrecked by order of the city." and gregory wenner found he spoke the truth. but went ahead to finish up the building, and raked and scraped, fell back on friends for loans, mortgaged his home for money, just to finish this sixteen-story building, kept a hope the future would reclaim him. gregory wenner who seemed so powerful in his place in life had all along this cancer in his life: he owned the building, but he owed the money, and all the time the building took a slant, by just a little every year. and time made matters worse for him, increased his foes as he stood for the city in its warfares against the surface railways, telephones; and earned thereby the wrath of money lenders, who made it hard for him to raise a loan, who needed loans habitually. besides he had the trouble of an invalid wife who went from hospitals to sanitariums, and traveled south, and went in search of health. now gregory wenner reaches forty-five, he's fought a mighty battle, but grows tired. the building leans a little more each year. and money, as before, is hard to get. and yet he lives and keeps a hope. at last he does not feel so well, has dizzy spells. the doctor recommends a change of scene. and gregory wenner starts to see the west. he visits denver. then upon a day he walks about the garden of the gods, and sees a girl who stands alone and looks about the garden's wonders. then he sees the girl is elenor murray, who has grown to twenty-years, who looks that seventeen when first he saw her. he remembers her, and speaks of alma bell, that alma bell is kindred to him. where is alma bell, he has not heard about her in these years? and elenor murray colors, and says: "look, there is a white cloud on the mountain top." and thus the talk commences. elenor murray shows forth the vital spirit that is hers. she dances on her toes and crows in wonder, flings up her arms in rapture. what a world of beauty and of hope! for not her life of teaching school, a school of czechs and poles there near leroy, since she left school and taught, these two years now, nor arid life at home, her father sullen and her mother saddened; nor yet that talk of alma bell and her that like a corpse's gas has scented her, and made her struggles harder in leroy-- not these have quenched her flame, or made it burn less brightly. though at last she left leroy to fly old things, the dreary home, begin a new life teaching in los angeles. gregory wenner studies her and thinks that alma bell was right to reprimand elenor murray for her reckless ways of strolling and of riding. and perhaps real things were back of ways to be construed in innocence or wisdom--for who knows? his thought ran. such a pretty face, blue eyes, and such a buoyant spirit. so they wandered about the garden of the gods, and took a meal together at the restaurant. and as they talked, he told her of himself, about his wife long ill, this trip for health-- she sensed a music sadness in his soul. and gregory wenner heard her tell her life of teaching, of the arid home, the shadow that fell on her at ten years, when she saw the hopeless, loveless life of father, mother. and his great hunger, and his solitude reached for the soothing hand of elenor murray, and elenor murray having life to give by her maternal strength and instinct gave. the man began to laugh, forgot his health, the leaning building, and the money lenders, and found his void of spirit growing things-- he loved this girl. and elenor murray seeing this strong man with his love, and seeing too how she could help him, with that venturesome and prodigal emotion which was hers flung all herself to help him, being a soul who tried all things in courage, staked her heart on good to come. they took the train together. they stopped at santa cruz, and on the rocks heard the pacific dash himself and watched the moon upon the water, breathed the scent of oriental flowerings. there at last under the spell of nature gregory wenner bowed down his head upon his breast and shook for those long years of striving and of haggling, and for this girl, but mostly for a love that filled him now. and when he spoke again of his starved life, his homeless years, the girl, her mind resolved through thinking she could serve this man and bring him happiness, but with heart flaming to heaven with the miracle of love for him, down looking at her hands which fingered nervously her dress's hem, said with that gasp which made her voice so sweet: "do what you will with me, to ease your heart and help your life." and gregory wenner shaken, astonished and made mad with ecstasy pressed her brown head against his breast and wept. and there at santa cruz they lived a week, till elenor murray went to take her school, he to the north en route for home. five years had passed since then. and on this day poor wenner looks from a little office at his building visibly leaning now, the building lost, the bonds foreclosed; this is the very day a court gives a receiver charge of it. and he, these several months reduced to deals in casual properties, in trivial trades, hard pressed for money, has gone up and down pursuing prospects, possibilities, scanning each day financial sheets and looking for clues to lead to money. and he finds his strength and hope not what they were before. his wife is living on, no whit restored. and gregory wenner thinks, would they not say i killed myself because i lost my building, if i should kill myself, and leave a note that business worries drove me to the deed, my building this day taken, a receiver in charge of what i builded out of my dream. and yet he said to self, that would be false: it's elenor murray's death that makes this life so hard to bear, and thoughts of elenor murray make life a torture. first that i had to live without her as my wife, and next the fact that i have taken all her life's thought, ruined her chance for home and marriage; that i have seen elenor murray struggle in the world, and go forth to the war with just the thought to serve, if it should kill her. then his mind ran over these five years when elenor murray throughout gave such devotion, constant thought, filled all his mind and heart, and kept her voice singing or talking in his memory's ear, in absence with long letters, when together with passionate utterances of love. the girl loved gregory wenner, but the girl had found a comfort for her spiritual solitude, and got a strength in taking wenner's strength. for at the last one soul lives on another. and elenor murray could not live except she had a soul to live for, and a soul on which to pour her passion, taking back the passion of that soul in recompense. gregory wenner served her power and genius for giving and for taking so to live, achieve and flame; and found them in some moods somehow demoniac when his spirits sank, and drink was all that kept him on his feet. and so when elenor murray came to him and said this life of teaching was too much, could not be longer borne, he thought the time had come to end the hopeless love. he raised the money by the hardest means to pay elenor murray's training as a nurse, by this to set her free from teaching school, and then he set about to crush the girl out of his life. for gregory wenner saw between this passion and his failing thought, and gray hairs coming, fortune slip like sand. and saw his mind diffuse itself in worries, in longing for her: found himself at times too much in need of drink, and shrank to see what wishes rose that death might take his wife, and let him marry elenor murray, cure his life with having her beside him, dreaming that somehow elenor murray could restore his will and vision, by her passion's touch, and mother instinct make him whole again. but if he could not have her for his wife, and since the girl absorbed him in this life of separation which made longing greater, just as it lacked the medium to discharge the great emotion it created, wenner caught up his shreds of strength to crush her out of his life, told her so, when he had raised the money for her training. for he saw how ruin may overtake a man, and ruin pass by the woman, whom the world would judge as ruined long ago. but look, he thought, i pity her, not for our sin, if it be, but that i have absorbed her life; and yet the girl is mastering life, while i fall down. she has absorbed me, if the wrong lies here. and thus his thought went round. and elenor murray accepted what he said and went her way with words like these: "my love and prayers are yours while life is with us." then she turned to study, and toiled each day till night brought such fatigue that sleep fell on her. was it to forget? and meanwhile she embraced the faith and poured her passion driven by a rapturous will into religion, trod her path in silence, save for a card at christmas time for him, sometimes a little message from some place whereto her duty called her. gregory wenner stands at the window of his desolate office, and looks out on his sixteen-story building irrevocably lost this day. his mind runs back to that day in the garden of the gods, that night at santa cruz, and then his eyes made piercing sharp by sorrow cleave the clay that lies upon the face of elenor murray, and see the flesh of her the worms have now. how strange, he thinks, to flit into this life singing and radiant, to suffer, toil, to serve in the war, return to girlhood's scenes, to die, to be a memory for a day, then be forgotten. o, this life of ours. why is not god ashamed for graveyards, why so thoughtless of our passion he lets play this tragedy. and gregory wenner thought about the day he stood here, even as now and heard a step, a voice, and looked around saw elenor murray, felt her arms again, her kiss upon his cheek, and saw her face as light was beating on it, heard her gasp in ecstasy for going to the war, to which that day she gave her pledge. and heard her words of consecration. heard her say, as though she were that passionate heloise brought into life again: "all i have done was done for love of you, all i have asked was only you, not what belonged to you. i did not hope for marriage or for gifts. i have not gratified my will, desires, but yours i sought to gratify. i have longed to be yours wholly, i have kept for self nothing, have lived for you, have lived for you these years when you thought best to crush me out. and now though there's a secret in my heart, not wholly known to me, still i can know it by seeing you again, i think, by touching your hand again. your life has tortured me, both for itself, and since i could not give out of my heart enough to make your life a way of peace, a way of happiness." then gregory wenner thought how she looked down and said: "since i go to the war, would god look with disfavor on us if you took me in your arms wholly once again? my friend, not with the thought to leave me soon, but sleeping like mates, as birds do, making sleep so sweet close to each other as god means we should. i mingle love of god with love of you, and in the night-time i can pray for you with you beside me, find god closer then. who knows, you may take strength from such an hour." then gregory wenner lived that night again, and the next morning when she rose and shook, as it were night gathered dew upon fresh wings, the vital water from her glowing flesh. and shook her hair out, laughed and said to him: "courage and peace, my friend." and how they passed among the multitude, when he took her hand and said farewell, and hastened to this room to seek for chances in another day, and never saw her more. and all these thoughts coming on gregory wenner swept his soul till it seemed like a skiff in mid-sea under a sky unreckoning, where neither bread, nor water, save salt water, were for lips. and over him descended a blank light of life's futility, since now this hour life dropped the mask and showed him just a skull. and a strange fluttering of the nerves came on him, so that he clutched the window frame, lest he spring from the window to the street below. and he was seized with fear that said to fly, go somewhere, find some one, so to draw out this madness which was one with him and in him, and which some one in pity must relieve, something must cure. and in this sudden horror of self, this ebbing of the tides of life, leaving his shores to visions, where he saw horrible creatures stir amid the slime, gregory wenner hurried from the room and walked the streets to find his thought again wherewith to judge if he should kill himself or look to find a path in life once more. and gregory wenner sitting in his club wrote to his brother thus: "i cannot live now that my business is so tangled up, bury my body by my father's side." next day the papers headlined gregory wenner: "loss of a building drives to suicide." * * * * * elenor murray's death kills gregory wenner and gregory wenner dying make a riffle in mrs. wenner's life--reveals to her a secret long concealed:-- mrs. gregory wenner gregory wenner's wife was by the sea when gregory wenner killed himself, half sick and half malingering, and otiose. she wept, sent for a doctor to be braced, induced a friend to travel with her west to bury gregory wenner; did not know that gregory wenner was in money straits until she read the paper, or had lost his building in the loop. the man had kept his worries from her ailing ears, was glad to keep her traveling, or taking cures. she came and buried gregory wenner; found his fortune just a shell, the building lost, a little money in the bank, a store far out on lake street, forty worthless acres in northern indiana, twenty lots in some montana village. here she was, a widow, penniless, an invalid. the crude reality of things awoke a strength she did not dream was hers. and then she went to gregory wenner's barren office to collect the things he had, get in his safe for papers and effects. she had to pay an expert to reveal the combination, and throw the bolts. and there she sat a day, and emptied pigeon holes and searched and read. and in one pigeon hole she found a box, and in the box a lock of hair wrapped up in tissue paper, fragrant powder lying around the paper--in the box a card with woman's writing on it, just the words "for my beloved"; but no name or date. who was this woman mused the widow there? she did not know the name. she did not know her eyes had seen this elenor murray once when elenor murray came with gregory wenner to dinner at his home to face the wife. for elenor murray in a mood of strength, after her confirmation and communion, had said to gregory wenner: "now the end has come to this, our love, i think it best if she should ever learn i am the woman who in new york spent summer days with you, and later in chicago, in that summer, she will remember what my eyes will show when we stand face to face, and i give proof that i am changed, repentant." for the wife had listened to a friend who came to tell she saw this gregory wenner in new york from day to day in gardens and cafes, and by the sea romancing with a girl. and later mrs. wenner found a book, which gregory wenner cherished--with the words beloved, and the date. and now she knew the hand that wrote the card here in this box, the hand that wrote the inscription in the book were one--but still she did not know the woman. no doubt the woman of that summer's flame, whom gregory wenner promised not to see when she brought out the book and told him all she learned of his philandering in new york. and elenor murray's body was decaying in darkness, under earth there at leroy while mrs. wenner read, and did not know the hand that wrote the card lay blue and green, half hidden in the foldings of the shroud, and all that country stirred for elenor murray, of which the widow absent in the east had never heard. and mrs. wenner found beside the box and lock of hair three letters, and sat and read them. through her eyes and brain this meaning and this sound of blood and soul, like an old record with a diamond needle. passed music like:-- "the days go swiftly by with study and with work. i am too tired at night to think. i read anatomy, materia medica and other things, and do the work an undergraduate is called upon to do. and every week i spend three afternoons with the nuns and sew, and care for children of the poor whose mothers are earning bread away. i go to church and talk with mother janet. and i pray at morning and at night for you, and ask for strength to live without you and for light to understand why love of you is mine, and why you are not mine, and whether god will give you to me some day if i prove my womanhood is worthy of you, dear. and sometimes when our days of bliss come back and flood me with their warmth and blinding light i take my little crucifix and kiss it, and plunge in work to take me out of self, some service to another. so it is, this sewing and this caring for the children stills memory and gives me strength to live, and pass the days, go on. i shall not draw upon your thought with letters, still i ask your thought of me sometimes. would it be much if once a year you sent me a bouquet to prove to me that you remember, sweet, still cherish me a little, give me faith that in this riddle world there is a hand, which spite of separation, thinks and touches blossoms that i touch afterward? dear heart, i have starved out and killed that reckless mood which would have taken you and run away. oh, if you knew that this means killing, too, the child i want--our child. you have a cross no less than i, beloved, even if love of me has passed and eased the agony i thought you knew--your cross is heavy, dear, bound, but not wedded to her, never to know the life of marriage with her. yet be brave, be noble, dear, be always what god made you, a great heart, patient, gentle, sacrificing, bring comfort to her tedious days, forbear when she is petulant, for if you do, i know god will reward you, give you peace. i pray for strength for you, that never again may you distress her as you did, i did when she found there was someone. lest she know destroy this letter, all i ever write, so that her mind may never fix itself upon a definite person, on myself. but still remaining vague may better pass to lighter shadows, nothingness at last. i try to think i sinned, have so confessed to get forgiveness at my first communion. and yet a vestige of a thought in me will not submit, confess the sin. well, dear, you can awake at midnight, at the pause of duty in the day, merry or sad, light hearted or discouraged, if you chance, to think of me, remember i send prayers to god for you each day--oh may his light shine on your face!" so widow wenner read, and wondered of the writer, since no name was signed; and wept a little, dried her eyes and flushed with anger, said, "adulteress, adulteress who played the game of pity, and wove about my husband's heart the spell of masculine sympathy for a sorrowing woman, a trick as old as eden. and who knows but all the money went here in the end? for if a woman plunges from her aim to piety, devotion such as this, she will plunge back to sin, unstable heart, that swings from self-denial to indulgence and spends itself in both." then widow wenner took up the second letter: "i have signed to go to france to-day. i wrote you once i planned to take the veil, become a nun. but now the war has changed my thought. i see in service for my country fuller life, more useful sacrifice and greater work than ever i could have, being a nun. the cause is so momentous. think, my dear, this woman who still thinks of you will be a factor in this war for liberty, a soldier serving soldiers, giving strength, health, hope and spirit to the soldier boys who fall, must be restored to fight again. i've thrown my soul in this, am all aflame. you should have seen me when i took the oath, and raised my hand and pledged my word to serve, support the law. i want to think of you as proud of me for doing this--be proud, be grateful, too, that i have strength and will to give myself to this. and if it chance, as almost i am hoping, that the work should break me, sweep me under, think of me as one who died for country, as i shall as truly as the soldiers slain in battle. i leave to-morrow, will be at a camp some weeks before i sail. i telephoned you this morning twice, they said you would return by two-o'clock at least. i write instead. but i shall come to see you, if i can sometime this afternoon, and if i don't, this letter then must answer. peace be with you. to-day i'm very happy. write to me, or if you do not think it best, all right, i'll understand. before i sail i'll send a message to you--for the time farewell." then widow wenner read the telegram the third and last communication: "sail to-day, to-morrow, very soon, i know. my memories of you are happy ones. a fond adieu." this telegram was signed by elenor murray. widow wenner knew the name at last, sat petrified to think this was the girl who brazened through the dinner some years ago when gregory wenner brought this woman to his home--"the shameless trull," said mrs. wenner, "harlot, impudent jade, to think my husband is dead, would she were dead-- i could be happy if i knew a bomb or vile disease had got her." then she looked in other pigeon holes, and found in one a photograph of elenor murray, knew the face that looked across the dinner table. and in the pigeon hole she found some verses clipped from a magazine, and tucked away the letters, verses, telegram in her bag, closed up the safe and left. next day at breakfast she scanned the morning _times_, her eyes were wide for reading of the elenor murray inquest. "well, god is just," she murmured, "god is just." * * * * * all this was learned of gregory wenner. even if gregory wenner killed the girl, the man was dead now. could he kill her and return and kill himself? the coroner had gone, the jury too, to view the spot where lay elenor murray's body. it was clear a man had walked here. was it gregory wenner? the hunter who came up and found the body? this hunter was a harmless, honest soul could not have killed her, passed the grill of questions from david borrow, skilled examiner, the coroner, the jurors. but meantime if gregory wenner killed this elenor murray how did he do it? dr. trace has made his autopsy and comes and makes report to the coroner and the jury in these words:-- dr. trace to the coroner i cannot tell you, coroner, the cause of death of elenor murray, not until my chemical analysis is finished. here is the woman's heart sealed in this jar, i weighed it, weight nine ounces, if she had a hemolysis, cannot tell you now what caused the hemolysis. since you say she took no castor oil, that you can learn from irma leese, or any witness, still a chemical analysis may show the presence of ricin,--and that she took a dose of oil not pure. her throat betrayed slight inflammation; but in brief, i wait my chemical analysis. let's exclude the things we know and narrow down the facts. she lay there by the river, death had come some twenty hours before. no stick or stone, no weapon near her, bottle, poison box, no bruise upon her, in her mouth no dust, no foreign bodies in her nostrils, neck without a mark, no punctures, cuts or scars upon her anywhere, no water in lungs, no mud, sand, straws or weeds in hands, the nails clean, as if freshly manicured. again no evidence of rape. i first examined the genitals _in situ_, found them sound. the girl had lived, was not a virgin, still had temperately indulged, and not at all in recent months, no evidence at all of conjugation willingly or not, the day of death. but still i lifted out the ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus, the vagina and vulvae. opened up the mammals, found no milk. no pregnancy existed, sealed these organs up to test for poison later, as we doctors know sometimes a poison's introduced _per vaginam_. i sealed the brain up too, shall make a test of blood and serum for urea; death comes suddenly from that, you find no lesion, must take a piece of brain and cut it up, pour boiling water on it, break the brain to finer pieces, pour the water off, digest the piece of brain in other water, repeat four times, the solutions mix together, dry in an oven, treat with ether, at last the residue put on a slide of glass with nitric acid, let it stand awhile, then take your microscope--if there's urea you'll see the crystals--very beautiful! a cobra's beautiful, but scarce can kill as quick as these. likewise i have sealed up the stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines, so many poisons have no microscopic appearance that convinces, opium, hyoscyamus, belladonna fool us; but as the stomach had no inflammation, it was not chloral, ether took her off, which we can smell, to boot. but i can find strychnia, if it killed her; though you know that case in england sixty years ago, where the analysis did not disclose strychnia, though they hung a man for giving that poison to a fellow. to recur i'm down to this: perhaps a hemolysis-- but what produced it? if i find no ricin i turn to streptococcus, deadly snake, or shall i call him tiger? for i think the microscopic world of living things is just a little jungle, filled with tigers, snakes, lions, what you will, with teeth and claws, the perfect miniatures of these monstrous foes. sweet words come from the lips and tender hands like elenor murray's, minister, nor know the jungle has been roused in throat or lungs; and shapes venene begin to crawl and eat the ruddy apples of the blood, eject their triple venomous excreta in the channels of the body. there's the heart, which may be weakened by a streptococcus. but if she had a syncope and fell she must have bruised her body or her head. and if she had a syncope, was held up, who held her up? that might have cost her life: to be held up in syncope. you know you lay a person down in syncope, and oftentimes the heart resumes its beat. perhaps she was held up until she died, then laid there by the river, so no bruise. so many theories come to me. but again, i say to you, look for a man. run down all clues of gregory wenner. he is dead-- loss of a building drives to suicide-- the papers say, but still it may be true he was with elenor murray when she died, pushed her, we'll say, or struck her in a way to leave no mark, a tap upon the heart that shocked the muscles more or less obscure that bind the auricles and ventricles, and killed her. then he flies away in fear, aghast at what he does, and kills himself. look for a man, i say. it must be true, she went so secretly to walk that morning to meet a man--why would she walk alone? so while you hunt the man, i'll look for ricin, and with my chemicals end up the search. i never saw a heart more beautiful, just look at it. we doctors all agreed this elenor murray might have lived to ninety except for jungles, poison, sudden shock. i take my bottle with the heart of elenor and go about my way. it beat in france, it beat for france and for america, but what is truer, somewhere was a man for whom it beat! * * * * * when irma leese, the aunt of elenor murray, appeared before the coroner she told of elenor murray's visit, of the morning she left to walk, was never seen again. and brought the coroner some letters sent by elenor from france. what follows now is what the coroner, or the jury heard from irma leese, from letters drawn--beside the riffle that the death of elenor murray sent round the life of irma leese, which spread to tokio and touched a man, the son of irma leese's sister, dead corinne, the mother of this man in tokio. irma leese elenor murray landing in new york, after a weary voyage, none too well, staid in the city for a week and then upon a telegram from irma leese, born irma fouche, her aunt who lived alone this summer in the fouche house near leroy, came west to visit irma leese and rest. for elenor murray had not been herself since that hard spring when in the hospital, caring for soldiers stricken with the flu, she took bronchitis, after weeks in bed rose weak and shaky, crept to health again through egg-nogs, easy strolls about bordeaux. and later went to nice upon a furlough to get her strength again. but while she saw her vital flame burn brightly, as of old on favored days, yet for the rest the flame sputtered or sank a little. so she thought how good it might be to go west and stroll about the lovely country of leroy, and hear the whispering cedars by a window in the fouche mansion where this irma leese, her aunt, was summering. so she telegraphed, and being welcomed, went. this stately house, built sixty years before by arthur fouche, a brick home with a mansard roof, an oriel that looked between the cedars, and a porch with great ionic columns, from the street stood distantly amid ten acres of lawn, trees, flower plots--belonged to irma leese, who had reclaimed it from a chiropractor, to cleanse the name of fouche from that indignity, and bring it in the family again, since she had spent her girlhood, womanhood to twenty years amid its twenty rooms. for irma leese at twenty years had married and found herself at twenty-five a widow, with money left her, then had tried again, and after years dissolved the second pact, and made a settlement, was rich in fact, now forty-two. five years before had come and found the house she loved a sanitarium, a chiropractor's home. and as she stood beside the fence and saw the oriel, remembered all her happiness on this lawn with brothers and with sisters, one of whom was elenor murray's mother, then she willed to buy the place and spend some summers here. and here she was the summer elenor murray returned from france. and irma leese had said: "here is your room, it has the oriel, and there's the river and the hills for you. have breakfast in your room what hour you will, rise when you will. we'll drive and walk and rest, run to chicago when we have a mind. i have a splendid chauffeur now and maids. you must grow strong and well." and elenor murray gasped out her happiness for the pretty room, and stood and viewed the river and the hills, and wept a little on the gentle shoulder of irma leese. and so the days had passed of walking, driving, resting, many talks; for elenor murray spoke to irma leese of tragic and of rapturous days in france, and irma leese, though she had lived full years, had scarcely lived as much as elenor murray, and could not hear enough from elenor murray of the war and france, but mostly she would urge her niece to tell of what affairs of love had come to her. and elenor murray told of gregory wenner, save she did not tell the final secret, with a gesture touched the story off by saying: it was hopeless, i went into religion to forget. but on a day she said to irma leese: "i almost met my fate at nice," then sketched a hurried picture of a brief romance. but elenor murray told her nothing else of loves or men. but all the while the aunt weighed elenor murray, on a day exclaimed: "i see myself in you, and you are like your aunt corinne who died in ninety-two. i'll tell you all about your aunt corinne some day when we are talking, but i see you have the fouche blood--we are lovers all. your mother is a lover, elenor, if you would know it." "o, your aunt corinne she was most beautiful, but unfortunate. her husband was past sixty when she married, and she was thirty-two. he was distinguished, had money and all that, but youth is all, is everything for love, and she was young, and he was old." a week or two had passed since elenor murray came to irma leese, when on a morning fire broke from the eaves and menaced all the house; but maids and gardeners with buckets saved the house, while elenor murray and irma leese dipped water from the barrels that stood along the ell. a week from that a carpenter was working at the eaves along the ell, and in the garret knelt to pry up boards and patch. when as he pried a board up, he beheld between the rafters a package of old letters stained and frayed, tied with a little ribbon almost dust. and when he went down-stairs, delivered it to irma leese and said: here are some letters i found up in the garret under the floor, i pried up in my work. then irma leese looked at the letters, saw her sister's hand, corinne's upon the letters, opened, read, and saw the story which she knew before brought back in this uncanny way, the hand which wrote the letters six and twenty years turned back to dust. and when her niece came in she showed the letters, said, "i'll let you read, i'll tell you all about them": "when corinne was nineteen, very beautiful and vital, red-cheeked, a dancer, bubbling like new wine, a catch, as you may know, you see this house was full of laughter then, so many children. we had our parties, too, and young men thought, each one of us would have a dowry splendid-- a young man from chicago came along, a lawyer there, but lately come from pittsburgh to practice, win his way. i knew this man. he was a handsome dog with curly hair, blue eyes and sturdy figure. well, corinne quite lost her heart. he came here to a dance, and so the game commenced. and father thought the fellow was not right, but all of us, your mother and myself said, yes he is, and we conspired to help corinne and smooth the path of confidence. but later on corinne was not so buoyant, would not talk with me, your mother freely. then at last her eyes were sometimes red; we knew she wept. and, then corinne was sent away. well, here you'll guess the rest. her health was breaking down, that's true enough; the world could think its thoughts, and say his love grew cold, or she found out the black-leg that he was, and he was that. but elenor, the truth was more than that, corinne had been betrayed, she went away to right herself--these letters prove the case, which all the gossips, busy as they were, could not make out. the paper at leroy had printed that she went to pay a visit to relatives in the east. three months or so she came back well and rosy. but meanwhile your grandfather had paid this shabby scoundrel a sum of money, i forget the sum, to get these letters of your aunt corinne-- these letters here. this matter leaked, of course. and then we let the story take this form and moulded it a little to this form: the fellow was a scoundrel--this was proved when he took money to return her letters. they were love letters, they had been engaged, she thought him worthy, found herself deceived proved, too, by taking money, when at first he looked with honorable eyes to young corinne, and won her trust. and so corinne lived here ten years or more, at thirty married the judge, her senior thirty years, and went away. she bore a child and died--look elenor here are the letters which she took and nailed beneath the garret floor. we'll read them through, and then i'll burn them." irma leese rose up and put the letters in her desk and said: "let's ride along the river." so they rode, but as they rode, the day being clear and mild the fancy took them to chicago, where they lunched and spent the afternoon, returning at ten o'clock that night. and the next morning when irma leese expected elenor to rise and join her, asked for her, a maid told irma leese that elenor had gone to walk somewhere. and all that day she waited. but as night came, she fancied elenor had gone to see her mother, once rose up to telephone, then stopped because she felt elenor might have plans she would not wish her mother to get wind of--let it go. but when night came, she wondered, fell asleep with wondering and worry. but next morning as she was waiting for the car to come to motor to leroy, and see her sister, elenor's mother, in a casual way, learn if her niece was there, and waiting read the letters of corinne, the telephone rang in an ominous way, and irma leese sprang up to answer, got the tragic word of elenor murray found beside the river. left all the letters spilled upon her desk and motored to the river, to leroy where coroner merival took the body. just as irma leese departed, in the room a sullen maid revengeful for the fact she was discharged, was leaving in a day, entered and saw the letters, read a little, and gathered them, went to her room and packed her telescope and left, went to leroy, and gave a letter to this one and that, until the servant maids and carpenters and some lubricous fellows at leroy who made companions of these serving maids, had each a letter of the dead corinne, which showed at last, after some twenty years, of silence and oblivion, to leroy with memory to refresh, that poor corinne had given her love, herself, had been betrayed, abandoned by a scoundrel. merival, the coroner, when told about the letters, for soon the tongues were wagging in leroy, went here and there to find them, till he learned what quality of love the dead corinne had given to this man. then shook his head, resolved to see if he could not unearth in elenor murray's life some faithless lover who sought her death. the letters' riffle crawled through shadows of the waters of leroy until it looked a snake, was seen as such in tokio by franklin hollister, the son of dead corinne; it seemed a snake: he heard the coroner through neglect or malice had let the letters scatter--not the truth;-- the coroner had gathered up the letters, befriending irma leese; she got them back through merival. the riffle's just the same. and hence this man in tokio is crazed for shame and fear--for fear the girl he loves will hear his mother's story and break off her marriage promise. so in reckless rage he posts a letter off to lawyer hood, chicago, illinois--the coroner gets all the story through this lawyer hood, long after elenor's inquest is at end. meantime he cools, is wiser, thinks it bad to stir the scandal with a suit at law. and then when cooled he hears from lawyer hood who tells him what the truth is. so it ends. * * * * * these letters and the greenish wave that coiled at tokio is beyond the coroner's eye fixed on the water where the pebble fell:-- this death of elenor, circles close at hand engage his interest. now he seeks to learn about her training and religious life. and hears of miriam fay, a friend he thinks, and confidant of her religious life, head woman of the school where elenor learned chemistry, materia medica, anatomy, to fit her for the work of nursing. and he writes this miriam fay and miriam fay responds. the letter comes before the jury. here is what she wrote:-- miriam fay's letter elenor murray asked to go in training and came to see me, but the school was full, we could not take her. then she asked to stand upon a list and wait, i put her off. she came back, and she came back, till at last i took her application; then she came and pushed herself and asked when she could come, and start to train. at last i laughed and said: "well, come to-morrow." i had never seen such eagerness, persistence. so she came. she tried to make a friend of me, perhaps since it was best, i being in command. but anyway she wooed me, tried to please me. and spite of everything i grew to love her, though i distrusted her. but yet again i had belief in her best self, though doubting the girl somehow. but when i learned the girl had never had religious discipline, her father without faith, her mother too, her want of moral sense, i understood. she lacked stability of spirit, to-day she would be one thing, something else the next. shot up in fire, which failed and died away and i began to see her fraternize with girls who had her traits, too full of life to be what they should be, unstable too, much like herself. not long before she came into the training school, six months, perhaps, she had some tragedy, i don't know what, had been quite ill in body and in mind. when she went into training i could see her purpose to wear down herself, forget in weariness of body, something lived. she was alert and dutiful and sunny, kept all the rules, was studious, led the class, excelled, i think, in studies of the nerves, the mind grown sick. as we grew better friends, more intimate, she talked about religion, and sacred subjects, asked about the church. i gave her books to read, encouraged her, asked her to make her peace with god, and set her feet in pious paths. at last she said she wished to be baptized, confirmed. i made the plans for her, she was baptized, confirmed, went to confessional, and seemed renewed in spirit by conversion. for at once her zeal was like a flame at pentecost, she almost took the veil, but missing that, she followed out the discipline to the letter, kept all the feast days, went to mass, communion, did works of charity; indeed, i think she spent her spare hours all in all at sewing there with the sisters for the poor. she had, when she came to me, jewelry of value, a diamond solitaire, some other things. i missed them, and she said she sold them, gave the money to a home for friendless children. and i remember when she said her father had wronged, misvalued her; but now her love, made more abundant by the love of christ, had brought her to forgiveness. all her mood was of humility and sacrifice. one time i saw her at the convent, sitting upon a foot-stool at the gracious feet of the mother superior, sewing for the poor; hair parted in the middle, curls combed out. then was it that i missed her jewelry. she looked just like a poor maid, humble, patient, head bent above her sewing, eyes averted. the room was silent with religious thought. i loved her then and pitied her. but now i think she had that in her which at times made her a flagellant, at other times a rioter. she used the church to drag her life from something, took it for a bladder to float her soul when it was perilled. first, she did not sell her jewelry; this ring, too brilliant for forgetting, or to pass unnoticed when she wore it, showed again upon her finger after she had come out of her training, was a graduate. she had a faculty for getting in where elegance and riches were. she went among the great ones, when she found a way, and traveled with them where she learned the life of notables, aristocrats. it was there, or when from duty free and feasting, gadding the ring showed on her finger. in two years she dropped the church. new friends made in the school, new interests, work that took her energies and this religious flare had cured her up of what was killing her when first i knew her. there was another thing that drew her back to flesh, away from spirit: she saw bodies, and handled bodies as a nurse, forgot the body is the spirit's temple, fell to some materialism of thought. and now avoided me, was much away, of course, on duty here and there. i tried to hold her, protect and guide her, wrote to her at times to make confession, take communion. she ignored these letters. but i heard her say the body was as natural as the soul, and just as natural its desires. she kept out of the wreck of faith one thing alone, if she kept that: she could endure to hear god's name profaned, but would not stand to hear the savior's spoken in irreverence. she was afraid, no doubt. or to be just, the tender love of christ, his sacrifice, perhaps had won her wholly--let it go, i'll say that much for her. why am i harsh? because i saw the good in her all streaked with so much evil, evil known and lived in knowledge of it, clung to none the less, unstable as water, how could she succeed? untruthful, how could confidence be hers? i sometimes think she joined the church to mask a secret life, renewed forgiven sins. after she cloaked herself with piety. perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do, and how to do it, using these detours of piety to throw us off, who else had seen what doors she entered, whence she came. she wronged the church, i think, made it a screen to stand behind for kisses, to look from inviting kisses. then, as i have said, she took materialism from her work, and so renewed her sins. she drank, i think, and smoked and feasted; but as for the rest, the smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame or fire at least where there is smoke. you ask what took her to the war? why only this: adventure, chance of marriage, amorous conquests-- the girl was mad for men, although i saw her smoke obscured the flame, i never saw her except with robins far too tame or lame to interest her, and robins prove to me the hawk is somewhere, waits for night to join his playmate when the robins are at rest. you see the girl has madness in her, flies from exaltation up to ecstasy. feeds on emotion, never has enough. tries all things, states of spirit, even beliefs. passes from lust (i think) to celibacy, feasts, fasts, eats, starves, has raptures then inflicts the whip upon her back, is penitent, then proud, is humble, then is arrogant, looks down demurely, stares you out of face, but runs the world around. for in point of fact, she traveled much, knew cities and their ways; and when i used to see her at the convent so meek, clothed like a sewing maid, at once the pictures that she showed me of herself at seaside places or on boulevards, her beauty clothed in linen or in silk, came back to mind, and i would resurrect the fragments of our talks in which i saw how she knew foods and drinks and restaurants, and fashionable shops. this girl could fool the elect-- she fooled me for a time. i found her out. did she aspire? perhaps, if you believe it's aspiration to seek out the rich, and ape them. not for me. of course she went to get adventure in the war, perhaps she got too much. but as to waste of life, she might have been a quiet, noble woman keeping her place in life, not trying to rise out of her class--too useless--in her class making herself all worthy, serviceable. you'll find 'twas pride that slew her. very like she found a rich man, tried to hold him, lost her honor and her life in consequence. * * * * * when merival showed this letter to the jury, marion the juryman spoke up: "you know that type of woman--saintly hag! i wouldn't take her word about a thing by way of inference, or analysis. they had some trouble, she and elenor you may be sure." and merival replied: "take it for what it's worth. i leave you now to see the man who owns the _daily times_. he's turned upon our inquest, did you see the jab he gives me? i can jab as well." so merival went out and took with him a riffle in the waters of circumstance set up by elenor murray's death to one remote, secure in greatness--to the man who ran the _times_. archibald lowell archibald lowell, owner of the _times_ lived six months of the year at sunnyside, his gothic castle near leroy, so named because no sun was in him, it may be. his wife was much away when on this earth at cures, in travel, fighting psychic ills, approaching madness, dying nerves. they said her heart was starved for living with a man so cold and silent. thirty years she lived bound to this man, in restless agony, and as she could not free her life from his, nor keep it living with him, on a day she stuck a gas hose in her mouth and drank her lungs full of the lethal stuff and died. that was the very day the hunter found elenor murray's body near the river. a servant saw this mrs. lowell lying a copy of the _times_ clutched in her hand, which published that a slip of paper found in elenor murray's pocket had these words "to be brave and not to flinch." and was she brave, and nerved to end it by these words of elenor? but archibald, the husband, could not bear to have the death by suicide made known. he laid the body out, as if his wife had gone to bed as usual, turned a jet and left it, just as if his wife had failed to fully turn it, then went in the room; then called the servants, did not know that one had seen her with the _times_ clutched in her hand. he thought the matter hidden. merival, all occupied with elenor murray's death gave to a deputy the lowell inquest. but later what this servant saw was told to merival. and now no more alone than when his wife lived, lowell passed the days at sunnyside, as he had done for years. he sat alone, and paced the rooms alone, with hands behind him clasped, in fear and wonder of life and what life is. he rode about, and viewed his blooded cattle on the hills. but what were all these rooms and acres to him with no face near him but the servants, gardeners? sometimes he wished he had a child to draw upon his fabulous income, growing more since all his life was centered in the _times_ to swell its revenues, and in the process his spirit was more fully in the _times_ than in his body. there were eyes who saw how deftly was his spirit woven in it until it was a scarf to bind and choke the public throat, or stifle honest thought like a soft pillow offered for the head, but used to smother. there were eyes who saw the working of its ways emasculate, its tones of gray, where flame had been the thing, its timorous steps, while spying on the public, to learn the public's thought. its cautious pauses, with foot uplifted, ears pricked up to hear a step fall, twig break. platitudes in progress-- with sugar coat of righteousness and order, respectability. did the public make it? or did it make the public, that it fitted with such exactness in the communal life? some thousands thought it fair--what should they think when it played neutral in the matter of news to both sides of the question, though at last it turned the judge, and chose the better side, determined from the first, a secret plan, and cunning way to turn the public scale? some thousands liked the kind of news it printed where no sensation flourished--smallest type that fixed attention for the staring eyes needed for type so small. but others knew it led the people by its fair pretensions, and used them in the end. in any case this editor played hand-ball in this way: the advertisers tossed the ball, the readers caught it and tossed it to the advertisers: and as the readers multiplied, the columns of advertising grew, and lowell's thought was how to play the one against the other, and fill his purse. it was an ingrown mind, and growing more ingrown with time. afraid of crowds and streets, uncomfortable in clubs, no warmth in hands to touch his fellows' hands, keeping aloof from politicians, loathing the human alderman who bails the thief; the little scamp who pares a little profit, and grafts upon a branch that takes no harm. he loved the active spirit, if it worked, and feared the active spirit, if it played. this lowell hid himself from favor seekers, such letters filtered to him through a sieve of secretaries. if he had a friend, who was a mind to him as well, perhaps it was a certain lawyer, but who knew? and cursed with monophobia, none the less this lowell lived alone there near leroy, surrounded by his servants, at his desk a secretary named mcgill, who took such letters, editorials as he spoke. his life was nearly waste. a peanut stand should be as much remembered as the _times_, when fifty years are passed. and every month the circulation manager came down to tell the great man of the gain or loss the paper made that month in circulation, in advertising, chiefly. lowell took the audit sheets and studied them, and gave steel bullet words of order this or that. he took the dividends, and put them--where? god knew alone. he went to church sometimes, on certain sundays, for a pious mother had reared him so, and sat there like a corpse, a desiccated soul, so dry the moss upon his teeth was dry. and on a day, his wife now in the earth a week or so, himself not well, the doctor there to quiet his fears of sudden death, pains in the chest, his manager had come--was made to wait until the doctor finished--brought the sheets which showed the advertising, circulation. and lowell studied them and said at last: "that new reporter makes the murray inquest a thing of interest, does the public like it?" to which the manager: "it sells the paper." and then the great man: "it has served its use. now being nearly over, print these words: the murray inquest shows to what a length fantastic wit can go, it should be stopped." an editorial later might be well: comment upon a father and a mother invaded in their privacy, and life in intimate relations dragged to view to sate the curious eye. next day the _times_ rebuked the coroner in these words. and then merival sent word: "i come to see you, or else you come to see me, or by process if you refuse." and so the editor invited merival to sunnyside to talk the matter out. this was the talk: first merival went over all the ground in mild locution, what he sought to do. how as departments in the war had studied disease and what not, tabulated facts, he wished to make a start for knowing lives, and finding remedies for lives. it's true not much might be accomplished, also true the poet and the novelist gave thought, analysis to lives, yet who could tell what system might grow up to find the fault in marriage as it is, in rearing children in motherhood, in homes; for merival by way of wit said to this dullest man: "i know of mother and of home, of heaven i've yet to learn." whereat the great man winced, to hear the home and motherhood so slurred, and briefly said the _times_ would go its way to serve the public interests, and to foster american ideals as he conceived them. then merival who knew the great man's nature, how small it was and barren, cold and dull, and wedded to small things, to gold, and fear of change, and knew the life the woman lived,-- these seven days in the earth--with such a man, just by a zephyr of intangible thought veered round the talk to her, to voice a wonder about the jet left turned, his deputy had overlooked a hose which she could drink gas from a jet. "you needn't touch the jet. just leave it as she left it--hide the hose, and leave the gas on, put the woman in bed." "this deputy," said merival, "was slack and let a verdict pass of accident." "oh yes" said merival, "your servant told about the hose, the _times_ clutched in her hand. and may i test this jet, while i am here? go up to see and test it?" whereupon the great man with wide eyes stared in the eyes of merival, was speechless for a moment, not knowing what to say, while merival read something in his eyes, saw in his eyes the secret beat to cover, saw the man turn head away which shook a little, saw his chest expand for breath, and heard at last the editor in four steel bullet words, "it is not necessary." merival had trapped the solitary fox--arose and going said: "if it was suicide the inquest must be changed." the editor looked through the window at the coroner walking the gravel walk, and saw his hand unlatch the iron gate, and saw him pass from view behind the trees. then horror rose within his brain, a nameless horror took the heart of him, for fear this coroner would dig this secret up, and show the world the dead face of the woman self-destroyed, and of the talk, which would not come to him, to poison air he breathed no less, of why this woman took her life; if for ill health then why ill health? o, well he knew at heart what he had done to break her, starve her life. and now accused himself too much for words, ways, temperament of him that murdered her, for lovelessness, and for deliberate hands that pushed her off and down. he rode that day to see his cattle, overlook the work, but when night came with silence and the cry of night-hawks, and the elegy of leaves beneath the stars that looked so cold at him as he turned seeking sleep, the dreaded pain grew stronger in his breast. dawn came at last and then the stir and voices of the maids. and after breakfast in the carven room archibald lowell standing by the mantel in his great library, felt sudden pain; saw sudden darkness, nothing saw at once, lying upon the marble of the hearth; his great head cut which struck the post of brass in the hearth's railing--only a little blood! archibald lowell being dead at last; the _times_ left to the holders of the stock who kept his policy, and kept the _times_ as if the great man lived. and merival taking the doctor's word that death was caused by angina pectoris, let it drop. and went his way with elenor murray's case. * * * * * so lowell's dead and buried; had to die, but not through elenor murray. that's the fate that laughs at greatness, little things that sneak from alien neighborhoods of life and kill. and lowell leaves a will, to which a boy-- who sold the _times_ once, afterward the _star_-- is alien as this elenor to the man who owned the _times_. but still is brought in touch with lowell's will, because this lowell died before he died. and merival learns the facts and brings them to the jury in these words:-- widow fortelka marie fortelka, widow, mother of josef, now seventeen, an invalid at home in a house, in halstead street, his running side aching with broken ribs, read in the _times_ of lowell's death the editor, dressed herself to call on william rummler, legal mind for lowell and the _times_. it was a day when fog hung over the city, and she thought of fogs in germany whence she came, and thought of hard conditions there when she was young. then as her boy, this josef, coughed, she looked and felt a pang at heart, a rise of wrath, and heard him moan for broken ribs and lungs that had been bruised or mashed. america, oh yes, america, she said to self, how is it different from the land i left? and then her husband's memory came to mind: how he had fled his country to be free, and come to philadelphia, with the thrill of new life found, looked at the famous hall which gave the declaration, cried and laughed and said: "the country's free, and i am here, i am free now, a man, no more a slave." what did he find? a job, but prices high. wages decreased in winter, then a strike. he joined the union, found himself in jail for passing hand-bills which announced the strike, and asked the public to take note, and punish the corporation, not to trade with it, for its injustice toward the laborers. and in the court he heard the judge decide: "free speech cannot be used to gain the ends of ruin by conspiracy like this against a business. men from foreign lands, of despot rule and poverty, who come for liberty and means of life among us must learn that liberty is ordered liberty, and is not license, freedom to commit injury to another." so in jail he lay his thirty days out, went to work where he could find it, found the union smashed, himself compelled to take what job he could, what wages he was offered. and his children kept coming year by year till there were eight, and josef was but ten. and then he died and left this helpless family, and the boy sold papers on the street, ten years of age, the widow washed. and first he sold the _times_ and helped to spread the doctrines of the _times_ of ordered liberty and epicene reforms of this or that. but when the _star_ with millions back of it broke in the field he changed and sold the _star_, too bad for him-- discovered something: josef did not know the corners of the street are free to all, or free to none, where newsboys stood and sold, and kept their stands, or rather where the powers that kept the great conspiracy of the press controlled the stands, and to prevent the _star_ from gaining foot-hold. not upon this corner nor on that corner, any corner in short shall newsboys sell the _star_. but josef felt, being a boy, indifferent to the rules, well founded, true or false, that all the corners were free to all, and for his daring, strength had been selected, picked to sell the _star_, and break the ground, gain place upon the stands. he had been warned from corners, chased and boxed by heavy fists from corners more than once before the day they felled him. on that day a monster bully, once a pugilist, came on him selling the _star_ and knocked him down, kicked in his ribs and broke a leg and cracked his little skull. and so they took him home to widow fortelka and the sisters, brothers, whose bread he earned. and there he lay and moaned, and when he sat up had a little cough, was short of breath. and on this foggy day when widow fortelka reads in the _times_ that lowell, the editor, is dead, he sits with feet wrapped in a quilt and gets his breath with open mouth, his face is brightly flushed; a fetid sweetness fills the air of the room that from his open mouth comes. josef lingers a few weeks yet--he has tuberculosis. and so his mother looks at him, resolves to call this day on william rummler, see if lowell's death has changed the state of things; and if the legal mind will not relent now that the mind that fed it lies in death. it's true enough, she thinks, i was dismissed, and sent away for good, but never mind. it can't be true this pugilist went farther than the authority of his hiring, that's the talk this lawyer gave her, used a word she could not keep in mind--the lawyer said _respondeat superior_ in this case was not in point--and if it could be proved this pugilist was hired by the _times_, no one could prove the _times_ had hired him to beat a boy, commit a crime. well, then "what was he hired for?" the widow asked. and then she talked with newsboys, and they said the papers had their sluggers, all of them, even the _star_, and that was just a move in getting circulation, keeping it. and all these sluggers watched the stands and drove the newsboys selling _stars_ away. no matter, she could not argue with this lawyer rummler, who said: "you must excuse me, go away, i'm sorry, but there's nothing i can do." now widow fortelka had never heard of elenor murray, had not read a line of elenor murray's death beside the river. she was as ignorant of the interview between the coroner and this editor who died next morning fearing merival would dig up mrs. lowell and expose her suicide, as conferences of spirits directing matters in another world. her thought was moulded no less by the riffles that spread from elenor murray and her death. and she resolved to see this lawyer rummler, and try again to get a settlement to help her dying boy. and so she went. that morning rummler coming into town had met a cynic friend upon the train who used his tongue as freely as his mood moved him to use it. so he said to rummler: "i see your client died--a hell of a life that fellow lived, a critic in our midst both hated and caressed. and i suppose you drew his will and know it, i will bet, if he left anything to charity, or to the city, it is some narcotic to keep things as they are, the ailing body to dull and bring forgetfulness of pain. he was a fine albino of the soul, no pigment in his genesis to give color to hair or eyes, he had no gonads." and william rummler laughed and said, "you'll see what lowell did when i probate the will." then william rummler thought that very moment of plans whereby his legal mind could thrive upon the building of the big hotel to lowell's memory, for perpetual use of the y. m. c. a., the seminary, too, in moody's memory for an orthodox instruction in the bible. with such things in mind, this william rummler opened the door, and stepped into his office, got a shock from seeing widow fortelka on the bench, where clients waited, waiting there for him. she rose and greeted him, and william rummler who in a stronger moment might have said: "you must excuse me, i have told you, madam, i can do nothing for you," let her follow into his private office and sit down and there renew her suit. she said to him: "my boy is dying now, i think his ribs were driven in his lungs and punctured them. he coughs the worst stuff up you ever saw. and has an awful fever, sweats his clothes right through, is breathless, cannot live a month. and i know you can help me. mr. lowell, so you told me, refused a settlement, because this pugilist was never hired to beat my boy, or any boy; for fear it would be an admission, and be talked of, and lead another to demand some money. but now he's dead, and surely you are free to help me some, so that this month or two, while my boy joe is dying he can have what milk he wants and food, and when he dies, a decent coffin, burial. then perhaps there will be something left to help me with-- i wash to feed the children, as you know." and william rummler looked at her and thought for one brief moment with his lawyer mind about this horror, while the widow wept, and as she wept a culprit mood was his for thinking of the truth, for well he knew this slugger had been hired for such deeds, and here was one result. and in his pain the cynic words his friend had said to him upon the train began to stir, and then he felt a rush of feeling, blood, and thought of clause thirteen in lowell's will, which gave the trustees power, and he was chief trustee, to give some worthy charity once a year, not to exceed a thousand dollars. so he thought to self, "this is a charity. i will advance the money, get it back as soon as i probate the will." at last he broke this moment's musing and spoke up: "your case appeals to me. you may step out, and wait till i prepare the papers, then i'll have a check made for a thousand dollars." widow fortelka rose up and took the crucifix she wore and kissed it, wept and left the room. * * * * * now here's the case of percy ferguson you'd think his life was safe from elenor murray. no preacher ever ran a prettier boat than percy ferguson, all painted white with polished railings, flying at the fore the red and white and blue. such little waves set dancing by the death of elenor murray to sink so fine a boat, and leave the reverend to swim to shore! he couldn't walk the waves! rev. percy ferguson the rev. percy ferguson, patrician vicar of christ, companion of the strong, and member of the inner shrine, where men observe the rituals of the golden calf; a dilettante, and writer for the press upon such themes as optimism, order, obedience, beauty, law, while elenor murray's life was being weighed by merival preached in disparagement of merival upon a fatal sunday, as it chanced, too near to doom's day for the clergyman. for, as the word had gone about that waste in lives preoccupied this merival, and many talked of waste, and spoke a life where waste had been in whole or part--the pulpit should take a hand, thought ferguson. and so the reverend percy ferguson preached thus to a great audience and fashionable: "the hour's need is a firmer faith in christ, a closer hold on god, belief again in sin's reality; the age's vice is laughter over sin, the attitude that sin is not!" and then to prove that sin is something real, he spoke of money sins that bring the money panics, of the beauty that lust corrupts, wound up with athen's story, which sin decayed. and touching on this waste, which was the current talk, what is this waste except a sin in life, the moral law transgressed, god mocked, the order of man's life, and god's will disobeyed? show me a life that lives through christ and none shall find a waste. this clergyman some fifteen years before went on a hunt for alma bell, who taught the art department of the school, and found enough to scare the school directors that she burned with lawless love for elenor murray. and made it seem the teacher's reprimand in school of elenor murray for her ways of strolling, riding with young men at night, was moved by jealousy of elenor murray, being herself in love with elenor murray. this clergyman laid what he found before the school directors, alma bell was sent out of the school her way, and disappeared.... but now, though fifteen years had passed, the story of alma bell and elenor murray crept like poisonous mist, scarce seen, around leroy. it had been so always. and all these years no one would touch or talk in open words the loathsome matter, since girls grown to women, and married in the town might have their names relinked to alma bell's. and was it true that elenor murray strayed as a young girl in those far days of strolls and buggy rides? but after percy ferguson had thundered against the inquest, warren henderson, a banker of the city, who had dealt in paper of the clergyman, and knew the clergyman had interests near victoria, was playing at the money game, and knew he tottered on the brink, and held to hands that feared to hold him longer--henderson, a wise man, cynical, contemptuous of frocks so sure of ways to avoid the waste, so unforgiving of the tangled moods and baffled eyes of men; contemptuous of frocks so avid for the downy beds, place, honors, money, admiration, praise, much wished to see the clergyman come down and lay his life beside the other sinners. but more he knew, admired this alma bell, did not believe she burned with guilty love for elenor murray, thought the moral hunt or alma bell had made a waste of life, as ignorance might pluck a flower for thinking it was a weed; on elenor murray too had brought a waste, by scenting up her life with something faint but ineradicable. and warren henderson would have revenge, and waited till old jacob bangs should fix his name to paper once again of ferguson's to tell old jacob bangs he should be wary, since banks and agencies were tremulous with hints of failure at victoria. so meeting jacob bangs the banker told him what things were bruited, and warned the man to fix his name no more to ferguson's paper. it was the very day the clergyman sought jacob bangs to get his signature upon a note for money at the bank. and jacob bangs was silent and evasive, demurred a little and refused at last. which sent the anxious clergyman adrift to look for other help. he looked and looked, and found no other help. associates depending more on men than god, fell down, and in a day the bubble burst. the _times_ had columns of the story. in a week, at sunday service percy ferguson stood in the pulpit to confess his sin, the murray jury sat and fed their joy for hearing ferguson confess his sin. this is the way he did it: "first, my friends, i do not say i have betrayed the trust my friends have given me. some years ago i thought to make provision for my wife, i wished to start some certain young men right. i had another plan i can't disclose, not selfish, you'll believe me. so i took my savings made as lecturer and writer and put them in this venture. i'm ashamed to say how great those savings were, in view of what the poor earn, those who work with hands! ashamed too, when i think these savings grew because i spoke the things the rich desired. and squared my words with what the strong would have-- therein christ was betrayed. the end has come. i too have been betrayed, my confidence wronged by my fellows in the enterprise. i hope to pay my debts. hard poverty has come to me to bring me back to christ." "but listen now: these years i lived perturbed, lest this life which i grew into would mould young men and ministers, lead them astray to public life, sensation, lecture platforms, prosperity, away from christ-like service, obscure and gentle. to those souls i owe my heart's confession: i have loved my books more than the poor, position more than service, office and honor over love of men; lived thus when all my strength belonged to thought, to work for schools, the sick, the poor, the friendless, to boys and girls with hungry minds. my friends, here i abase my soul before god's throne, and ask forgiveness for the pious zeal with which i smote the soul of alma bell, and smudged the robe of elenor murray. god, thou, who has taken elenor murray home, after great service in the war, o grant thy servant yet to kneel before the soul of elenor murray. for who am i to judge? what was i then to judge? who coveted honors, when solitude, where i might dwell apart, and listen to the voice of god was mine, by calling and for seeking. i have broken the oath i took to take no purse or scrip. i have loved money, even while i knew no servant of christ can work for christ and strive for money. and if anywhere there be a noble boy who would become a minister, who has heard me, or read my books, and grown thereby to cherish secular ideas of christ's work in the world, to him i say: repent the thought, reject me; there are men and women missionaries, here, abroad, and nameless workers in poor settlements whose latchets to stoop down and to unloose i am unworthy." "gift of life too short! o, beautiful gift of god, too brief at best, for all a man can do, how have i wasted this precious gift! how wasted it in pride, in seeking out the powerful, the great, the hands with honors, gold to give--when nothing is profitable to a servant of the christ except to shepherd christ's poor. o, young men, interpret not your ministry in terms of intellect alone, forefront the heart, that at the end of life you may look up and say to god: behind these are the sheep thou gavest me, and not a one is lost." "as to my enemies, for enemies a clergyman must have whose fault is mine, plato would have us harden hearts to sorrow. and zeno roofs of slate for souls to slide the storm of evil--christ in sorrow did for evil good. for me, my prayer is this, my faith as well, that i may be perfected through suffering." that ended the confession. then "love divine, all love excelling" sounded. the congregation rose, and some went up to take the pastor's hand, but others left to think the matter over. for some said: "he married fortunate." and others said: "we know through jacob bangs he has investments in wheat lands, what's the truth? in any case what avarice is this that made him anxious about the comfort of his wife and family? the thing won't work. he's only middle way in solving his soul's problem. this confession is just a poor beginning." others said: "he drove out alma bell, let's drive him out." and others said: "you note we never heard about this speculation till it failed, and he was brought to grief. if it had prospered the man had never told, what do you think?" but in a year as health failed, ferguson took leave of absence, and the silence of life which closes over men, however noisy with sermons, lectures, covered him. his riffle died out in distant waters. there was a doctor burke lived at leroy, neurologist and student. on a night when merival had the jury at his house, llewellyn george was telling of his travels in china and japan, had mutual friends with franklin hollister, the cousin of elenor, and son of dead corinne, who hid her letters under the eaves. the talk went wide and far. for david borrow, sunny pessimist, thrust logic words at maiworm, the juryman; and said our life was bad, and must be so, while maiworm trusted god, said life was good. and winthrop marion let play his wit, the riches of his reading over all. thus as they talked this doctor burke came in. "you'll pardon this intrusion, i'll go on if this is secret business. let me say this inquest holds my interest and i've come to tell of elenor's ancestry." thus he spoke. "there'll be another time if i must go." and merival spoke up and said: "why stay and tell us what you know, or think," and so the coroner and jury sat and heard:-- dr. burke you've heard of potters' wheels and potters' hands. i had a dream that told the human tale as well as potters' wheels or potters' hands. i saw a great hand slopping plasmic jelly around the low sides of a giant bowl. a drop would fly upon the giant table, and quick the drop would twist up into form, become homonculus and wave its hands, brandish a little pistol, shoot a creature, upspringing from another drop of plasm, slopped on the giant table. other drops, flying as water from a grinding stone, out of the giant bowl, took little crowns and put them on their heads and mounted thrones, and lorded little armies. some became half-drooped and sickly things, like poisoned flies. and others stood on lighted faggots, others fed and commanded, others served and starved, but many joined the throng of animate drops, and hurried on the phantom quest. you see, whether you call it potter's hand or hand that stirs, to no end, jelly in the bowl, you have the force outside and not inside. invest it with a malice, wanton humor, which likes to see the plasmic jelly slop, and rain in drops upon the giant table, and does not care what happens in the world, that giant table. all such dreams are wrong, my dream is wrong, my waking thought is right. man can subdue the giant hand that stirs, or turns the wheel, and so these visions err. for as this farmer, lately come to town, picks out the finest corn seeds, and so crops a finer corn, let's look to human seed, and raise a purer stock; let's learn of him, who does not put defective grains aside for planting in the spring, but puts aside the best for planting. for i'd like to see as much care taken with the human stock as men now take of corn, race-horses, hogs. you, coroner merival are right, i think. if we conserve our forests, waterways, why not the stream of human life, which wastes because its source is wasted, fouled. perhaps our coroner has started something good, and brought to public mind what might result if every man kept record of the traits known in his family for the future use of those to come in choosing mates. behold, your moralists and churchmen with your rules brought down from palestine, which says that life though tainted, maddened, must not be controlled, diverted, headed off, while life in corn, and life in hogs, that feed the life of man should be made better for the life of man-- behold, i say, some hundred millions spent on paupers, epileptics, deaf and blind; on feeble minded, invalids, the insane-- behold, i say, this cost in gold alone, leave for the time the tragedy of souls, who suffer or must see such suffering, and then turn back to what? the hand that stirs, the potter's hand? why, no--the marriage counter where this same state in christian charity spending its millions, lets the fault begin, and says to epileptics and what not:-- "go breed your kind, for jesus came to earth, and we will house and feed your progeny, or hang, incarcerate your murderous spawn, as it may happen." and all the time we know as small grains fruit in small grains, even man in fifty matters of pathology transmits what's in him, blindness, imbecility, hysteria, susceptibilities to cancer and tuberculosis. also the soil that sprouts the giant weed of madness-- there's soil which will not sprout them, occupied too full by blossoms, healthy trees. we know such things as these--well, i would sterilize, or segregate these shriveled seeds and keep the soil of life for seeds select, and take the church and jesus, if he's in the way, and say: "you stand aside, and let me raise a better and a better breed of men." quit, shut your sniveling charities; have mercy not on these paupers, imbeciles, diseased ones, but on the progeny you let them breed. and thereby sponge the greatest waste away, and source of life's immeasurable tragedies. avaunt you potter hands and potter wheels! god is within us, not without us, we are given souls to know and see and guide ourselves and those to come, souls that compute the calculus of beauties, talents, traits, and show us that the good in seed strives on to master stocks; that even poisoned blood, and minds in chemic turmoils, mixed with blood and minds in harmony, work clean at last-- else how may normal man to-day be such with some eight billion ancestors behind, and something in him of the blood of all who lived five hundred years ago or so, who were diseased with alcohol and pork, and poverty? but oh these centuries of agony and waste! let's stop it now! and since this god within us gives us choice to let the dirty plasma flow or dam it, to give the channel to the silver stream of starry power, which shall we do? now choose between your race of drunkards, imbeciles, lunatics and neurotics, or the race of those who sing and write, or measure space, build temples, bridges, calculate the stars, live long and sanely. well, i take my son, i could have prophesied his eyes, through knowing the color of my mother's, father's eyes, the color of his mother's parent's eyes. i could have told his hair. there's subtler things. my father died before this son was born; why does this son smack lips and turn his hand just like my father did? not imitation-- he never saw him, and i do not do so. refine the matter where you will, how far you choose to go, it is not eyes and hair, chins, shape of head, of limbs, or shape of hands, nor even features, look of eyes, nor sound of voice that we inherit, but the traits of inner senses, spiritual gifts, and secret beauties and powers of spirit; which result not solely by the compound of the souls through conjugating cells, but in the fusion something arises like an unknown x and starts another wonder in the soul, that comes from souls compounded. coroner you have done well to study elenor murray. how do i view the matter? to begin here is a man who looks upon a woman, desires her, so they marry, up they step before the marriage counter, buy a license to live together, propagate their kind. no questions asked. i'll later come to that. this couple has four children, elenor is second to be born. i knew this girl, i cared for her at times when she was young-- well, for the picture general, she matures goes teaching school, leaves home, goes far away, has restlessness and longings, ups and downs of ecstasy and depression, has a will which drives her onward, dreams that call to her. goes to the war at last to sacrifice her life in duty, and the root of this is masochistic (though i love the flower), comes back and dies. i call her not a drop slopped from the giant bowl; she is a growth proceeding on clear lines, if we could know, from cells that joined, and had within themselves the quality of the stream whose source i see as far as grandparents. and now to this: we all know what her father, mother are. no doubt the marriage counter could have seen-- or asked what was not visible. but who knows about the father's parents, or the mother's? i chance to know. the father drinks, you say? well, he drank little when this child was born, had he drunk much, it is the nerves which crave the solace of the cup, and not the cup which passes from the parent to the child. his father and his mother were good blood, steady, industrious; and just because his father and his mother had the will to fight privation, and the lonely days of pioneering, so this son had will to fight, aspire, but at the last to growl, and darken in that drug store prison, take to drink at times in anger for a will that was so balked. well, then your marriage counter could scarcely ask: what is your aim in life? you clerk now in a drug store, you aspire to be a lawyer, if you find yourself stopped on your way by poverty, the work of clerking to earn bread, you will break down, and so affect your progeny. so, you see, for all of that the daughter elenor was born when this ambition had its hope, not when it tangled up in hopelessness; and therefore is thrown out of the account. the father must be passed and given license to wed this woman. how about the mother? you never knew the mother of the mother. she had great power of life and power of soul, lived to be eighty-seven, to the last was tense, high voiced, excitable, ecstatic, top full of visions, dreams, and plans for life. but worse than that at fifty lost her mind, was two years kept at kankakee, quite mad, grieving for fancied wrongs against her husband some five years dead, and praying to keep down desire for men. her malady was sensed when she began to wander here and there, in shops and public places, in the church, wherever she could meet with men, one man particularly to whom she made advances unwomanly and strange. and so at last she turned her whole mind to the church, became religion mad, grew mystical, believed that jesus christ had taken her to spouse. they kept her in confinement for two years. the rage died down at last, and she came home. but to the last was nervous, tense, high keyed. and then her mind failed totally, she died at eighty-seven here. now i could take some certain symbols a and a, and show out of the laws that mendel found for us, what chances elenor murray had to live free of the madness, clear or in dilute, diminished or made over, which came down from this old woman to her. it's enough to see in elenor murray certain traits, passions and powers, ecstasies and sorrows. and from them life's misfortunes, and to see they tally, take the color of the soul of this old woman, back of her. even to see in elenor murray's mother states of soul, and states of nerves, passed on to elenor murray directly by her mother. but you say, since many say so, here's a woman's soul most beautiful and serviceable in the world and she confutes you, in your logic chopping, materialistic program, who would give the marriage counter power to pick the corn seed for future planting: no, i say to this. what does it come to? she had will enough, and aspiration, struck out for herself, learned for herself, did service in the war, as many did, and died--all very good. but not so good that we could quite afford to take the chances on some other things which might have come from her. well, to begin putting aside an autopsy, she died because this neural weakness, so derived, caught in such stress of life proved far too much for one so organized; a stress of life which others could live through, and have lived through. the world had elenor murray, and she died before she was a cost.--but just suppose no war had been to aureole her life-- and she had lived here and gone mad at last become a charge upon the state? or yet, as she was love-mad, by the common word, and as she had neurotic tendencies, would seek neurotic types therefore, suppose she had with some neurotic made a marriage, and brought upon us types worse than themselves; given us the symbol double a instead of big and little a, where are you then? you have some suicides, or murders maybe, some crimes in sex, some madness on your hands, for which to tax the strong to raise, and raise some millions every year. are we so mad for beauty, sacrifice and heroism, so hungry for the stimulus of these that we cannot discern and fairly appraise what elenor murray was, what to the world she brought, for which we overlook the harm she might have done the world? not if we think! and if we think, she will not seem god's flower made spotted, pale or streaked by cross of breed, a wonder and a richness in the world; but she will seem a blossom which to these added a novel poison with the power to spread her poison! and we may dispense with what she did and what she tried to do, no longer sentimentalists, to keep the chances growing in the world to bring a better race of men. then doctor burke left off philosophy and asked: "how many of you who hear me, know that elenor murray was distant cousin to this necrophile, this taylor boy, i call him boy, though twenty, who got the rope for that detested murder of a young girl--oh yes, let's save the seed of stock like this!" but only david borrow knew elenor was cousin to this boy. and merival spoke up: "what is to-day? it's thursday, it's to-morrow that he hangs. i'll go now to the jail to see this boy." "he hangs at nine o'clock," said dr. burke. and merival got up to go. the party broke up, departed. at the jail he saw the wretched creature doomed to die. and turned half sick from seeing how he tossed and looked with glassy eyes. the sheriff had gone out. and merival could see him, get the case. next afternoon they met, the sheriff told this story to the coroner. charles warren, the sheriff i have seen twenty men hanged, hung myself two in this jail, with whom i talked the night before they had the rope, knotted behind the ear to break the neck. these two i hanged, one guilty and defiant, taking chops, four cups of coffee just an hour before we swung him off; the other trembling, pale, protesting innocence, but guilty too-- both wore the same look in the middle watch. i tell you what it is: you take a steer, and windlass him to where the butcher stands with hammer ready for the blow and knife to slit the throat after the hammer falls, well, there's a moment when the steer is standing head, neck strained side-ways, eyes rolled side-ways too, fixed, bright seen this way, but another way a film seems spreading on them. that's the look. they wear a corpse-like pallor, and their tongues are loose, sprawl in their mouths, lie paralyzed against their teeth, or fall back in their throats which make them cough and stop for words and close dry lips with little pops. there's something else: their minds are out of them, like a rubber band stretched from the place it's pinned, about to break. and all the time they try to draw it back, and give it utterance with that sprawling tongue, and lips too dry for words. they hold it tight as a woman giving birth holds to the sheet tied to the bed's head, pulls the sheet to end the agony and the reluctance of the child that pauses, dreads to enter in this world. so was it with fred taylor. but before the high court shook his hope, he talked to me freely and fully, saying many times what could the world expect of him beside some violence or murder? he had borrowed the books his lawyers used to fight for him, and read for hours and days about heredity. and in our talks he said: mix red and violet, you have the color purple. strike two notes, you have a certain chord, and nature made me by rules as mathematical as they use in mixing drugs or gases. then he'd say: look at this table, and he'd show to me a diagram of chickens, how blue fowls come from a cross of black with one of white with black splashed feathers. look at the blues, he'd say. they mate, and of four chickens, two are blue, and one is black and one is white. these blues produce in that proportion. but the black and white have chickens white and black, you see in equal numbers. don't you see that i was caught in mathematics, jotted down upon a slate before i came to earth? they could have picked my forbears; on a slate forecast my soul, its tendencies, if they had been that devilish. and so he talked. well, then he heard that elenor murray died, and told me that her grandmother, that woman known for her queerness and her lively soul to eighty years and more, was grandmother to his father, and this elenor murray cousin to his father. there you have it, he exclaimed, she killed herself, and i know why, he said she loved someone. this love is in our blood, and overflows, or spurts between the logs you dam it with, or fully stayed grows green with summer scum, breeds frogs and spotted snakes. he was a study and i studied him. i'd sit beside his cell and read some words from his confession, ask why did you this? his crime was monstrous, but he won me over. i wished to help the boy, for boy he was just nineteen, and i pitied him. at last his story seemed as clear as when you see the truth behind poor words that say as much as words can say--you see, you get the truth and know it, even if you never pass the truth to others. lord! this girl he killed knew not the power she played with. why she sat like a child upon the asp's nest picking flowers. or as a child will pet a mad dog. look you come into my life, what do you bring? why, everything that made your life, all pains, all raptures, disappointments, wisdom learned you bring to me. but do you show them, no! you hide them maybe, some of them, and leave myself to learn you by the hardest means, and bing! a something in you, or in me, out of a past explodes, or better still extends a claw from out the buttoned coat and rips a face. so this poor girl was killed, and by an innocent coquetry evoked the claw that tore her breast away. one day as i passed by his cell i stopped and sat. what was the first thing entering in your mind from which you trace your act? and he said: "well almost from the beginning all my mind was on her from the moment i awaked until i slept, and often i awoke at two or three o'clock with thoughts of her. and through the day i thought of nothing else; sometimes i could not eat. at school my thought stretched out of me to her, could not be pulled back to the lesson. i could read a page as it were greek, not understand a word. but just the moment i was with her then my soul re-entered me, i was at peace, and happy, oh so happy! in the days when we were separated my unrest took this form: that i must be with her, or if that could not be, then some other place was better than the place i was--i strained, lived in a constant strain, found no content with anything or place, could find no peace except with her." "right from the first i had two minds, two hearts concerning her, and one was confidence, and one was doubt, one love, one hatred. and one purpose was to serve her, guard her and care for her, one said destroy, ruin or kill her. sitting by her side, except as i shall say i loved her, trusted her, away from her, i doubted her and hated her. but at the dances when i saw her smile up at another man, the storming blood roared in my brain for wondering about the words they said. he might be holding her too close to him; or as i watched i saw his knee indent her skirt between her knees, that might be when she smiled. then going home i'd ask her what he said. she'd only smile and keep a silence that i could not open with any pry of questions." "well, we quarreled, about this boy she danced with. so i said: i'll leave her, never see her, i'll go find another girl, forget her. sunday next i saw her driving with this fellow. i was walking in the road, they passed me laughing, she turned about and waved her hand at me. that night i lay awake and tossed and thought: where are they now? what are they doing now? he's kissing her upon the lips i've kissed, or worse, perhaps, i have been fooled, she lies within his arms and gives him what for love i never asked her, never dared to ask." this brought fred taylor's story to the murder, in point of madness, anyway. some business broke in our visit here. another time i sat with him and questioned him again about the night he killed her. "well," he said, "i told you that we quarreled. so i fought to free myself of thought of her--no use. i tried another girl, it wouldn't work. for at the dance i took this girl to, i saw gertrude with this fellow, and the madness came over me in blackness, hurricanes, until i found myself in front of her, where she was seated, asking for a dance. she smiled and rose and danced with me. and then as the dance ended, may i come to see you, i'm sorry for my words, came from my tongue, in spite of will. she laughed and said to me: 'if you'll behave yourself.'" "i went to see her, but came away more wretched than i went. she seemed to have sweet secrets, in her silence and eyes too calm the secrets hid themselves. at first i could not summon up the strength to ask her questions, but at last i did. and then she only shook her head and laughed, and spoke of something else. she had a way of mixing up the subjects, till my mind forgot the very thing i wished to know, or dulled its edges so, if i remembered i could not ask it so to bring the answer i wished from her. i came away so weak i scarce could walk, fell into sleep at once, but woke at three o'clock, and could not sleep." "before this quarrel we had been engaged and at this evening's end i brought it up: 'what shall we do? are you engaged to me? will you renew it?' and she said to me: 'we still are young, it's better to be free. let's play and dance. be gay, for if you will i'll go with you, but when you're gloomy, dear, you are not company for a girl.'" "dear me! here was i five feet nine, and could have crushed her little body with my giant arms. and yet in strength that counts, the mind that moves the body, but much more can move itself, and other minds, she was a spirit power, and i but just a derrick slowly swung by an engine smaller, noisy with its chug, and cloudy with its smoke bituminous. that night, however, she engaged to go to dance with me a week hence. but meanwhile the hellish thing comes, on the morning after. thus chum of mine, who testified, john luce came to me with the story that this man that gertrude danced with, told him--o my god-- that gertrude hinted she would come across, give him the final bliss. that was the proof they brought out in the trial, as you know. the fellow said it, damn him--whether she made such a promise, who knows? would to god i knew before you hang me. there i stood and heard this story, felt my arteries lock as you'd let canal gates down, my heart beat for deliverance from the bolted streams. that night i could not sleep, but found a book, just think of this for fate! under my eyes there comes an ancient story out of egypt: thyamis fearing he would die and lose the lovely chariclea, strikes her dead, then kills himself, some thousands of years ago. it's all forgotten now, i say to self, who cares, what matters it, the thing was done and served its end. the story stuck with me. but the next night and the next night i stole out to spy on gertrude, by the path in the grass lay for long hours. and on the third night saw at half-past eight or nine this fellow come and take her walking in the darkness--where? i could have touched them as they walked the path, but could not follow for the moon which rose. besides i lost them." "well, the time approached of the dance, and still i brooded, then resolved. my hatred now was level with the cauldron, with bubbles crackling. so the spade i took, hidden beneath the seat may show forethought, they caught the jury with that argument, and forethought does it show, but who made me to have such forethought?" "then i called for her and took her to the dance. i was most gay, because the load was lifted from my mind, and i had found relief. and so we danced. and she danced with this fellow. i was calm, believed somehow he had not had her yet. and if his knee touched hers--why let it go. nothing beyond shall happen, even this shall not be any more." "we started home. before we reached that clump of woods i asked her if she would marry me. she laughed at me. i asked her if she loved that other man. she said you are a silly boy, and laughed. and then i asked her if she'd marry me, and if she would not, why she would not do it. we came up to the woods and she was silent, i could not make her speak. i stopped the horse. she sat all quiet, i could see her face under the brilliance of the moon. i saw a thin smile on her face--and then i struck her, and from the floor grabbed up the iron wrench, and struck her, took her out and laid her down, and did what was too horrible, they say, to do and keep my life. to finish up i reached back for the iron wrench, first felt her breast to find her heart, no use of wrench, she was already dead. i took the spade, scraped off the leaves between two trees and dug, and buried her and said: 'my chariclea no man shall have you.' then i drove till morning, and after some days reached missouri, where they caught me." so fred taylor told me all, filled in the full confession that he made, and which they used in court, with looks and words, scarce to be reproduced; but to the last he said the mathematics of his birth accounted for his deed. is it not true? if you resolved the question that the jury resolved, did he know right from wrong, did he know what he did, the jury answered truly to give the rope to him. or if you say these mathematics may be true, and still a man like that is better out of way, and saying so become the very spirit, and reason which slew gertrude, disregarding the devil of heredity which clutched him, as he put by the reason we obey, it may be well enough, i do not know. now for last night before this morning fixed to swing him off. his lawyers went to see the governor to win reprieval, perhaps a commutation. i could see his eyes had two lights in them; one was like a lantern with the globe greased, which showed he could not see himself in death tomorrow--what is that in the soul that cannot see itself in death? no to-morrow, continuation, the wall, the end! and yet this very smear upon the globe was death's half fleshless hand which rubbed across his senses and his hope. the other light was weirdly bright for terror, expectation of good news from the governor. for his lawyers were in these hours petitioning. he would ask: "no news? no word? what is the time?" his tongue would fall back in his throat, we saw the strain of his stretched soul. he'd sit upon his couch hands clasped, head down. arise and hold the bars, himself fling on the couch face down and shake. but when he heard the hammers ring that nail the scaffold into shape, he whirled around like a rat in a cage. and when the sand bag fell, that tested out the rope, a muffled thug, and the rope creaked, he started up and moaned "you're getting ready," and his body shivered, his white hands could not hold the bars, he reeled and fell upon the couch again. suppose there was no whiskey and no morphia, except for what the parsons think fit use, a poor weak fellow--not a socrates-- must march the gallows, walk with every nerve up-bristled like a hair in fright. this night was much too horrible for me. at last i had the doctor dope him unaware, and for a time he slept. but when the dawn looked through the little windows near the ceiling cob-webbed and grimed, with light like sanded water, and echoes started in the corridors of feet and objects moved, then all at once he sprang up from his sleep, and gave a groan, half yell, that shook us all. a clergyman came soon to pray with him, and he grew calmer, and said: "o pray for her, but pray for me that i may see her, when this riddle-world no longer stands between us, slipped from her and soon from me." for breakfast he took coffee, a piece of toast, no more. the sickening hour approaches--he is sitting on his couch, bent over, head in hands, dazed, or in prayer. my deputy reads the warrant--while i stand at one side so to hear, but not to see. and then my clerk comes quickly through the door that opens from the office in the jail; runs up the iron steps, all out of breath, and almost shouts: "the governor telephones to stop; the sentence is commuted." then i grew as weak as the culprit--took the warrant, and stepped up to the cell's door, coughed, inhaled, and after getting breath i said: "good news, the governor has saved you." then he laughed, half fell against the bars, and like a rag sank in a heap. i don't know to this day what moved the governor. for crazy men are hanged sometimes. to-day he leaves the jail. we take him where the criminal insane are housed at our expense. * * * * * so merival heard the sheriff. as he knew the governor's mind, and how the governor gave heed to public thought, or what is deemed the public thought, what's printed in the press, he wondered at the governor. for no crime had stirred the county like this crime. and if a jury and the courts adjudged this boy of nineteen in his mind, what was the right of interference by the governor? so merival was puzzled. they were chums, the governor and merival in old days. had known club-life together, ate and drank together in the days when merival came to chicago living down the hurt he took from her who left him. in those days the governor was struggling, merival had helped with friends and purse--and later helped the governor's ambition from the time he went to congress. so the two were friends with memories and secrets for the stuff of friendship, glad renewal of the surge of lasting friendship when they met. and now he sensed a secret, meant to bring it forth. and telegraphed the governor, who said: "i'll see you in chicago." merival went up to see the governor and talk. they had not met for months for leisured talk. and now the governor said: "i'll tell you all, and make it like a drama. i'll bring in my wife who figured in this murder case. it was this way: it's nearly one o'clock, i'm back from hearing lawyers plead. i wish to make this vivid so you'll get my mind. i tell you what i said to her. it's this:" the governor i'm home at last. how long were you asleep? i startled you. the time? it's midnight past. put on your slippers and your robe, my dear, and make some coffee for me--what a night! yes, tell you? i shall tell you everything. i must tell someone, and a wife should know the workings of a governor's mind--no one could guess what turned the scale to save this man who would have died to-morrow, but for me. that's fine. this coffee helps me. as i said this night has been a trial. well, you know i told these lawyers they could come at eight, and so they came. a seasoned lawyer one, the other young and radical, both full of sentiment of some sort. and there you sit, and do not say a word of disapproval. you smile, which means you sun yourself within the power i have, and yet do you approve? this man committed brutal murder, did a nameless horror; now he's saved from death. the father and the mother of the girl, the neighborhood, perhaps, in which she lived will roar against me, think that i was bought, or used by someone i'm indebted to in politics. oh no! it's really funny, since it is simpler than such things as these. and no one, saving you, shall know the secret. for there i sat and didn't say a word to indicate, betray my thought; not when the thing came out that moved me. let them read the doctor's affidavits, that this man was crazy when he killed the girl, and read the transcript of the evidence on the trial. they read and talked. at last the younger lawyer, for sometime still, kept silent by the other, pops out with something, reads an affidavit, as foreign to the matter as a story of melodrama color on the screen, which still contained a sentence that went home; i felt my mind turn like a turn-table, and click as when the switchman kicks the tongue of steel into the slot that holds the table. and from my mind the engine, that's the problem, puffed, puffed and moved away, out on the track, and disappeared upon its business. how is that for metaphor? your coffee, dear, stirs up my fancy. but to tell the rest, if my face changed expression, or my eye betrayed my thought, then i have no control of outward seeming. for they argued on an hour or so thereafter. and i asked re-reading of the transcript where this man told of his maniac passion, of the night he killed the girl, the doctors' testimony i had re-read, and let these lawyers think my interest centered there, and my decision was based upon such matters, and at last the penalty commuted. when in truth i tell you i had let the fellow hang for all of this, except that i took fire because of something in this affidavit irrelevant to the issue, reaching me in something only relevant to me. o, well, all life is such. our great decisions flame out of sparks, where roaring fires before, not touching our combustibles wholly failed to flame or light us. now the secret hear. do you remember all the books i read two years ago upon heredity, foot-notes to evolution, the dynamics of living matter? well, it wasn't that that made me save this fellow. there you smile for knowing how and when i got these books, who woke my interest in them. never mind, you don't know yet my reasons. but i'll tell you: and let you see a governor's mind at work. when this young lawyer in this affidavit read to a certain place my mind strayed off and lived a time past, you were present too. it was that morning when i passed my crisis, had just dodged death, could scarcely speak, too weak to lift a hand to feed myself, but needed vital replenishment of strength, and then i got it in a bowl of oyster soup, rich cream at that. and as i live, my dear, as this young lawyer read, i felt myself in bed as i lay then, re-lived the weakness, could see the spoon that carried to my mouth the appetizing soup, imagined there the feelings i had then of getting fingers upon the rail of life again, how faint, but with such clear degrees. could see the hand that held the spoon, the eyes that looked at me in triumph for the victory of my strength, which battled, almost lost the prize of life. it all came over me when this lawyer read: elenor murray lately come from france found dead beside the river, was the cousin of this fred taylor, and had planned to come to see the governor, death prevented her-- suppose it had? that affidavit, doubtless was read to me to move me for the fact this man was kindred to a woman who served in the war, this lawyer was that cheap! and isn't it as cheap to think that i could be persuaded by the circumstance that elenor murray, she who nursed me once, was cousin to this fellow, if this lawyer knew this, and did he know it? i don't know. had elenor murray lived she would have come to ask her cousin's life--i know her heart. and at the last, i think this was the thing: i thought i'd do exactly what i'd do if she had lived and asked me, disregard her death, and act as if she lived, repay her dead hands, which in life had saved my life. now, dear, your eyes have tears--i know--believe me, i had no romance with this elenor murray. good lord, it's one o'clock, i must to bed.... you get my story merival? do you think, a softness in the heart went to the brain and softened that? well now i stress two things: i can't endure defeat, nor bear to see an ardent spirit thwarted. what i've achieved has been through will that would not bend, and so to see that in another wins my love, and my support. now take this elenor murray she had a will like mine, she worked her way as i have done. and just to hear that she had planned to see me, ask for clemency for this condemned degenerate, made me say shall i let death defeat her? take the breach and make her death no matter in my course? for as i live if she had come to me i had done that i did. and why was that? no romance! never that! yet human love as friend can keep for friend in this our life i felt for elenor murray--and for this: it was her will that would not take defeat, devotion to her work, and in my case this depth of friendship welling in her heart for human beings, that i shared in--there gave tireless healing to her nursing hands and saved my life. and for a life a life. this criminal will live some years, we'll say, were better dead. all right. he'll cost the state say twenty thousand dollars. what is that contrasted with the cost to me, if i had let him hang? there is a bank account, economies in the realm of thought to watch. and don't you think the souls--let's call them souls-- of these avenging, law abiding folk, these souls of the community all in all will be improved for hearing that i did a human thing, and profit more therefrom than though that sense of balance in their souls struck for the thought of crime avenged, the law fulfilled and vindicated? yes, it's true. and merival spoke up and said: "it's true, i understand your story, and i'm glad. it's like you and i'll tell my jury first, and they will scatter it, what moved in you and how this elenor murray saved a life." * * * * * the talk of waste in human life was constant as coroner merival took evidence at elenor murray's inquest. everyone could think of waste in some one's life as well as in his own. john scofield knew the girl, had worked for arthur fouche, her grandfather, and knew what course his life took, how his fortune was wasted, dwindled down. remembering a talk he heard between this elenor murray and arthur fouche, her grandfather, he spoke to coroner merival on the street one day: john scofield you see i worked for arthur fouche, he said, until the year before he died; i knew that worthless son of his who lived with him, born when his mother was past bearing time, so born a weakling. when he came from college he married soon and came to mother's hearth, and brought his bride. i heard the old man say: "a man should have his own place when he marries, not settle in the family nest"; i heard the old man offer him a place, or offer to buy a place for him. this baby boy ran quick to mother, cried and asked to stay. what happened then? what always happens. soon this son began to edge upon the father, and take the reins a little, arthur fouche was growing old. and at the last the son controlled the bank account and ran the farms; and mrs. fouche gave up her place at table to daughter-in-law, no longer served or poured the coffee--so you see how humble beggars become the masters, it is always so. now this i know: when this boy came from school and brought his wife back to the family place, old arthur fouche had twenty thousand dollars on saving in the bank, and lots of money loaned out on mortgages. but when he died he owed two thousand dollars at the bank. where did the money go? why, for ten years when arthur fouche and son were partners, i saw what went on, and saw this boy buy cattle when beef was high, sell cattle when it was low, and lose each year a little. and i saw this boy buy buggies, autos and machinery, and lose the money trading. so it was, this worthless boy had nothing in his head to run a business, which used up the fortune of arthur fouche, and strangled arthur fouche, as vines destroy an oak tree. well, you know when arthur fouche's will was opened up they found this son was willed most everything-- it's always so. the children who go out, and make their way get nothing, and the son who stays at home by mother gets the swag. and so this son was willed the family place and sold it to that chiropractor--left for california to remake his life, and died there, after wasting all his life, his father's fortune, too. so, now to show you how age breaks down a mind and dulls a heart, i'll tell you what i heard: this elenor murray was eighteen, just from high school, and one day she came to see her grandfather and talked. the old man always said he loved her most of all the grandchildren, and mrs. fouche told me a dozen times she thought as much of elenor murray as she did of any child of her own. too bad they didn't show their love for her. i was in and out the room where elenor murray and her grandfather were talking on that day, was planing doors that swelled and wouldn't close. there was no secret about this talk of theirs that i could see, and so i listened. elenor began: "if you can help me, grandpa, just a little i can go through the university. i can teach school in summer and can save a little money by denying self. if you can let me have two hundred dollars, when school begins each year, divide it up, if you prefer, and give me half in the fall, and half in march, perhaps, i can get through. and when i finish i shall go to work and pay you back, i want it as a loan, and do not ask it for a gift." she sat, and fingered at her dress while asking him, and arthur fouche looked at her. come to think he was toward eighty then. at last he said: "i wish i could do what you ask me, elenor, but there are several things. you see, my child, i have been through this thing of educating a family of children, lived my life in that regard, and so have done my part. i sent your mother to st. mary's, sent the rest of them wherever they desired. and that's what every father owes his children. and when he does it, he has done his duty. i'm sorry that your father cannot help you, and i would help you, though i've done my duty by those to whom i owed it; but you see your uncle and myself are partners buying and selling cattle, and the business lags. we do not profit much, and all the money i have in bank is needed for this business. we buy the cattle, and we buy the corn, then we run short of corn; and now and then i have to ask the bank to lend us money, and give my note. last month i borrowed money!" and so the old man talked. and as i looked i saw the tears run down her cheeks. she sat and looked as if she didn't believe him. no, why should she? for i do not understand why in a case like this, a man who's worth, say fifty thousand dollars couldn't spare two hundred dollars by the year. let's see: he might have bought less corn or cattle, gambled on lucky sales of cattle--there's a way to do a big thing when you have the eyes to see how big it is; and as for me, if money must be lost, i'd rather lose it on elenor murray than on cattle. in fact, that's where the money went, as i have said. and elenor murray went away and earned two terms at college, and this worthless son ate up and spent the money. all of them, the son and arthur fouche and elenor murray are gone to dust, now, like the garden things that sprout up, fall and rot. at times it seems all waste to me, no matter what you do for self or others, unless you think of turnips which can't be much to turnips, but are good for us who raise them. here's my story then, good wishes to you, coroner merival. * * * * * coroner merival heard that gottlieb gerald knew elenor murray and her family life; and knew her love for music, how she tried to play on the piano. on an evening he went with winthrop marion to the place,-- llewellyn george dropped in to hear, as well-- where gottlieb gerald sold pianos--dreamed, read kant at times, a scholar, but a failure, his life a waste in business. gottlieb gerald spoke to them in these words:-- gottlieb gerald i knew her, why of course. and you want me? what can i say? i don't know how she died. i know what people say. but if you want to hear about her, as i knew the girl, sit down a minute. wait, a customer!... it was a fellow with a bill, these fellows who come for money make me smile. good god! where shall i get the money, when pianos, such as i make, are devilish hard to sell? now listen to this tune! dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm, how's that for quality, sweet clear and pure? now listen to these chords i take from bach! oh no, i never played much, just for self. well, you might say my passion for this work is due to this: i pick the wire strings, the spruce boards and all that for instruments that suit my ear at last. when i have built a piano, then i sit and play upon it, and find forgetfulness and rapture through it. and well i need forgetfulness, for the bills are never paid, collectors always come. i keep a little lawyer almost busy, lest some one get a judgment, levy a writ upon my prizes here, this one in chief. oh, well, i pay at last, i always pay, but i must have my time. and in the days when these collectors swarm too much i find oblivion in music, run my hands over the keys i've tuned. i wish i had some life of cristofori, just to see if he was dodging bills when tuning strings. perhaps that silberman who made pianos for frederick the great had money enough, and needed no oblivion from bills. you see i'm getting old now, sixty-eight; and this i say, that life is far too short for man to use his conquests and his wisdoms. this spirit, mind, is a machine, piano, and has its laws of harmony and use. well, it seems funny that a man just learns the secrets of his being, how to love, how to forget, what to select, what life is natural to him, and only living according to one's nature is increase-- all else is waste--when wind blows on your back, just as i sit sometimes when these collectors come in on me--and so you find it's death, who levies on your life; no little lawyer can keep him off with stays of execution, or supersedeas, i think it is. well, as i said, a man must live his nature, and dump the rules; this christianity makes people wear steel corsets to grow straight, and they don't grow so, for they scarcely breathe, they're laced so tight; and all their vital organs are piled up and repressed until they groan. then what? they lace up tighter, till the blood stops in the veins and numbness comes upon them. oblivion it may be--but give me music! oh yes, this girl, elenor murray, well this talk about her home is half and half, part true, part false. her daddy nips a little, has always done so. like myself, the bills have always deviled him. but just the same that home was not so bad. some years ago, she was a little girl of thirteen maybe, her father rented one of my pianos for elenor to learn on, and of course the rent was always back, i didn't care, except for my collectors, and besides she was so nice. so music hungry, practiced so hard to learn, i used to let the rent run just as long as i could let it run. and even then i used to feel ashamed to ask her father for it. as i said she was thirteen, and one thanksgiving day they asked me there to dinner, and i went, brushed off my other coat and shaved myself, i looked all right, my shoes were polished too. you'd never think i polished them to look at these to-day. and now i tell you what i saw myself: nice linen on the table, and pretty silver, plated, i suppose; good glass-ware, and a dinner that was splendid, wine made from wild grapes spiced with cinnamon, it had a kick, too. and the home was furnished like what you'd think: good carpets, chairs, a lounge, some pictures on the wall--all good enough. and this girl was as lively as a cricket, she was the liveliest thing i ever saw; and that's what ailed her, if you want my word. she had more life than she knew how to use, and had not learned her own machine. and after we had the dinner we came in the parlor. and then her mother asked her to play something, and she sat down and played tra-la; tra-la, one of these waltzes, i remember now as pretty as these verses in the paper on love, or something sentimental. yes, she played it well. for i had rented them one of my pets. they asked me then to play and i tried out some bach and other things, and improvised. and elenor stood by, and asked what's that when i was improvising. i laughed and said, sonata of starved rock, or deer park glen in winter, anything-- she looked at me with eyes as big as that. well, as i said, the home was good enough. still like myself with these collectors, elenor was bothered, drawn aside, and scratched no doubt from walking through the briars. just the same the trouble with her life, if it was trouble, and no musician would regard it trouble, the trouble was her nature strove to be all fire, and subtilize to the essence of fire, which was her nature's law, and nature's law, the only normal law, as i have found; for so canudo says, as i read lately, who gave me words for what i knew from life. now if you want my theories i go on. you do? all right. what was this elenor murray? she was the lover, do you understand? she had her lovers maybe, i don't know, that's not the point with lovers, any more, than it's the point to have pianos--no! lovers, pianos are the self-same thing; instruments for the soul, the source of fire, the crucible for flames that turn from red to blue, then white, then fierce transparencies. then if the lover be not known by lovers how is she known? why think of elenor murray, who tries all things and educates herself, goes traveling, would sing and play, becomes a member of a church with ritual, music, incense and color, things that steal the senses, and bring oblivion. don't you see the girl moving her soul to find her soul, and passing through loves and hatreds, seeking everywhere herself she loved, in others, agonizing for hate of father, so they tell me now? but first because she hated in herself what lineaments of her father she saw in self. and all the while, i think, she strove to conquer this hatred, every hatred, sensing freedom for her own soul through liberating self from hatreds. so, you see how someone near, repugnant, disesteemed, may furnish strength and vision, too, by gazing on that one from day to day, not to be like that one: and so our hatreds help us, those we hate become our saviors. here's the problem now in finding self, the soul--it's with ourselves, within ourselves throughout the ticklish quest from first to last, and lovers and pianos are instruments of salvation, yet they take the self but to the self, and say now find, explore and know. and then, as all before, the problem is how much of mind to use, how much of instinct, phototropic sense, that turns instinctively to light--green worms more plant than animal are eyes all over because their bodies know the light, no eyes where sight is centralized. i've found it now: what is the intellect but eyes, where sight is gathered in two spheres? the more they're used the darker is the body of the soul. now to digress, that's why the germans lost, they used the intellect too much; they took the sea of life and tried to dam it in, or use it for canals or water power, or make a card-case system of it, maybe, to keep collectors off, have all run smoothly, and make a sure thing of it. to return how much did elenor murray use her mind, how much her instincts, leave herself alone let nature have its way? i think i know: but first you have the artist soul; and next the soul half artist, prisoned usually in limitations where the soul, half artist between depressions and discouragements rises in hope and knocks. why, i can tell them the moment they touch keys or talk to me. i hear their knuckles knocking on the walls, insuperable partitions made of wood, when seeking tones or words; they have the hint, but cannot open, manifest themselves. so was it with this girl, she was all lover, half artist, what a torture for a soul, and what escape for her! she could not play, had never played, no matter what the chance. i think there is no curse like being dumb when every waking moment, every dream keeps crying to speak out. this is her case: the girl was dumb, like that dumb woman here whose dress caught fire, and in the dining room was burned to death while all her family were in the house, to whom she could not cry! you asked about her going to the war, her sacrifice in that, and if i think she found expression there--yes, of a kind, but not the kind she hungered for, not music. she found adventure there, excitement too. that uses up the soul's power, takes the place of better self-expression. but you see i do not think self-immolation life, i know it to be death. now, look a minute: why did she join the church? why to forget! why did she go to war? why to forget. and at the last, this thing called sacrifice rose up with meaning in her eyes. you see they tell around here now she often said: "i'm going to the war to be swept under." now comes your christian idea: let me die, but die in service of the race, in giving i waste myself for others, give myself! let god take notice, and reward the gift! this is the failure's recourse often-times, a prodigal flinging of the self--let god find what he can of good, or find all good. i have abandoned all control, all thought of finding my soul otherwise, if here i find my soul, a doubt that makes the gift not less abandoned. this is foolish talk i know you think, i think it is myself, at least in part. i know i'm right, however, in guessing off the reason of her failure, if failure it is. but pshaw, why talk of failure about a woman born to live the life she lived, which could not have been different, much different under any circumstance? she might have married, had a home and children, what of it? as it is she makes a story, a flute sound in our symphony--all right! and i confess, in spite of all i've said, the profit, the success, may not be known to any but one's self. now look at me, by all accounts i am a failure--look! for forty years just making poor ends meet, my love all spent in making good pianos. i thrill all over picking spruce and wires, and putting them together--all my love gone into this, no head at all for business. i keep no books, they cheat me out of rent. i don't know how to sell pianos, when i sell one i have trouble oftentimes in getting pay for it. but just the same i sit here with myself, i know myself, i've found myself, and when collectors come i can say come to-morrow, turn about, and run the scale, or improvise, and smile, forget the world! * * * * * the three arose and left. llewellyn george said: "that's a rarity, that man is like a precious flower you find way off among the weeds and rocky soil, grown from a seed blown out of paradise; i want to call again." so thus they knew this much of elenor murray's music life. but on a day a party talk at tea, of elenor murray and her singing voice and how she tried to train it--just a riffle which passed unknown of merival. for you know your name may come up in a thousand places at earth's ends, though you live, and do not die and make a great sensation for a day. and all unknown to merival for good this talk of lilli alm and ludwig haibt: lilli alm in lola schaefer's studio in the tower, tea being served to painters, poets, singers, herr ludwig haibt, a none too welcome guest, of vital body, brisk, too loud of voice, and lilli alm crossed swords. it came about when ludwig haibt said: "have you read the papers about this elenor murray?" and then said: "i tried to train her voice--she was a failure." and lilli alm who taught the art of song looked at him half contemptuous and said: "why did she fail?" to which herr ludwig answered "she tried too hard. she made her throat too tense, and made its muscles stiff by too much thought, anxiety for song, the vocal triumph." "o, yes, i understand," said lilli aim. then stabbing him she added, "since you dropped the perfect institute, and dropped the idea which stresses training muscles of the tongue, and all that thing, be fair and shoulder half the failure of poor elenor murray on your system's failure. for i chanced to know the girl myself. she started work with me, and i am sure that if i had been able-- with time enough i could have done it too-- to rid her mind of muscles and to fix the thought alone of music in her mind, she would have sung. now listen, ludwig haibt, you've come around to see that song's the thing. i take a pupil and i say to her: the mind must fix itself on music, say i would make song, pure tones and beautiful; that comes from spirit, from the plato rapture, which gets the idea. it is well to know some physiology, i grant, to know when, how to move the vocal organs, feel how they are moving, through the ear to place these organs in relation, and to know the soft palate is drawn against the hard; the tongue can take positions numerous, can be used at the root, a throaty voice; or with the tip, produce expressiveness. but what must we avoid?--rigidity. and if that girl was over-zealous, then so much the more her teaching should have kept mind off the larynx and the tongue, and fixed upon the spiritual matters, so to give the snake-like power of loosening, contracting the muscles used for singing. ludwig haibt, i can forgive your system, since abandoned, i can't forgive your words to-day who say this woman failed for trying over much, when i know that your system made her throw an energy truly wonderful on muscles; and when i think of your book where you said: the singing voice is the result, observe of physical conditions, like the strings or tubes of brass. while granting that it's well to know the art of tuning up the strings, and how to place them; after all the art of tuning and of placing comes from mind, the idea, and the art of making song is just the breathing of the perfect spirit upon the strings. the throat is but the leaves, let them be flexible, the mouth's the flower, the tone the perfume. and your olden way of harping on the larynx--well, since you turned from it, i'm ungenerous perhaps to scold you thus to-day. but this i say, let us be frank as teachers: take the fetich of breathing and see how you cripple talent, or take that matter of the laryngyscope, whereby you photograph a singer's throat, caruso's, galli curci's at the moment of greatest beauty in song, and thus preserve in photographs before you how the muscles looked and were placed that moment. then attempt to get the like effect by placing them in similar fashion. oh, you know, herr ludwig, these fetiches go by. one thing remains: the idea in the soul of beauty, music, the hope to give it forth. alas! to think so many souls are wasted while we teach this thing or that. the strong survive, of course. but take this elenor murray--why, that girl was just a flame, i never saw such hunger for self-development, and beauty, richness, in all experience in life--i knew her, that's why i say so--take her as i say, and put her to a practice--yours we'll say-- where this great zeal she had is turned and pressed upon the physical, just the very thing to make her throat constrict, and fill her up with over anxiety and make her fail. when had she come to me at first this passion directed to the beauty, the idea had put her soul at ease to ease her body, which gradually and beautifully had answered that flame of hers. well, ludwig haibt, you're punished for wasting several years upon a system since put away as half erroneous, if not quite worthless. but i must confess, since i have censured you, to my own sin. this girl ran out of money, came to me and told me so. to which i said: "too bad, you will have money later, when you do, come back to me." she stood a silent moment, her hand upon the knob, i saw her tears, just little dim tears, then she said good-bye and vanished from me. well, i now repent. i who have thought of beauty all my life, and taught the art of sound made beautiful, let slip a chance for beauty--why, i think, a beauty just as great as song! you see i had a chance to serve a hungering soul-- i could have said just let the money go, or let it go until you get the money. i let that chance for beauty slip. even now i see poor elenor murray at the door, who paused, no doubt, in hope that i would say what i thought not to say. so, ludwig haibt, we are a poor lot--let us have some tea! "we are a poor lot," ludwig haibt replied. "but since this is confessional, i absolve you, if you'll permit me, from your sin. will you absolve me, if i say i'm sorry too? i'll tell you something, it is really true:-- i changed my system more i think because of what i learned from teaching elenor murray than on account of any other person. she demonstrated better where my system was lacking than all pupils that i had. and so i changed it; and of course i say the thing is music, just as poets say the thing is beauty, not the rhyme and words, with which they bring it, instruments that's all, and not the thing--but beauty." so they talked, forgave each other. and that very day two priests were talking of confessionals a mile or so from the tower, where lilli alm and ludwig haibt were having tea. you say the coroner was ignorant of this! what is the part it plays with elenor murray? or with the inquest? wait a little yet and see if merival has told to him what thing of value touching elenor murray is lodged in father whimsett's heart or words. father whimsett looking like raphael's perugino, eyes so slightly, subtly aquiline, as brown as a buck-eye, amorous, flamed, but lightly dimmed through thought of self while sitting for the artist; a nose well bridged with bone for will, the nostrils distended as if sniffing diaphanous fire; a very bow for lips, the under lip rich, kissable like a woman's; heavy cheeks propped with a rounded tower of flesh for neck: thus perugino looked, says raphael, and thus looked father whimsett at his desk, with vertical creases, where the nose and brow together come, between the eye-brows slanting unequally, half clown-wise, half mephisto, with just a touch of that abandoned humor, and laughter at the world, the race of men, mephisto had for mischief, which the priest has for a sense which looks upon the dream and smiles, yet pities those who move in it. and father whimsett smokes and reads and smiles. he soon will hold confessional. for days he has heard nothing but complaints of lovers, and searched for nullities, impediments, through which to give sore stricken hearts relief: there was the youth too drunk to know he married a woman never baptized. now the youth has found another--oh this is the one! and comes and says: oh, holy father, help me, may i be free to marry her i love, and get the church's blessing when a court dissolves the civil contract? holy father, i knew not what i did, cannot remember where i was married, when, my mind's a blank-- it was the drink, you know. and so it goes, the will is eyeless through concupiscence, and that absolves the soul that's penitent. and father whimsett reads his latin books, searches for subtleties for faithful souls, whereby the faithful souls may have their wish, yet keep the gospel, too. these latin books leave him fatigued, but not fatigued to turn plotinus, xenophon, boccacio, ars amatoria and remedia amoris. and just this moment father whimsett reads catullus, killing time, before he hears confession, gets the music of catullus along the light that enters at the eye: etherial strings plucked by the intellect to vibrate to the inner ear. at times he must re-light his half-forgot cigar. and while the music of the latin verse, which is an echo, as he stops to light his half-forgot cigar, is wafted through his meditation, as a tune is heard after the keys are stayed, it blends, becomes the soul, interpretation of these stories, which lovers tell him in these later days. and now the clock upon the mantel chimes the quarter of the hour. up goes catullus by ovid on the shelf. the dead cigar is thrown away. he rises from the chair-- when father conway enters, just to visit some idle moments, smoke and have a talk. and father whimsett takes his seat again, waves father conway to a comfort chair, says "have a smoke," and father conway smokes, and sees catullus, says you read catullus, and lays the morning _times_ upon the table, and says to father whimsett: "every day the _times_ has stories better than catullus, and episodes which horace would have used. i wish we had a poet who would take this city of chicago, write it up, the old chicago, and the new chicago, the race track, old cafés and gambling places, the prize fights, wrestling matches, sporting houses, as horace wrote up rome. or if we had a virgil he would find an epic theme in this american matter, typical of our america, one phase or more concerning elenor murray. here to-day there is a story, of some letters found in arthur fouche's mansion, under the floor, sensational, dramatic. father whimsett looked steadily at father conway, blew a funnel of tobacco smoke and said: i scarcely read the _times_ these days, too busy-- i've had a run of rich confessionals. the war is ended, but they still come on, and most are lovers in the coils of love. i had one yesterday that made me think of one i had a year ago last spring, the point was this: they say forgive me father, for i have sinned, then as the case proceeds a greater sin comes forth, i mean the sin of saying sin is good, cannot be sin: i loved the man, or how can love be sin? well, as a human soul i see the point, but have no option, must lay to and say acknowledgment, contrition and the promise to sin no more, is necessary to win absolution. now to show the matter, here comes a woman, says i leave for france to serve, to die. i have a premonition that i shall die abroad; or if i live, i have had fears, i shall be taken, wronged, so driven by this honor to destroy myself, goes on and says, i tell you all these fears of mine that you may search my heart, more gladly may absolve me. then she says, these fears worked in my soul until i took the step which i confess, before i leave. i wait and she proceeds: "o, holy father, there is a man whom i have loved for years, these five years past, such hopeless, happy years. i love him and he loves me, holy father. he holds me sacred as his wife, he loves me with the most holy love. it cannot be that any love like ours is guilty love, can have no other quality than good, if it be love." well, here's a pretty soul to sit in the confessional! so i say, why do you come to me? loving your sin, confessing it, denying it in one breath, leaves you in sin without forgiveness. well, then she tacks about and says "i sinned, and i am sorry. wait a minute, father, and see the flesh and spirit mixed again." she wants to tell me all, i let her go. and so she says: "his wife's an invalid, has been no wife to him. besides," she says-- now watch this thrust to pierce my holy shield-- "she is not in the church's eye his wife, she never was baptized"--i almost laughed, but answered her, you think adultery is less adultery in a case like this? "well, no," she says, "but could he be divorced the church would marry us." go on, i said, and then she paused a little and went on: "i said i loved this man, and it is true, and years ago i gave myself to him, and then his wife found out there was a woman-- but not that i was the woman--years ago at confirmation i confessed it all, need only say this time i gave him up, and crushed him out with work--was chaste for years. and then i met a man, a different man who stirred me otherwise, kept after me. at last i weakened, sinned three months ago, and suffered for it. for he took me, left me. as if he wanted body of me alone, and was not pleased with that. and after that, i think that i was mad, a furious passion was kindled by this second man, and left with nothing to employ its flame. two weeks went by, he did not seek me out, none knew the hour of our departure. then i thought how little i had been to this first lover, and of the years when i denied him--so to recompense his love, to serve him, father, yes, to allay this passion newly raised by this new lover, whom i thought i loved, i went to my old lover, free of will, and took his lips and said to him, o take me, i am yours to do with as you choose to-night. he turned as pale as snow and shook with fear, his heart beat in his throat. i terrified him with this great will of mine in this small body. i went on while he stood there by the window, his back toward me. make me wholly yours, take no precaution, prudence throw away as mean, unworthy. let your life precede, forestall the intruder's, if one be. and if a child must be, yours shall it be." "he turned, and took me in his arms...." "and so to make as nearly as might be a marriage, father, i took--but let me tell you: i had thought his wife might die at any time, so thinking during these years i had bought bridal things; a veil, embroideries, silk lingerie. and i took to our room my negligee, boudoir cap, satin slippers, so to make all beautiful as we were married, father. how have i sinned? i cannot deem it wrong. do i not soil my soul with penitence, and smut this loveliness with penitence? can i regret my work, nor take a hurt upon my very soul? how keep it clean confessing what i did (if i thought so) as evil and unclean?" the devil again entered with casuistry, as you perceive. and so to make an end, i said to her, you must bring to this sacrament a heart contrite and humble, promise me beside to sin no more. the case is in your hands, you can confess with lips, deny with heart, god only knows, i don't, it's on your soul to speak the truth or lie to me. confess and i'll absolve you.--for in truth my heart was touched by what she said, her lovely voice. but now the story deepened. for she said, i have not told you all. and she renewed: "suppose you pack your trunk and have your lunch, go to the station, but no train arrives, and there you wait and wait, until you're hungry, and nothing to do but wait, no place to lunch, you cannot leave the station, lest the train should come while you are gone. well, so it was, the weeks went by, and still we were not called. and i had closed my old life, sat and waited the time of leaving to begin new life. and after i had sinned with my first lover, parted from him, said farewell, ended it, could not go back to him, at least could think of no way to return that would not dull the hour we lived together, look, this man, this second lover looks me up again and overwhelms me with a flaming passion. it seemed he had thought over what i was, become all fire for me. he came to me, and said, i love you, love you, looked at me, and i could see the love-light in his eyes, the light that woman knows. well, i was weak, lonely and bored. he stirred my love besides; and then a curious thought came in my brain: the spirit is not found save through the flesh, o holy father, and i thought to self, bring, as you may, these trials close together in point of time and see where spirit is, where flesh directs to spirit most. and so i went with him again, and found in truth i loved him, he was mine and i was his, we two were for each other, my old lover was just my love's beginning, not my love fully and wholly, rapturously, this man body and spirit harmonized with me. i found him through the love of my old lover, and knew by contrast, memory of the two and this immediate comparison of spirits and of bodies, that this man who left me, whom i turned from to the first, as i have tried to tell you, was the one. o holy father, he is married, too. and as i leave for france this ends as well; no child in me from either. i confess that i have sinned most grievously, i repent and promise i shall sin no more." and so, i gave her absolution. well, you see the church was dark, but i knew who it was, i knew the voice. she left. another penitent entered with a story. what is this? here is a woman who's promiscuous. tried number one and then tries number two, and comes and tells me, she has taken proof, weighed evidence of spirit and of body, and thinks she knows at last, affirms as much. such conduct will not do, that's plain enough, not even if the truth of love is known this way, no other way. then father conway began as follows: "i've a case like that, a woman married, but she found her husband was just the cup of tantulus and so...." but father whimsett said, "why, look at that, i'm over-due a quarter of an hour. come in to-morrow, father, tell me then." the two priests rose and left the room together. john campbell and carl eaton carl eaton and john campbell both were raised with elenor murray in leroy. the mother of eaton lived there; but these boys had gone, now grown to manhood to chicago, where they kept the old days of companionship. and mrs. eaton saw the coroner, and told him how she saved her son from elenor, and broke their troth--because upon a time elenor murray, though betrothed, to carl went riding with john campbell, and returned at two o'clock in the morning, drunk, and stood helpless and weary, holding to the gate. for which she broke the engagement of her son to elenor murray. that was truth to her, and truth to merival, for the time, at least. but this john campbell and carl eaton meet one evening at a table drinking beer, and talk about the inquest, elenor; since much is published in the _times_ to stir their memories of her. and john speaks up: "well, carl, now elenor murray is no more, and we are friends so long, i'd like to know what do you think of her?" "about the time, that may before she finished high school, elenor broke loose, ran wild, do you remember, carl? she had some trouble in her home, i heard-- she told me so. that alma bell affair made all the fellows wonder, as you know, what kind of game she was, if she was game for me, or you, or anyone. besides she had flirting eye, a winning laugh, and she was eighteen, and a cherry ripe. this alma bell affair and ills at home made her spurt up and dart out like a fuse which burns to powder wet and powder heated until it burns; she burned, you see, and stopped when principles or something quenched the flame. i walked with her from school a time or two, when she was hinting, flirting with her eyes, i know it now, but what a dunce i was, as most men when they're twenty." "well, now listen! a little later on an evening, i see her buggy riding with roy green, that rake, do you remember him, deadbeat, half drunkard then, corrupted piece of flesh? she sat up in defiance by his side, her chin stuck out to tell the staring ones: go talk or censure to your heart's content. and people stood and stared to see her pass and shook their heads and wondered." "afterward i learned from her this was the night at home her father and her mother had a quarrel. her mother asked her father to buy elenor a new dress for commencement, and the father was drinking and rebuffed her, so they quarreled. and rode with him to shame her father, coming after a long ride in the country home at ten o'clock or so." "well, then i thought, if she will ride with roy green, i go back to hinting and to flirting eyes and guess the girl will ride with me, or something more. so i begin to circle round the girl, and walk with her, and take her riding too. she drops roy green for me--what does he care? he's had enough of her or never cared-- which is it? there's the secret for a man as long as women interest him--who knows what the precedent fellow was to her? roy green takes to another and another. he died a year ago, as you'll remember, what were his secrets, agony? he seemed a man to me who lived and never thought." "so elenor murray went with me. oh, well, she gave me kisses, let me hold her tight, we used to stop along the country ways and kiss as long as we had breath to kiss, and she would gasp and tremble." "then, at last a chum i had began to laugh at me, for, i was now in love with elenor murray. don't let her make a fool of you, he said, no girl who ever traveled with roy green was not what he desired her, nor, before the kind of girl he wanted. don't you know roy green is laughing at you in his sleeve, and boasts that elenor murray was all his? you see that stung me, for i thought at twenty girls do not go so far, that only women who sell themselves do so, or now and then a girl who is betrayed by hopes of marriage. and here was thrust upon me something devilish: the fair girl that i loved was wise already, and fooling me, and drinking in my love in mockery of me. this was my first heart sickness, jaundice of the soul--dear me! and how i suffered, lay awake of nights, and wondered, doubted, hoped, or cursed myself, and cursed the girl as well. and i would think of flirting eyes and hints and how she came to me before she went with this roy green. and i would hear the older men give hints about their conquests, speak of ways and signs from which to tell a woman. on the train hear drummers boast and drop apothogems; the woman who drinks with you will be yours; or she who gives herself to you will give to someone else; you know the kind of talk? where wisdom of the sort is averaged up, but misses finer instances, the beauties among the million phases of the thing. and, so at last i thought the girl was game. and had been snared, already. why should i be just a cooing dove, why not a hawk? we were out riding on a summer's night, a moon and all the rest, the scent of flowers, and many kisses, as on other times. at last with this sole object in my mind long concentrated, purposed, all at once i found myself turned violent, with hands at grapple, twisting, forcing, and this girl in terror pleading with me. in a moment when i took time for breath, she said to me: 'i will not ride with you--you let me out.' to which i said: 'you'll do what i desire or you can walk ten miles back to leroy, and find roy green, you like him better, maybe.' and she said: 'let me out,' and she jumped out, and would not ride with me another step, though i repented saying, come and ride. i think it was a mile or more i drove the horse slowed up to keep her company, and then i cracked the whip and hurried on, and left her walking, looked from time to time to see her in the roadway, then drove on and reached leroy, which elenor reached that morning at one or two." "well, then what was the riddle? was she in love with roy green yet, was she but playing with me, was i crude, left handed, had she changed over, was she trying me to fasten in the hook of matrimony, or was she good, and all this corner talk of roy green just the dirt of dirty minds? you know the speculations, and you know how they befuddle one at twenty years. and sometimes i would grieve for what i did; then harden and laugh down my softness. but at last i wrote a note to elenor murray and sent it with a bouquet--but no word came back from elenor murray. then i thought: here is a girl who rides with that roy green and what would he be with her for, i ask? and if she wants to make a cause of war out of an attitude she half provoked, why let her--and moreover let her go. and so i dropped the matter, since she dropped my friendship from that night." "but later on, two years ago, when she came back to town from somewhere, i don't know, gone many months, grown prettier, more desirable, i sent some roses to her in a tender mood as if to say: we're grown up since that night, have you forgotten it, as i remember how womanly you were, have grown to be? she wrote me just a little note of thanks, and what is strange that very day i learned about your interest in her, learned besides it prospered for some months before. i turned my heart away for good, as a man might who plunges and beholds the woman smile and take another's arm and walk away." "so, that's your story, is it?" said carl eaton. "well, i had married her except for you! that bunch of roses spoiled the girl for me. you had roy green, dog-fennel, i had roses, and i am glad you sent them, otherwise i might have married her, to find at last a wife just like her mother is, myself living her father's life, for something missed or hated in me--not the want of money. she liked me as the banker's son, be sure, and let me go unwillingly." "but listen: i called on her the night you sent the roses, and there she had them on the center table, and twinkled with her eyes, and spoke of them, and said, i can remember it, you sent such lovely roses to her, you and she had been good friends for years--and now it seems you were not friends--i didn't know it then. but think about it, john! what was this woman? it's clear her fate, found dead there by the river, is just the outward mirror of herself, and had to be. there's not a thing in life that is not first enacted in the heart. our fate is the reflection of the life which goes on in the heart. that girl was doomed, lived in her heart a life that found a birth, grew up, committed matricide at last, not that my love had saved her. but explain why would she over-stress the roses, give me understandings foreign to the truth? for truth to tell, we were affianced then, there were your roses! but above it all something she said pricked like a rose's thorn, something that grew to thought she cherished you, kept memories sweet of you. if that were true, what was the past? what was i after all? a second choice, as if i bought a car, but thought about a car i wanted more. so i retired that night in serious thought." "yet if you'll credit me, i had not heard about this alma bell affair, or heard about her riding through the public streets with this roy green. i think i was away, i never heard it anyway, i know until my mother told me, and she told me next morning after i had found your roses. i hadn't told my mother, nor a soul before, that time that we two were engaged-- i didn't tell her then--i merely asked would elenor murray please you as a daughter? you should have seen my mother--how she gasped, and gestured losing breath, to say at last: 'why, carl, my boy, what are you thinking of? you have not promised marriage to that girl? now tell me, have you?' then i lied to her; and laughed a little, answered no, and asked, 'what do you know about her?'" "here's a joke, with terror in it, john, if you have told the truth to me--my mother tells me there that on a time john campbell--that is you, and elenor murray rode into the country, and that at two o'clock, or so, the girl is seen beside the gate post holding on, and reeling up the side-walk to her door. the girl was tired, if you have told the truth. my mother warms up to this scoundrel green, and tops the matter off with alma bell. and all the love i had for elenor murray sours in my heart. and then i tell my mother the truth--of our engagement--promise her to break it off. i did so on that day. got back the solitaire--but elenor hung to me, asked my reasons, kept the ring until i wrote so sternly she gave up her hope and me." "but worst of all, john campbell-- if this be worst--this early episode so nipped my leaves and browned and curled them up to whisper sharply with their bitter edges, no one has seen a bridal wreath in me; nor have i ever known a woman since that some analysis did not blow cool a rising admiration." "now to think this girl lies dead, and while we drink a beer you tell me that the story is a lie, the girl was good, walked ten miles through the dark to save her honor from a ruffian-- that's what you were, as you confess it now. and if she did that, what is all this talk of such a rat as green, of alma bell?-- it isn't true." "the only truth is this: i took a lasting poison from a lie, which built the very cells of me to resist the thought of marriage--poison which remains. i wonder should i tell the coroner? no good in that--you might as well describe a cancer to prevent the malady in people yet to be. let's have a beer. john campbell said: i learned from elenor murray the kind of woman i should take to wife, i married just the woman made for me." "if you can say so on your death bed, john, then elenor murray did one man a good, whatever ill she did to other men. see, i keep rapping for that waiter--i would like another beer, and so would you." * * * * * so now it's clear the story is not true which mrs. eaton told the coroner. and when the coroner told the jurymen what mrs. eaton told him, winthrop marion skilled in the work of running down a tale said: "i can look up eaton, campbell too, and verify or contradict this thing. we have departed far afield in this, it has no bearing on the cause of death. but none of us have liked to see, the girl's good name, integrity of spirit lie in shadow by this story." merival was glad to have these two men interviewed by winthrop marion; so he found them, talked, and brought their stories back, as told above which made the soul of elenor murray clear.... * * * * * paul roberts was a man of sixty years, who lived and ran a magazine at leroy. _the dawn_ he called it; financed by a fund left roberts by a millionaire, who believed the fund would widen knowledge through the use of roberts, student of the eastern wisdom. this roberts loathed the war, but kept his peace because the law compelled it. took this time to fight the christian faith, and show the age submerged in christian ethics, weak and false. he knew this elenor murray from a child, and knew her rearing, schooling, knew the air she breathed in at leroy. and in _the dawn_ printed this essay:-- "we have seen," he writes, "astonishing revealments, inventories taken of souls, all coming from the death of elenor murray, and the inquest held to ascertain her death. perhaps fantastic this thing may be, but scarcely more fantastic than rubbing amber, watching frogs' legs twitch, from which the light of cities came, the power that hauls the coaches over mountain tops. we would do well to laugh at nothing, watch with interested eye the capering souls too moved to walk straight. if a wire grounds and interpenetrates the granite blocks with viewless fire, horses shod with steel, walking along the granite blocks will leap like mad things in the air. well, so we leap before we know the cause. let sound minds laugh. first you agree no man has looked on god; and i contend the souls who found god, told too little of their triumph. but i hold man shall find god and know, shall see at last what man's soul is, and where it tends, the use it was made for. and after that? forever there's progress while there's life, all devolution returns to progress. as to worship, god they had their amber days, days of frogs' legs. and yet before i trace the christian growth from seed to blossom, let me prophesy: the light upon the lotus blossom pauses, has paused these centuries and waits to move westward and mingle with the light that shines upon the occident. what did christ do but carry the hebraic thrift and prudence of matter and of spirit, half-corrupted by wisdom of the market to these races that crowd in europe, in the western world? now you have seen such things as chemistry, and mongering in steel, the use of fire made perfect in swift wheels, and swifter wings, until the realm of matter seems subdued, thought with her foot upon the dragon's head, and using him to serve. this western world massing its powers these centuries to bring comfort and happiness and length of days, and pushing commerce, trade to pile up gold, knows not its soul as yet, nor god. but here i prophesy: suppose the hindu lore, which has gone farther with the soul of man than we have gone with business, has card cased the soul's addresses, introduced a system in the soul's business, just suppose this lore and great perfection in things spiritual should by some process wed the great perfection of this our western world, and we should have mastery of spirit and of matter, too? might not that progress start as one result of this great war? let's see from whence we came. i take the hebrew faith, the very frog legs of our theology--no use to say it has no place with us. your ministers preach from the pentateuch, its decalogue is all our ethic nearly; and our life is suckled by the hebrews; don't the jews control our business, while our business rules our spirits far too much? now let us see what food our spirits feed on. palestine is just a little country, fights for life against a greater prowess, skill in arms. so as the will does not give up, but hopes for vengeance and for wiping out of wrongs the jews conceive a god who will dry up his people's tears and let them laugh again! hence in jehovah's mouth they put these words: my word shall stand forever, you shall eat the riches of the gentiles, suck their milk. your ploughman shall the alien be, the stranger shall feed your flock, and i will make you fat with milk and honey. i will give you power, dominion, leadership, glory forever. my wrath is on all nations to avenge israel's sorrow and humiliation. my sword is bathed in heaven, filled with blood to come upon idumea, to stretch out upon it stones of emptiness, confusion. her fortresses shall be the habitation of dragons and a court for owls. i smite the proud assyrian and make them dead. in fury, and in anger do i tread on zion's enemies, their worm shall die not, nor shall their fire be quenched. i shall stir up jealousy like a man of war, put on the garments of my vengeance, and repay to adversaries fury. for my word shall stand to preach good tidings to the meek, and liberty to captives, and to chains the opening of prisons. don't you see our western culture in such words as these? your proselytes, and business man, reformer nourished upon them, using them in life? but then you say christ came with final truth, and put away jehovah. let us see. what shall become of those who turn from christ, not that their souls failed, only that they turned, did not believe, accept, found in him little to live by, grow by? this is what christ said: ye vipers in the last day ye shall see the sun turned dark, the moon made blood. behold! i come in clouds of glory and of power to judge the quick and judge the dead. mine own shall enter into blessedness. but to those evil who scorned me, i shall say, depart accursed into everlasting fire. and quick the gates of heaven shall be shut, and i shall reign in heaven with mine own and let my fire of wrath consume the world. but then you say, what of his love and doctrine? not the old decalogue by him renewed, but new wine to the jews, if not in the world unknown before. look close and you shall see a book of double entries, balanced columns, business in matters spiritual, prudential rules for life's conduct. yes, be merciful but to obtain your mercy; yes, forgive that you may be forgiven; honor your parents that your days may be long. blest are the meek for they shall inherit the earth. rejoice, for great is your reward in heaven if they say all manner of evil of you, persecute you. do you not see the rule of compensation shot through it all? and if you love your neighbor, and all men do so, then you have the state composed to such a level of peace, no man need fear the breaker in, unless you keep this mood of love for preaching, for a rule while business in the occident goes on under jehovah's hebrew manual. what is it all? the meek inherit the earth for being meek; you turn the other cheek and fill your enemy with shame to strike a cheek that does not harden to return the blow received. but too much in our life the cheek is turned, the hand not made a fist, but opened out to pick a pocket with, while the other cheek is turned. now, at the last has not this war put by resist not evil? which was the way of jesus to the end, even to buffetings and the crown of thorns; even the cross and death?--we put it by: we would not let protagonists thereof so much as hint the doctrine, which is to say, though it be written over jesus' life, and be his spirit's essence, we see through the fallacy of that preachment, cannot live in this world by it. well, let me be plain. races like men find truth in living life, find thereby what is food and what is poison. these are the phylogenetics spiritual. but meanwhile there's the light upon the lotus which waits to mingle with the light that shines upon the occident, take jesus' light where it is bright enough to mix with it and show no duller splendor? i look back upon the jew and jesus, on the thora the gospel, dogmatism, poetry, the messianic hope and will and grace, jesus the son of god, and one with god. the outer theocracy, the kingdom of god within you, st. paul with metaphysics, st. augustine babbling of sin in cicero's rhetoric, the popes with their intrigues and millions slain o ghastly waste, if not o ghastly failure, beside which all the tragedies of time to set up doctrines, rulerships, and say: are not a finger scratched. o monstrous hate born of enfolding love! o martyrdom of our poor world for ages, incurable madness bred in the blood, and mixed in the forms of thought, still maddening, maiming, crucifying, killing the fast appearing sons of men. go ask what man you will who has lived up to forty and see if you find not the christian creed has not in some way gyved his life and bolted body or spirit to a wall, to make the man live not by nature, but a doctrine evolved from thought that disregards man's life. but oh this hunger of the mind for answers and hunger of the heart for life, the heart thrown to the dogs of thought. what shall we do? i see a way, have hope. the blessed lord says, ye deluded by unwisdom say: this day is won, this purpose gained, this wealth made mine, to-morrow safe--behold my enemy is slain, i am well-born-- o ye deluded ones, slaves of desire, self-satisfied and stubborn, filled with pride, power, lust and wrath--haters of me, the gate of hell is triple, bitter is the womb in which ye sink deluded, birth on birth, these not renouncing. but o soul attend, yield not to impotence, shake off your fears, be steadfast, balanced, free from hate and anger, balanced in pleasure and pain, and active, yet disregarding action's fruits--be friendly, compassionate, forgiving, self-controlled, resolute, not shrinking from the world, but mixing in its toils as fate may say; pure, expert, passionless, desire in leash, renouncing good and evil, to friend and foe, in fame and ignominy destitute of that attachment which disturbs the vision and labor of the soul. by these to fix eyes undistracted on me, the supreme and sole reality. and o remember thou soul, thou shalt not sin who workest through thy karma as its nature may command. strive with thy sin and it shall make the muscles, and strength to take thee to another height. but cleave to the practice of thy soul forever, also to wisdom better still than practice, to meditation, better still than wisdom, to renunciation, better than meditation, beholding me in all things, in all things me who would have you peace of soul attain, and soul's perfection. well, i say here lies profounder truth and purer than the words that jesus spoke. let's take forgiveness: forgive your enemies, he said, and bless them even that hate you. what did jesus do? did he forgive the thief upon the cross, who railed at him? he did forgive the hands who crucified him, but he had a reason: they knew not what they did; well, as for that who knows the thing he does? did he forgive judas iscariot? did he forgive poor peter by specific words? you see in instances like these the idealist, passionate and inexorable who sets up his soul against the world, but do you see the esoteric wisdom which takes note of the soul's health, just for the sake of health, and leaves the outward recompense alone? yes, what has jesus done but make a realm of outward law and force to strain and bind the sons of men to this thing and to that, bring the fanatic and the dogmatist in every neighborhood in america. and radical with axes after trees, and clergymen with curses on the fig trees? and even bring this kaiser and his dream of god's will in him to destroy his foes, and launch the war therefor, to make his realm and christian culture paramount in time. when all the while 'tis clear life does not yield proof positive of exoteric things. why the great truth of life is this, i think: the soul has freedom to create its world of beauty, truth, to make the world as truth or beauty, build philosophies, religions, and live by them, through them. it does not matter whether they're true, the significant thing is this: the soul has freedom to create, to take the void of unintelligible air, or thought the world at large, and of it make the food, impulse and meaning for its life. i say life is for nothing else, truth is not ours; that only ours which we create, by which we live and grow, and so we come again by this path of my own to india. what shall we do, you ask, if business dies, if the western world, the world for socialism lops off its leaves and branches, and the sap is thrown back in the trunk unused, or if this light upon the lotus quiets us and makes us mind entirely? well, i say, men have not lived, enjoyed enough before. our strength has gone to get the means for strength. we roll the rock of business up, and see the rock roll down, and roll it up again. and if the new day does not give us work in finding what our minds are, how to use them, and how to live more beautifully, i miss a guess i often make. but now to close: only the blind have failed to see how truly this elenor murray worked her karma out. and how she put forth strength to cure her weakness, and went her vital way, and toiled and died. peace to all worlds, and peace to elenor murray. * * * * * the coroner had heard that elenor murray once crossed the arctic circle. what of that? she traveled, it was proved. what happened there? what hunter after secrets could find out? but on a day the name of elenor murray is handled by two men who sit and talk in fairbanks, and the talk is in these words: at fairbanks bill, look here! here's the _times_. you see this picture, read if you like a little later. you never heard how i came to fairbanks, chanced to stay. it's eight years now. you see in nineteen eleven i lived in hammond, indiana, thought i'd like a trip, see mountains, see alaska, perhaps find fortune or a woman--well you know from your experience how it is. it was july and from the train i saw the canadian rockies, stopped at banff a day, at lake louise, and so forth. at vancouver found travelers feasting, englishmen in drink, flirtations budding, coming into flower; and eager spirits waiting for the boat. up to this time i hadn't made a friend, stalked silently about along the streets, drank scotch like all the rest, as much besides. well, then we took the steamship _princess alice_ and started up the inland channel--great! got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal cradles of the north, began at once to find the mystery, silence, see clear stars, the whites and blacks and greens along the shores. and still i had no friend, was quite alone. just as i came on deck i saw a face, looked, stared perhaps. her eyes went over me, would not look at me. at the dinner table she sat far down from me, i could not see her, but made a point to rise when she arose, did all i could to catch her eye--no use. so things went and i gave up--still i wondered why she had no companion. was she married? was husband waiting her, at skagway?--well i fancied something of the sort, at last, and as i said, gave up. but on a morning i rose to see the sun rise, all the sky first as a giant pansy, petals flung in violet toward the zenith streaked with fire; the silver of the snows change under light, mottled with shadows of the mountain tops like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn. at last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven, the sun just peeks and gilds the porcelain of snow with purest gold. and in the valleys darkness remains, orician ebony is not more black. you've seen this too, i know, and recognize my picture. there i stood, believed i was alone, then heard a voice, "is it not beautiful?" and looked around, and saw my girl, who had avoided me, would not make friends before. this is her picture, name, elenor murray. so the matter started. i had my seat at table changed and sat next to my girl to talk with her. we walked the deck together. then she said to me her home was in chicago, so it is travelers abroad discover they are neighbors when they are home. she had been teaching school, and saved her money for this trip, had planned to go as far as fairbanks. as for me, i thought i'd stop with skagway--oh this life! your hat blows off, you chase it, bump a woman, then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted, and marry later. as we steamed along she was the happiest spirit on the deck. the wrangell narrows almost drove her wild, there where the mountains are like circus tents, big show, menagerie and all the rest, but white as cotton with perennial snow. we swum past aisles of pine trees where a stream rushed down in terraces of hoary foam. the nights were glorious. we drank and ate and danced when there was dancing. well, at first, she seemed a little school ma'am, quaint, demure, meticulous and puritanical. and then she seemed a school ma'am out to have a time, so far away, where none would know, and like a woman who had heard of life and had a teasing interest in its wonder, too long caged up. at last my vision blurred: i did not know her, lost my first impressions amid succeeding phases which she showed. but when we came to skagway, then i saw another elenor murray. how she danced and tripped from place to place--such energy! she almost wore me out with seeing sights. but now behold! the white pass she must see upon the principle of missing nothing-- but oh the grave of "soapy" smith, the outlaw, the gambler and the heeler, that for her! we went four miles and found the cemetery, the grave of "soapy" smith.--came back to town where she would see the buildings where they played stud poker, keno, in the riotous days. time came for her to go. she looked at me and said "come on to fairbanks." as for that, i'd had enough, was ready to return, but sensed an honorarium, so i said, "you might induce me," with a pregnant tone. that moment we were walking 'cross the street, she stopped a moment, shook from head to heels, and said, "no man has talked to me that way." i dropped the matter. she renewed it--said, "why do you hurry back? what calls you back? come on to fairbanks, see the gardens there, that tag the blizzards with their rosy hands and romp amid the snows." she smiled at me. well, then i thought--why not? and smiled her back, and on we went to fairbanks, where my hat blows off, as i shall tell you. for a day we did the town together, and that night i thought to win her. first we dined together, had many drinks, my little school ma'am drank of everything i ordered, had a place for more than i could drink. and truth to tell at bed time i was woozy, ten o'clock. we had not registered. and so i said, "i'm mr. kelly and you're mrs. kelly." she shook her head. and so to make an end i could not win her, signed my name in full; she did the same, we said good night and parted. next morning when i woke, felt none too good, got up at last and met her down at breakfast; tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee; got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand upon my head and said, "your head is hot, you have a fever." well, i lolled around and tried to fight it off till noon--no good. by this time i was sick, lay down to rest. by night i could not lift my head--in short, i lay there for a month, and all the time she cared for me just like a mother would. they moved me to a suite, she took the room that opened into mine, by night and day she nursed me, cheered me, read to me. at last when i sat up, was soon to be about, she said to me, "i'm going on to nome, st. michael first. they tell me that you cross the arctic circle going to st. michael, and i must cross the arctic circle--think to come this far and miss it. i must see the indian villages." and there again i saw, but clearer than before, the spirit adventuresome and restless, what you call the heart american. i said to her, "i'm not too well, i'm lonely,--yes, and more-- i'm fond of you, you have been good to me, stay with me here.--she darted in and out the room where i was lying, doing things, and broke my pleadings just like icicles you shoot against a wall. but here she was, a month in fairbanks, living at expense, said "i am short of money--lend me some, i'll go to nome, return to you and then we'll ship together for the states." you see i really owed her money for her care, her loss in staying--then i loved the girl, had played all cards but one--i played it now: "come back and marry me." her eyes looked down. "i will be fair with you," she said, "and think. away from you i can make up my mind if i have love enough to marry you." i gave her money and she went away, and for some weeks i had a splendid hell of loneliness and longing, you might know, a stranger in alaska, here in fairbanks, in love besides, and mulling in my mind our days and nights upon the steamer _alice_, our ramblings in the northland. weeks went by, no letter and no girl. i found my health was vigorous again. one morning walking i kicked a twenty dollar gold piece up right on the side-walk. picked it up and said: "an omen of good luck, a letter soon! perhaps this town has something for me!" well, i thought i'd get a job to pass the time while waiting for my girl. i got the job and here i am to-day; i've flourished here, worked to the top in fairbanks in eight years, and thus my hat blew off. what of the girl? six weeks or more a letter came from her, she crossed the arctic circle, went to nome, sailed back to 'frisco where she wrote to me. sent all the money back i loaned to her, and thanked me for the honor i had done her in asking her in marriage, but had thought the matter over, could not marry me, thought in the circumstances it was useless to come to fairbanks, see me, tell me so. now, bill, i'm egotist enough to think this girl could do no better. now it seems she's dead and never married--why not me? why did she ditch me? so i thought about it, was piqued of course, concluded in the end there was another man. a woman's no means she has someone else, expects to have, more suited to her fancy. then one morning as i awoke with thoughts of her as usual right in my mind there plumped an incident on shipboard when she asked me if i knew a certain man in chicago. at the time the question passed amid our running talk, and made no memory. but you watch and see a woman when she asks you if you know a certain man, the chances are the man is something in her life. so now i lay and thought there is a man, and that's the man; his name is stored away, i'll dig it up out of the cells subliminal--so i thought but could not bring it back. i found at last the telephone directory of chicago, and searched and searched the names from a to z. some mornings would pronounce a name and think that is the name, then throw the name away-- it did not fit the echo in my brain. but now at last--look here! eight years are gone, i'm healed of elenor murray, married too; and read about her death here in the _times_, and turn the pages over--column five-- chicago startled by a suicide-- gregory wenner kills himself--behold the name, at last, she spoke! * * * * * so much for waters in alaska. now turn eyes upon the waters nearer home. anton sosnowski has a fateful day and winthrop marion runs the story down, and learns sosnowski read the _times_ the day, he broke from brooding to a dreadful deed; sosnowski saw the face of elenor murray and rufus fox upon the self-same page, and afterwards was known to show a clipping concerning elenor murray and the banner of joan of arc, the words she wrote and folded within the banner: to be brave, nor flinch. anton sosnowski anton sosnowski, from the shakspeare school where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts, the day now done, sits by a smeared up table munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him the evening paper spread, held down or turned by claw-like hands, covered with shiny scars. he broods upon the war news, and his fate which keeps him from the war, looks up and sees his scarred face in the mirror over the wainscot; his lashless eyes and browless brows and head with patches of thin hair. and then he mutters hot curses to himself and turns the paper and curses germany, and asks revenge for poland's wrongs. and what is this he sees? the picture of his ruin and his hate, wert rufus fox! this leader of the bar is made the counselor of the city, now the city takes gas, cars and telephones and runs them for the people. so this man grown rich through machinations against the people, who fought the people all his life before, abettor, aider, thinker for the slickers regraters and forestallers and engrossers, is now the friend, adviser of the city, which he so balked and thwarted, growing rich, feared, noted, bowed to for the very treason for which he is so hated, yet deferred to. and anton looks upon the picture, reads about the great man's ancestry here printed, and all the great achievements of his life; once president of the bar association, and member of this club and of that club. contributor to charities and art, a founder of a library, a vestryman. and anton looks upon the picture, trembles before the picture's eyes. they are the eyes of innocent the tenth, with cruelty and cunning added--eyes that see all things and boulder jaws that crush all things--the jaws that place themselves at front of drifts, are placed by that world irony which mocks the good, and gives the glory and the victory to strength and greed. anton sosnowski looks long at the picture, then at his own hands, and laughs maniacally as he takes the mug with both hands like a bird with frozen claws, these broken, burned off hands which handle bread as they were wooden rakes. and in a mirror beside the table in the wall, smeared over with steam from red-hots, kraut and cookery, of smoking fats, fixed by the dust in blurs, and streaks, he sees his own face, horrible for scars and splotches as of leprosy; the eyes that have no lashes and no brows; the bullet head that has no hair, the ears burnt off at top. so comes it to this pole who sees beside the picture of the lawyer the clear cut face of elenor murray--yes, she gave her spirit to the war, is dead, her life is being sifted now. but fox lives for more honors, and by honors covers his days of evil. thus sosnowski broods, and lives again that moment of hell when fire burst like a geyser from a vat where gas had gathered in his ignorance; being sent to light a drying stove within the vat, a work not his, who was the engineer. the gas exploded as he struck the match, and like an insect fixed upon a pin and held before a flame, hands, face and body were burned and broken as his body shot up and against the brewery wall. what next? the wearisome and tangled ways of courts with rufus fox for foe, four trials in all where juries disagreed who heard the law erroneously given by the court. at last a verdict favorable, and a court sitting above the forum where he won to say, as there's no evidence to show just how the gas got in the vat, sosnowski must go for life with broken hands unhelped. and that the fact alone of gas therein though naught to show his fault had brought it there, the mere explosion did not speak a fault against the brewery. out from court he went to use a broom with crumpled hands, and look for life in mirrors at his ghastly face. and brood until suspicion grew to truth that rufus fox had compassed juries, courts; and read of rufus fox, who day by day was featured in the press for noble deeds, for art or charity, for notable dinners, guests, travels and what not. so now the pole reading of elenor murray, cursed himself that he could brood and wait--for what?--and grow more weak of will for brooding, while this woman had gone to war and served and ended it, yet he lived on, and could not go to war; saw only days of sweeping with these hands, and every day his face within the mirror, and every afternoon this glass of beer, and coarse bread, and these thoughts. and every day some story to arouse his sense of justice; how the generous give and pass on, and how the selfish live and gather honors. but sosnowski thought if i could do a flaming thing to show what courts are ours, what matter if i die? what if they took their quick-lime and erased my flesh and bones, expunged my very name, and made its syllables forbidden?--still if i brought in a new day for the courts, have i not served? he thought. sosnowski rose and to the bar, drank whiskey, then went out. that afternoon elihu rufus fox came home to dress for a dinner to be given for english notables in town--to rest after a bath, and found himself alone, his wife at red cross work. and there alone, collarless, lounging, in a comfort chair, poring on wordsworth's poems--all at once before he hears the door turned, rather feels a foot-fall and a presence, hears too soon a pistol shot, looks up and sees sosnowski, who fires again, but misses; grabs the man, disarms him, flings him down, and finding blood upon his shirt sleeve, sees his hand is hit, no other damage--then the pistol takes, and covering sosnowski, looks at him. and after several seconds gets the face which gradually comes forth from memories of many cases, knows the man at last. and studying sosnowski, rufus fox divines what drove the fellow to this deed. and in these moments rufus fox beholds his life and work, and how he made the law a thing to use, how he had builded friendships in clubs and churches, courted politicians, and played with secret powers, and compromised causes and truths for power and capital to draw on as a lawyer, so to win favorable judgments when his skill was hired by those who wished to win, who had to win to keep the social order undisturbed and wealth where it was wrenched to. and rufus fox knew that this trembling wreck before him knew about this course of life at making law and using law, and using those who sit to administer the law. and then he said: "why did you do this?" and sosnowski spoke: "i meant to kill you--where's your right to live when millions have been killed to make the world a safer place for liberty? where's your right to live and have more honors, be the man to guide the city, now that telephones, gas, railways have been taken by the city? i meant to kill you just to help the poor who go to court. for had i killed you here my story would be known, no matter if they buried me in lime, and made my name a word no man could speak. now i have failed. and since you have the pistol, point it at me and kill me now--for if you tell the world you killed me in defense of self, the world will never doubt you, for the world believes you and will not doubt your word, whatever it is." and rufus fox replied: "your mind is turned for thinking of your case, when you should know this country is a place of laws, and law must have its way, no matter who is hurt. now i must turn you over to the courts, and let you feel the hard hand of the law." just then the wife of rufus fox came in, and saw her husband with his granite jaws, and lowering countenance, blood on his shirt, the pistol in his hand, the scarred sosnowski, facing the lawyer. seeing that her husband had no wound but a hand clipped of the skin, and learning what the story was, she saw it was no time to let sosnowski's wrong come out to cloud the glory of her husband, now that in a new day he had come to stand with progress, fairer terms of life--to let the corpse of a dead day be brought beside the fresh and breathing life of brighter truth. quickly she called the butler, gave him charge over sosnowski, who was taken out, held in the kitchen, while the two conferred, the husband and the wife. to him she said, they two alone now: "i can see your plan to turn this fellow over to the law. it will not do, my dear, it will not do. for though i have been sharer in your life, partaker of its spoils and fruits, i see this man is just a ghost of a dead day of your past life, perhaps, in which i shared. but that dead life i would not resurrect in memory even, it has passed us by, you shall not live it more, no more shall i. the war has changed the world--the harvest coming will have its tares no doubt, but the old tares have been cut out and burned, wholly, i trust. and just to think you used that sharpened talent for getting money, place, in the old regime, to place you where to-day? why, where you must use all your talents for the common good. a barter takes two parties, and the traffic whereby the giants of the era gone-- (you are a giant rising on the wreck of programs and of plots)--made riches for themselves and those they served, is gone as well. since gradually no one is left to serve or have an interest but the state or city, the community which is all and should be all. so here you are at last despite yourself, changed not in mind perhaps, but changed in place, work, interest, taking pride too in the work; and speaking with your outer mind, at least praise for the day and work. i am at fault, and take no virtue to myself--i lived your life with you and coveted the things your labors brought me. all is changed for me. i would be poorer than this wretched pole rather than go back to the day that's dead, or reassume the moods i lived them through. what can we do now to undo the past, those days of self-indulgence, ostentation, false prestige, witless pride, that waste of time, money and spirit, haunted by ennui insatiable emotion, thirst for change. at least we can do this: we can set up the race's progress and our country's glory as standards for our work each day, go on perhaps in ignorance, misguided faith; and let the end approve our poor attempts. now to begin, i ask two things of you: if you or anyone who did your will wronged this poor pole, make good the wrong at once. and for the sake of bigness let him go. for your own name's sake, let the fellow go. do you so promise me?" and rufus fox, who looked a thunder cloud of wrath and power before the mirror tying his white tie, all this time silent--only spoke these words: "go tell the butler to keep guard on him and hold him till we come from dinner." the wife looked at the red black face of rufus fox there in the mirror, which like lao's mirror reflected what his mind was, then went out gently to her bidding, found sosnowski laughing and talking with the second maid, watched over by the butler, quite himself, his pent up anger half discharged, his grudge in part relieved. there was a garrulous ancient at leroy who traced all evils to monopoly in land, all social cures to single tax. he tried to button-hole the coroner and tell him what he thought of elenor murray. but merival escaped. and then this man, consider freeland named, got in a group and talked his mind out of the case, the land and what makes poverty and waste in lives: consider freeland look at that tract of land there--five good acres held out of use these thirty years and more. they keep a cow there. see! the cow's there now. she can't eat up the grass, there is so much. and in these thirty years these houses here, here, all around here have been built. this lot is worth five times the worth it had before these houses were built round it. well, by god, i am in part responsible for this. i started out to be a first rate lawyer. was i first rate lawyer? well, i won these acres for the burtons in the day when i could tell you what is gavel kind, advowsons, corodies, frank tenements, scutage, escheats, feoffments, heriots, remainders and reversions, and mortmain, tale special and tale general, tale female, fees absolute, conditional, copyholds; and used to stand and argue with the courts the difference 'twixt a purchase, limitation, the rule in shelley's case. and so it was in my good days i won these acres here for old man kingston's daughter, who in turn bound it with limitation for the life of selfish sons, who keep a caretaker, who keeps a cow upon it. there's the cow! the land has had no use for thirty years. the children are kept off it. elenor murray, this girl whose death makes such a stir, one time was playing there--but that's another story. i only say for the present, these five acres made elenor murray's life a thing of waste as much as anything, and a damn sight more. for think a minute! kingston had a daughter married to colonel burton in kentucky. and kingston's son was in the civil war. but just before the war, the burtons deeded these acres here, which she inherited from old man kingston, to this captain kingston, the son aforesaid of old kingston. well, the deed upon its face was absolute, but really was a deed in trust. the captain held title for a year or two, and then an hour before he fought at shiloh, made a will, and willed acres to his wife, fee simple and forever. now you'd think that contemplating death, he'd make a deed giving these acres back to mrs. burton, the sister who had trusted him. i don't know what comes in people's heads, but i believe the want of money is the root of evil, as well as love of money; for this captain perhaps would make provision for his wife and infant son, thought that the chiefest thing no matter how he did it, being poor, willed this land as he did. but anyway he willed it so, went into shiloh's battle, and fell dead on the field. what happened then? they took this will to probate. as i said i was a lawyer then, you may believe it, was hired by the burtons to reclaim these acres from the widow kingston's clutch, under this wicked will. and so i argued the will had not been witnessed according to law. got beat upon that point in the lower court, but won upon it in the upper courts. then next i filed a bill to set aside this deed the burtons made to captain kingston-- oh, i was full of schemes, expedients, in those days, i can tell you. widow kingston came back and filed a cross bill, asked the court to confirm the title in her son and her as heirs of captain kingston, let the will go out of thought and reckoning. here's the issue; you understand the case, no doubt. we fought through all the courts. i lost in the lower court, as i lost on the will. there was the deed: for love and affection and one dollar we convey and warrant lots from one to ten in the city of leroy, to captain kingston to be his own forever. how to go behind such words and show the actual trust inhering in the deed, that was the job. but here i was resourceful as before, found witnesses to testify they heard this captain kingston say he held the acres in trust for mrs. burton--but i lost before the chancellor, had to appeal, but won on the appeal, and thus restored these acres to the burtons. and for this what did i get? three hundred lousy dollars. that's why i smoke a pipe; that's also why i quit the business when i saw the business was making ready to quit me. by god, my life is waste so far as it was used by this law business, and no coroner need hold an inquest on me to find out what waste was in my life--god damn the law! well, then i go my way, and take my fee, and pay my bills. the burtons have the land, and turn a cow upon it. see how nice a playground it would be. i've seen ten sets of children try to play there--hey! you hear, the caretaker come out, get off of there! and then the children scamper, climb the fence. well, after while the burtons die. the will leaves these five acres to their sons for life, remainder to the children of the sons. the sons are living yet at middle life, these acres have been tied up twenty years, they may be tied up thirty years beside: the sons can't sell it, and their children can't, only the cow can use it, as it stands. it grows more valuable as the people come here, and bring in being elenor murrays, children, and make the land around it populous. that's what makes poverty, this holding land, it makes the taxes harder on the poor, it makes work scarcer, and it takes your girls and boys and throws them into life half made, half ready for the battle. is a country free where the laws permit such things? your priests, your addle-headed preachers mouthing christ and morals, prohibition, laws to force people to be good, to save the girls, when every half-wit knows environment takes natures, made unstable in these homes of poverty and does the trick. that baronet who mocked our freedom, sailing back for england and said: your liberty statue in the harbor is just a joke, that baronet is right, while such conditions thrive. well, look at me who for three hundred dollars take a part in making a cow pasture for a cow for fifty years or so. i hate myself. and were the burtons better than this kingston? kingston would will away what was not his. the burtons took what is the gift of god, as much as air, and fenced it out of use-- save for the cow aforesaid--for the lives of sons in being. oh, i know you think i have a grudge. i have. this elenor murray was ten years old i think, this law suit ended twelve years or so, and i was running down, was tippling just a little every day; and i came by this lot one afternoon when school was out, a sunny afternoon. the children had no place except the street to play in; they were standing by the fence, the cow was way across the lot, and elenor was looking through the fence, some boys and girls standing around her, and i said to them: "why don't you climb the fence and play in there?" and elenor--she always was a leader, and not afraid of anything, said: "come on," and in a jiffy climbed the fence, the children, some quicker and some slower, followed her. some said "they don't allow it." elenor stood on the fence, flung up her arms and crowed, and said "what can they do? he says to do it," pointing at me. and in a moment all of them were playing and were shouting in the lot. and i stood there and watched them half malicious, and half in pleasure watching them at play. then i heard "hey!" the care-taker ran out. and said "get out of there, i will arrest you." he drove them out and as they jumped the fence some said, "he told us to," pointing at me. and elenor murray said "why, what a lie!" and then the care-taker grabbed elenor murray and said, "you are the wildest of them all." i spoke up, saying, "leave that child alone. i won this god damn land for those you serve, they use it for a cow and nothing else, and let these children run about the streets, when there are grass and dandelions there in plenty for these children, and the cow, and space enough to play in without bothering that solitary cow." i took his hands away from elenor murray; he and i came face to face with clenched fists--but at last he walked away; the children scampered off. next day, however, they arrested me for aiding in a _trespass clausam fregit_, and fined me twenty dollars and the costs. since then the cow has all her way in there. and elenor murray left this rotten place, went to the war, came home and died, and proved she had the sense to leave so vile a world. * * * * * george joslin ending up his days with dreams of youth in europe, travels, and with talk, stirred to a recollection of a face he saw in paris fifty years before, because the face resembled elenor murray's, explored his drawers and boxes, where he kept mementos, treasures of the olden days. and found a pamphlet, came to merival, with certain recollections, and with theories of elenor murray:-- george joslin on la menken here, coroner merival, look at this picture! whom does it look like? eyes too crystalline, a head like byron's, tender mouth, and neck, slender and white, a pathos as of smiles and tears kept back by courage. yes, you know it looks like elenor murray. well, you see i read each day about the inquest--good! dig out the truth, begin a system here of making family records, let us see if we can do for people when we know how best to do it, what is done for stock. so build up illinois, the nation too. i read about you daily. and last night when elenor murray's picture in the _times_ looked at me, i began to think, good lord, where have i seen that face before? i thought through more than fifty years departed, sent my mind through europe and america in all my travels, meetings, episodes. i could not think. at last i opened up a box of pamphlets, photographs, mementos, picked up since , and behold i find this pamphlet of la belle menken. here is your elenor murray born again, as here might be your blackbird of this year with spots of red upon his wings, the same as last year's blackbird, like a pansy springing out of the april of this year, repeating the color, form of one you saw last year. repeating and the same, but not the same; no two alike, you know. i'll come to that. well, then, la menken--as a boy in paris i saw la menken, i'll return to this. but just as elenor murray has her life shadowed and symbolized by our starved rock-- and everyone has something in his life which takes him, makes him, is the image too of fate prefigured--la menken has mazeppa, her notable first part as actress, emblem of spirit, character, and of omen too of years to come, the thrill of life, the end. who is la menken? symbol of america, one phase of spirit! she was venturesome, resourceful, daring, hopeful, confident, and as she wrote of self, a vagabond, a dweller in tents, a reveler, and a flame aspiring but disreputable, coming up with leaves that shamed her stalk, could not be shed, but stuck out heavy veined and muddy hued in time of blossom. there are souls, you know, who have shed shapeless immaturities, betrayals of the seed before the blossom comes to proclaim a beauty, a perfection; or risen with their stalk, until such leaves were hidden in the grass or soil--not she, nor even your elenor murray, as i read her. but being america and american, brings good and bad together, blossom and leaves with prodigal recklessness, in vital health and unselective taste and vision mixed of beauty and of truth. who was la menken? she's born in louisiana in thirty-five, left fatherless at seven--mother takes her and puts her in the ballet at new orleans. she dances then from texas clear to cuba; then gives up dancing, studies tragedy, and plays bianca! fourteen years of age weds menken, who's a jew, divorced from him; then falls in love with heenan, pugilist. they quarrel and separate--it's in this pamphlet just as i tell you; you can take it, coroner. now something happens, nothing in her birth or place of birth to prophesy her life like starved rock to this elenor--being grown, a hand instead is darted from the curtain that hangs between to-day, to-morrow, sticks a symbol on her heart and whispers to her: you're this, my woman. well, the thing was this: she played mazeppa: take your dummy off, and lash me to the horse. they were afraid, but she prevailed, was nearly killed the first night, and after that succeeded, was the rage and for her years remaining found herself lashed to the wild horse of ungoverned will, which ran and wandered, till she knew herself with stronger will than vision, passion stronger than spirit to judge; the richness of the world, love, beauty, living, greater than her power. and all the time she had the appetite to eat, devour it all. grown sick at last, she diagnosed her case, wrote to a friend: the soul and body do not fit each other-- a human spirit in a horse's flesh. this is your elenor murray, in a way. but to return to pansies, run your hand over a bed of pansies; here's a pansy with petals stunted, here's another one all perfect but one petal, here's another too streaked or mottled--all are pansies though. and here is one full petaled, strikes the eye with perfect color, markings. elenor murray has something of the color and the form of this la menken, but is less a pansy, and sappho, rachel, bernhardt are the flowers la menken strove to be, and could not be, ended with being only of their kind. and now there's pity for this elenor murray, and people wept when poor la menken died. both lived and had their way. i hate this pity, it makes you overlook there are two hours: the hour of joy, the hour of finding out your joy was all mistake, or led to pain. we who inspect these lives behold the pain, and see the error, do not keep in mind the hour of rapture, and the pride, indeed with which your elenor murrays and la menkens have lived that hour, elation, pride and scorn for any other way--"this is the life" i hear them say. well, now i go along. la menken fills her purse with gold--she sends her pugilist away, tries once again and weds a humorist, an orpheus kerr-- and plays before the miners out in 'frisco, and sacramento, gathers in the eagles. she goes to europe then--with husband? no! james barkley is her fellow on the voyage. she lands in london, takes a gorgeous suite in london's grandest hostlery, entertains charles dickens, prince baerto and charles read, the duke of wellington and swinburne, sand and jenny lind; and has a liveried coachman; and for a crest a horse's head surmounting four aces, if you please. and plays mazeppa, and piles the money up. then next is paris. and there i saw her, , when louis napoleon and the king of greece, the prince imperial were in a box. she wandered to vienna, there was ill, came back to paris, died, a stranger's grave in pere la chaise was given, afterwards exhumed in mont parnasse was buried, got a little stone with these words carved upon it: "thou knowest" meaning god knew, while herself knew nothing of herself. but when in paris they sold her picture taken with her arms around dumas, and photographs made up of postures ludicrous, obscene as well, of her and great dumas, i have them home. can show you sometime. well she loved dumas, inscribed a book of poems to charles dickens, by his permission, mark you--don't you see your elenor murray here? this elenor murray a miniature imperfect of la menken? she loved sensation, all her senses thrilled her; a delicate soul too weighted by the flesh; a coquette, quick of wit, intuitive, kind, generous, unaffected, mystical, teased by the divine in life, and melancholy, of deep emotion sometimes. one has said she had a nature spiritual, religious which warred upon the flesh and fell in battle; just as your elenor murray joined the church, and did not keep the faith, if truth be told. now look, here is a letter in this pamphlet la menken writes a poet--for she hunts for seers and for poets, lofty souls. and who does that? a woman wholly bad? why no, a woman to be given life fit for her spirit in another realm by god who will take notice, i believe. now listen if you will! "i know your soul. it has met mine somewhere in starry space. and you must often meet me, vagabond of fancy without aim, a dweller in tents disreputable before the just. just think i am a linguist, write some poems too, can paint a little, model clay as well. and yet for all these gropings of my soul i am a vagabond, of little use. my body and my soul are in a scramble and do not fit each other--let them carve those words upon my stone, but also these thou knowest, for god knows me, knows i love whatever is good and beautiful in life; and that my soul has sought them without rest. farewell, my friend, my spirit is with you, vienna is too horrible, but know paris then die content." now, coroner merival, you're not the only man who wants to see, will work to make america a republic of splendors, freedoms, happiness, success. though i am seventy-six, cannot do much, save talk, as i am talking now, bring forth proofs, revelations from the years i've lived. i care not how you view the lives of people, as pansy beds or what not, lift your faith so high above the pansy bed it sees the streaked and stunted pansies filling in the pattern that the perfect pansies outline, therefore are smiling, even indifferent to this poor conscious pansy, dying at last because it could not be the flower it wished. my heart to elenor murray and la menken goes out in sorrow, even while i know they shook their leaves in april, laughed and thrilled, and either did not know, or did not care the growing time was precious, and if wasted could never be regained. look at la menken at seven years put in the ballet corps; and look at elenor murray getting smut out of experience that made her wise. what shall we do about it?--let it go? and say there is no help, or say a republic, set up a hundred years ago, raised to the helm of rulership as president a list of men more able than the emperors, kings, rulers of the world, and statesmen too the equal of the greatest, money makers, and domineers of finance and economies phenomenal in time--say, i repeat a country like this one must let its children waste as they wasted in the darker years of europe. shall we let these trivial minds who see salvation, progress in restraint, pre-empt the field of moulding human life? or shall we take a hand, and put our minds upon the task, as recently we built an army for the war, equipped and fed it, an army better than all other armies, more powerful, more apt of hand and brain, of thin tall youths, who did stop but said like poor la menken, strap me to the horse i'll do it if i die--so giving to peace the skill and genius which we use in war, though it cost twenty billion, and why not? why every dollar, every drop of blood for war like this to guard democracy, and not so much or more to build the land, improve our blood, make individual america and her race? and first to rout poverty and disease, give youth its chance, and therapeutic guidance. soldier boys have huts for recreation, clergymen, and is it more, less worth to furnish hands intimate, hearts intimate for the use of your la menkens, elenor murrays, youths who feel such vigor in their restless wings they tumble out of crowded nests and fly to fall in thickets, dash themselves against walls, trees? i have a vision, coroner, of a new republic, brighter than the sun, a new race, loftier faith, this land of ours made over as to people, boys and girls, conserved like forests, water power or mines; watched, tested, put to best use, keen economies practiced in spirits, waste of human life, hope, aspiration, talent, virtues, powers, avoided by a science, science of life, of spirit, what you will. enough of war, and billions for the flag--all well enough! some billions now to make democracy democracy in truth with us, and life not helter-skelter, hitting as it may, and missing much, as this la menken did. i'm not convinced we must have stunted pansies, that have no use but just to piece the pattern. let's try, and if we try and fail, why then our human duty ends, the god in us will have it just this way, no other way. and then we may accept so poor a world, a republic so unfinished. * * * * * will paget is another writer of letters to coroner merival. the coroner spends evenings reading letters, keeps a file where he preserves them. and the blasphemy of paget makes him laugh. he has an evening and reads this letter to the jurymen: will paget on demos and hogos to coroner merival, greetings, but a voice dissentient from much that goes the rounds, concerning elenor murray. here's my word: give men and women freedom, save the land from dull theocracy--the theo, what? a blend of demos and jehovah! say, bring back your despots, bring your louis fourteenths, and give them thrones of gold and ivory from where with leaded sceptres they may whack king demos driven forth. you know the face? the temples are like sea shells, hollows out, which narrow close the space for cortex cells. there would be little brow if hair remained; but hair is gone, because the dandruff came. the eyes are close together like a weasel's; the jaws are heavy, that is character; the mouth is thin and wide to gobble chicken; the paunch is heavy for the chickens eaten. throned high upon a soap box demos rules, and mumbles decalogues: thou shalt not read, save what i tell you, never books that tell of men and women as they live and are. thou shalt not see the dramas which portray the evil passions and satiric moods which mock this christian nation and its hope. thou shalt not drink, not even wine or beer. thou shalt not play at cards, or see the races. thou shalt not be divorced! thou shalt not play. thou shalt not bow to graven images of beauty cut in marble, fused in bronze. behold my name is demos, king of kings, my name is legion, i am many, come out of the sea where many hogs were drowned, and now the ruler of hogocracy, where in the name of freedom hungry snouts root up the truffles in your great republic, and crunch with heavy jaws the legs and arms of people who fall over in the pen. hierarchies in my name are planted under your states political to sprout and take the new world's soil,--religious freedom this!-- thought must be free--unless your thought objects to such dominion, and to literal faith in an old book that never had a place except beside the koran, zarathustra. so here is your theocracy and here the land of boredom. do you wonder now that people cry for war? you see that god frowns on all games but war. you shall not play or kindle spirit with a rapture save a moral end's in view. all joy is sin, where joy stands for itself alone, nor asks consent to be, save for itself. but war waged to put down the wrong, it's always that; to vindicate god's truths, all wars are such, is game that lets the spirit play, is backed by god and moral reasons, therefore war, a game disguised as business, cosmic work for great millenniums, no less relieves the boredom of theocracies. but if your men and women had the chance to play, be free and spend superfluous energies, in what i call the greatest game, that's life, have life more freely, deeply, and you say how would you like a war and lose a leg, or come from battle sick for all your years? you would say no, unless you saw an issue, stripped clean of christian twaddle, as we'll say the greeks beheld the persians. well, behold all honest paganism in such things discarded for god who comes in glory, trampling presses filled up with grapes of wrath. now hear me out: i knew we'd have a war, it wasn't only that your hogocracy was grunting war we'd fight japan, take mexico--remember how dancing flourished madly in the land; then think of savages who dance the ghost dance, and cattle lowing, rushing in a panic, there's psychic secrets here. but then at last what can you do with life? you're well and strong, flushed with desire, mad with appetites, you turn this way and find a sign forbidden, you turn that way and find the door is closed. hogocracy, king demos say, go back, find work, develop character, restrain, draw up your belt a little tighter, hunger and thirst diminish with a tighter belt. and none to say, take off the belt and eat, here's water for you. well, you have a war. we used to say in foot ball kick their shins, and gouge their eyes out--when our shins were kicked we hollered foul and ouch. there was the south who called us mud-sills in this freer north, and mouthed democracy; and as for that their churches made of god a battle leader, an idea come from palestine; oh, yes, they soon would wipe us up, they were the people. but when we slaughtered them they hollered ouch. and why not? for a gun and uniform, and bands that play are rapturous enough. but when you get a bullet through the heart, the game is not so funny as it was. that's why i hated germany and hate her, and feel we could not let this german culture spread over earth. that culture was but this: life must have an expression and a game, and war's the game, besides the prize is great in land and treasure, commerce, let us play, it lets the people's passions have a vent when fires of life burn hot and hotter under the kettle and the lid is clamped by work, dull duty, daily routine, inhibitions. before this elenor murray woke to life leroy was stirring, but the stir was play. it was a gretna green, and pleasure boats ran up and down the river--on the streets you heard the cry of barkers, in the park the band was playing, and you heard the ring of registers at fountains and buffets. all this was shabby maybe, but observe there are those souls who see the wrath of god as blackest background to the light of soul: and when the thunder rumbles and the storm comes up with lightning then they say to men who laugh in bar-rooms, "have a care, blasphemers, you may be struck by lightning"--here's the root from which this mood ascetic comes to leaf in all theocracies, and throws a shadow upon all freedom. look at us to-day. they say to me, see what a town we have: the men at work, smoke coming from the chimneys, the banks full up of money, business good, the workmen sober, going home at night, no rowdy barkers and no bands a-playing, no drinking and no gaming and no vice. no marriages contracted to be broken. look how leroy is quiet, sane and clean! and i reply, you like the stir of work, but not the stir of play; your chimneys smoke, your banks have money. let me look behind the door that closes on your man at home, the wife and children there, what shall i find? a sick man looks to health as it were all, but when the fever leaves him and he feels the store of strength in muscles slumbering and waiting to be used, then something else than health is needful, he must have a way to voice the life within him, and he wonders why health seemed so desirable before, and all sufficient to him. take this girl: why do you marvel that she rode at night with any man who came along? good god, if i were born a woman and they put me in a theocracy, hogocracy, i'd do the first thing that came in my mind to give my soul expression. don't you think you're something of a bully and a coward to ask such model living from this girl when you, my grunting hogos, run the land and bring us scandals like the times of grant, and poisoned beef sold to the soldier boys, when we were warring spain, and all this stuff concerning loot and plunder, malversation, that riots in your cities, printed daily? i roll the panoramic story out to washington the great--what do i see? it's tangle foot, the sticky smear is dry; but i can find wings, legs and heads, remember how little flies and big were buzzing once of god and duty, country, virtue, faith; and beating wings, already gummed with sweet, until their little bellies touched the glue, they sought to fill their bellies with--at last long silence, which is history, scroll rolled up and spoken of in sacred whispers. well, i'm glad that elenor murray had her fling, if that be really true. i understand what drove her to the war. i think she knew too much to marry, settle down and live under the rule of demos or of hogos. i wish we had a dozen elenor murrays in every village in this land of demos to down theocracy, which is just as bad as prussianism, is no different from prussianism. and i fear but this as fruitage of the war: that men and women will have burnt on their souls the words ceramic that war's the thing, and this theocracy, where generous outlets for the soul are stopped will keep the words in mind. when boredom comes, and grows intolerable, you'll see the land go forth to war to get a thrill and live-- unless we work for freedom, for delight and self-expression. * * * * * dwight henry is another writer of letters, stirred by the murray inquest; writes a screed "the house that jack built," read by merival to entertain his jury, in these words: the house that jack built why don't they come to me to find the cause of elenor murray's death? the house is first; that is the world, and jack is god, you know; the malt is linen, purple, wine and food, the rats that get the malt are nobles, lords, those who had feudal dues and hunting rights, and privileges, first nights, all the rest. the cats are your voltaires, rousseaus; the dogs, your jailers, louis, fredericks and such. and o, you blessed cow, you common people, whom maidens all forlorn attend and milk. here is your elenor murray who gives hands, brain, heart and spirit to the task of milking, and straining milk that other lips may drink, revive and flourish, wedding, if she weds, the tattered man in church, which is your priest shaven and shorn, and wakened with the sun by the cock, theology that keeps the house well timed and ruled for honor unto jack, who must have order, rising on the hour, and ceremony for his house. if rats had never lived, or left the malt alone, this girl had lived. let's trace the story down: we went to france to fight, we go to france to get the origin of elenor's death. it's , say, the malt of france and europe, too, is over-run by rats; the nobles and the clergy own the land, exact the taxes, drink the luscious milk of the crumpled horns. but cats come slinking by called diderot, voltaire, rousseau. now look! cat diderot goes after war and taxes, the slave trade, privilege, the merchant stomach. in england, too, there is a sly grimalkin, who poisons rats with most malicious thoughts, and bears the name of adam--adam smith, by jack named adam just to signify his sinful nature. but the cat voltaire says adam never fell, that man is good, an honest merchant better than a king, and shaven priests are worse than parasites. he rubs his glossy coat against the legs of quakers, loving natures, loathes the trade of war, and runs with velvet feet across the whole of europe, scaring rats to death. the cat rousseau is instinct like a cat, and purrs that man born free is still in chains here in this house that jack built. consequence? there is such squeaking, running of the rats, the cats in north america wake up and drive the english rats out; then the dogs grow cautious of the cats, poor simple louis convokes a french assembly to preserve the malt against the rats and give the cow whose milk is growing blue and thin some malt. and all at once rats, cats and dogs, the cow, the shaven priest, the maiden all forlorn, the tattered man, the cock, are in a hubbub of squeaking, caterwauling, barking, lowing, with cock-a-doodles, curses, prayers and shrieks ascending from the melee. in a word, you have a revolution. all at once a mastiff dog appears and barks: "be still." and in a way in france's room in the house brings order for a time. he grabs the fabric of the holy roman empire, tears it up, sends for the shaven priest from rome and bites his shrunken calves; trots off to jena where he whips the prussian dogs, but wakes them too to breed and multiply, grow strong to fight all other dogs in jack's house, bite to death the maidens all forlorn, like elenor murray. this mastiff, otherwise napoleon called, is downed at last by dogs from everywhere. they're rid of him--but still the house of jack is better than it was, the rats are thick, but cats grow more abundant, malt is served more generously to the cow. the prussian dogs discover malt's the thing, also the cow must have her malt, or else the milk gives out. but all the while the prussian dogs grow strong, well taught and angered by napoleon. and some of them would set the house in order after the manner of america. but many wish to fight, get larger rooms, then set the whole in order. at sadowa they whip the austrian dogs, and once again a mastiff comes, a bismarck, builds a suite from north to south, and forces austria to huddle in the kitchen, use the outhouse where huns and magyars, bulgars and the rest keep babel under jack who split their tongues to make them hate each other and suspect, not understanding what the other says. this very babel was the cause of death of elenor murray, if i chose to stop and go no further with the story. next our mastiff bismarck thinks of luneville, and would avenge it, grabs the throat of france, and downs her; at versailles growls and carries an emperor of germany to the throne. then pants and wags his tail, and little dreams a dachshund in an early day to come will drive him from the kennel and the bone he loves to crunch and suck. this dachshund is in one foot crippled, rabies from his sires lies dormant in him, in a day of heat froth from his mouth will break, his eyes will roll like buttons made of pearl with glints of green. already he feels envy of the dogs who wear brass collars, bay the moon of jack, and roam at will about the house of jack, the english, plainer said. this envy takes the form of zeal for country, so he trots about the house, gets secrets for reforms for germany, would have his lesser dogs all merchants, traders sleek and prosperous, achieve a noble breed to rule the house. and so he puts his rooms in order, while the other dogs look on with much concern and growing fear. the business of the house in every room is over malt; the cow must be well fed for milk. and if you have no feudal dues, outlandish taxes, still the game of old goes on, has only changed its dominant form. grimalkin, adam smith spied all the rats, and all the tricks of rats, saw in his day the rats crawl hawser ropes and get on ships, embark for indias, and get the malt; and now the merchant ships for china bound, for africa, for the isles of farthest seas take rats, who slip aboard and eat their fill before the patient cow, milked daily as before can lick her tongue against a mouthful of the precious stuff. you have your eastern question, and your congo. france wants morocco, gives to germany possessions in the congo for morocco. the dogs jump into china, even we take part and put the boxers down, lay hands upon the philippines, and egypt falls to england, all are building battle ships. the dachshund barking he is crowded out, encircled, as he says, builds up the army, and patriot cocks are crowing everywhere, until the house of jack with snarls and growls, the fuff, fuff, fuff of cats seems on the eve of pandemonium. the germans think the slavs want europe, and the slavs are sure the germans want it, and it's all for malt. meantime the balkan babel leads to war. the slavic peoples do not like the rule of austro-hungary, but the latter found no way except to rule the slavs and rule southeastern europe, being crowded out by mastiff bismarck. and again there's jack who made confusion of the balkan tongues. and so the house awaits events that look as if jack willed them, anyway a thing that may be put on jack. it comes at last. all have been armed for malt. a crazy man has armed himself and shoots a king to be, the archduke francis, on the serbian soil, then austria moves on serbia, russia moves to succor serbia, france is pledged to help the russians, but our dachshund has a bond with austria and rushes to her aid. then england must protect the channel, yes, france must be saved--and here you have your war. and now for elenor murray. top of brain where ideals float like clouds, we owed to france a debt, but had we paid it, if the dog, the dachshund, mad at last, had left our ships to freedom of the seas? say what you will, this england is the smartest thing in time, can never fall, be conquered while she keeps that mind of hers, those eyes that see all things, spies or no spies, knows every secret hatched in every corner of the house of jack. and with one language spoken by more souls than any tongue, leads minds by written words; writes treaties, compacts which forstall the sword, and makes it futile when it's drawn against her.... you cuff your enemy at school or make a naso-digital gesture, coming home you fear your enemy, so walk beside the gentle teacher; if your enemy throws clods at you, he hits the teacher. well, 'twas wise to hide munitions back of skirts, and frocks of little children, most unwise for dachshund william to destroy the skirts and frocks to sink munitions, since the wearers happened to be americans. william fell jumping about his room and spilled the clock, raked off the mantel; broke his billikens, his images of jack by doing this. for, seeing this, we rise; ten million youths take guns for war, and many elenor murrays swept out of placid places by the ripples cross seas to serve. this girl was french in part, in spirit was american. look back do you not see voltaire lay hold of her, hands out of tombs and spirits, from the skies lead her to europe? trace the causes back to adam, or the dwellers of the lakes, it is enough to see the souls that stirred the revolution of the french which drove the ancient evils from the house of jack. it is enough to hope that from this war the vestiges of feudal wrongs shall lie in jack's great dust-pan, swept therein and thrown in garbage cans by maidens all forlorn, the fates we'll call them now, lame goddesses, hags halt, far sighted, seeing distant things, near things but poorly--this is much to hope! but if we get a freedom that is free for elenor murrays, maidens all forlorn, and tattered men, and so prevent the wars, already budding in this pact of peace, this war is good, and elenor murray's life not waste, but gain. now for a final mood, as it were second sight. i open the door, walk from the house of jack, look at the roof, the chimneys, over them see depths of blue. jack's house becomes a little ark that sails, tosses and bobbles in an infinite sea. and all events of evil, war and strife, the pain and folly, test of this and that, the groping from one thing to something else, old systems turned to new, old eras dead, new eras rising, these are ripples all moving from some place in the eternal sea where jack is throwing stones,--these ripples lap against the house of jack, or toss it so the occupants go reeling here and there, laugh, scowl, grow sick, tread on each other's toes. while all the time the sea is most concerned with tides and currents, little with the house, ignore this elenor murray or voltaire, who living and who dying reproduce ripples upon the pools of time and place, that knew them; and so on where neither eye nor mind can trace the ripples vanishing in ether, realms of spirit, what you choose! * * * * * now on a day when merival was talking more evidence at the inquest, he is brought the card of mary black, associate of elenor murray in the hospital of france, and asks the coroner to hear what elenor murray suffered in the war. and merival consents and has her sworn; she testifies as follows to the jury: poor girl, she had an end! she seems to me a torch stuck in a bank of clay, snuffed out, her warmth and splendor wasted. never girl had such an ordeal and a fate before. she was the lucky one at first, and then evils and enemies flocked down upon her, and beat her to the earth. but when we sailed you never saw so radiant a soul, while most of us were troubled, for you know some were in gloom, had quarreled with their beaux, who did not say farewell. and there were some who talked for weeks ahead of seeing beaux and having dinners with them who missed out. we were a tearful, a deserted lot. and some were apprehensive--well you know! but elenor, she had a beau devoted who sent her off with messages and love, and comforts for her service in the war. and so her face was lighted, she was gay, and said to us: "how wonderful it is to serve, to nurse, to play our little part for country, for democracy." and to me she said: "my heart is brimming over with love. now i can work and nurse, now use my hands to soothe and heal, which burn to finger tips, with flame for service." oh she had the will, the courage, resolution; but at last they broke her down. and this is how it was: her love for someone gave her zeal and grace for watching, working, caring for the sick. her heart was in the cause too--but this love gave beauty, passion to it. all her men stretched out to kiss her hands. it may be true the wounded soldier is a grateful soul. but in her case they felt a warmer flame, a greater tenderness. so she won her spurs, and honors, was beloved, she had a brain, a fine intelligence. then at the height of her success, she disobeyed a doctor-- he was a pigmy--elenor knew more than he did, but you know the discipline: war looses all the hatreds, meanest traits together with the noblest, so she crumpled, was disciplined for this. about this time a letter to the head nurse came--there was a miriam fay, who by some wretched fate was always after elenor--it was she who wrote the letter, and the letter said to keep a watch on elenor, lest she snag some officer or soldier. elenor, who had no caution, venturesome and brave, wrote letters more than frank to one she loved whose tenor leaked out through the censorship. her lover sent her telegrams, all opened, and read first by the head nurse. so at last too much was known, and elenor was eyed, and whispers ran around. those ugly girls, who never had a man, were wagging tongues, and still her service was so radiant, so generous and skillful she survived, helped by the officers, the leading doctors, who liked her and defended her, perhaps in hopes of winning her--you know the game! it was through them she went to nice; but when she came back to her duty all was ready to catch her and destroy her--envy played its part, as you can see. our unit broke, and some of us were sent to germany, and some of us to other places--all went with some chum, associate. but elenor, who was cut off from every one she knew, and shipped out like an animal to be with strangers, nurses, doctors, wholly strange. the head nurse passed the word along to watch her. and thus it was her spirit, once aflame for service and for country, fed and brightened by love for someone, thus was left to burn in darkness and in filth. the hospital was cold, the rain poured, and the mud was frightful-- poor elenor was writing me--the food was hardly fit to eat. to make it worse they put her on night duty for a month. smallpox broke out and they were quarantined. a nurse she chose to be her friend was stricken with smallpox, died and left her all alone. one rainy morning she heard guns and knew a soldier had been stood against the wall. he was a boy from texas, driven mad by horror and by drink, had killed a frenchman. she had the case of crazy men at night, and one of them got loose and knocked her down, and would have killed her, had an orderly not come in time. and she was cold at night, sat bundled up so much she scarce could walk there in that ward on duty. everywhere they thwarted her and crossed her, she was nagged, brow-beaten, driven, hunted and besought for favors, for the word was well around she was the kind who could be captured--false, the girl was good whatever she had done. all this she suffered, and her lover now had cast her off, it seems, had ceased to write, had gone back to america--even then they did not wholly break her. but i ask what soldier or what nurse retained his faith, the splendor of his flame? i wish to god they'd pass a law and make it death to write or speak of war as glory, or as good. what good can come of hatred, greed and murder? war licenses these passions, legalizes all infamies. they talk of cruelties-- we shot the german captives--and i nursed a boy who shot a german, with two others rushed on the fallen fellow, ran him through, through eyes and throat with bayonets. the world is better, is it? and if indians scalped our women for the british, and if sherman cut through the south with sword and flame, to-day such terrors should not be, we are improved! yes, hate and lust have changed, and maniac rage, and rum has lost its potency to fire a nerve that sickens at the bloody work where men are butchered as you shoot and slash an animal for food! well, now suppose the preachers who preach jesus meek and mild, but fulminate for slaughter, when the game of money turns its thumbs down; if your statesmen with hardened arteries and hardened hearts, who make a cult of patriotism, gain their offices and livelihood thereby; your emperors and kings and chancellors, who glorify themselves and win sometimes lands for their people; and your editors who whip the mob to fury, bellies fat, grown cynical, and rich, who cannot lose, no matter what we suffer--if we nurses, and soldiers fail; your patriotic shouters of murder and of madness, von bernhardis, treitschkes, making pawns of human life to shape a destiny they can't control-- your bankers and your merchants--all the gang who shout for war and pay the orators, arrange the music--if i say--this crowd finds us, the nurses and the soldiers, cold, our fire of youth and faith beyond command, too wise to be enlisted or enslaved, what will they do who shout for war so much? and haven't we, the nurses and the soldiers written some million stories for the eyes of boys and girls to read these fifty years? and if they read and understand, no war can come again. they can't have war without the spirit of your elenor murrays--no! * * * * * so mary black went on, and merival gave liberty to her to talk her mind. the jury smiled or looked intense for words so graphic of the horrors of the war. then david barrow asked: "who is the man that used to write to elenor, went away?" and mary black replied, "we do not know; i do not know a girl who ever knew. i only know that elenor wept and grieved, and did her duty like a little soldier. it was some man who came to france, because the word went round he had gone back, and left the service, or the service there in france had left. some said he'd gone to england, some america. he must have been an american, or rather in america when she sailed, because she went off happy. in new york saw much of him before we sailed." and then the reverend maiworm juryman spoke up-- this mary black had left the witness chair-- and asked if gregory wenner went to france. the coroner thought not, but would inquire. * * * * * jane fisher was a friend of elenor murray's and held the secret of a pack of letters which elenor murray left. and on a day she talks with susan hamilton, a friend. jane fisher has composed a letter to a lawyer in new york, who has the letters-- at least it seems so--and to get the letters, and so fulfill the trust which elenor had left to jane. meantime the coroner had heard somehow about the letters, or that jane knows something--she is anxious now, and in a flurry, does not wish to go down to leroy and tell her story. so she talks with susan hamilton like this: jane fisher jane fisher says to susan hamilton, that coroner has no excuse to bring you, me before him. there are many too who could throw light on elenor murray's life besides the witnesses he calls to tell the cause of death: could he call us and hear about the traits we know, he should have us. what do we know of elenor murray's death? why, not a thing, unless her death began with simeon strong and gregory wenner--then i could say something, for she told me much about her plan to marry simeon strong, and could have done so but for gregory wenner, whose fault of life combined with fault of hers to break the faith of simeon strong in her. and so what have we? gregory wenner's love poisons the love of simeon strong, from that poor elenor murray falls into decline; from that, re-acts to nursing and religion, which leads her to the war; and from the war some other causes come, i know not what; i wish i knew. and elenor murray dies, is killed or has a normal end of life. but, susan, elenor murray feasted richly while life was with her, spite of all the pain. if you could choose, be elenor murray or our schoolmate, mary marsh, which would you be? elenor murray had imagination, and courage to sustain it; mary marsh had no imagination, was afraid, could not envision life in europe, married and living there in england, threw her chance away to live in england, was content, and otherwise not happy but to lift her habitation from the west of town and settle on the south side, wed a man whose steadiness and business sense made sure a prosperous uniformity of life. life does not enter at your door and seek you, and pour her gifts into your lap. she drops the chances and the riches here and there. they find them who fly forth, as faring birds know northern marshes, rice fields in the south; while the dull turtle waddles in his mud. the bird is slain perhaps, the turtle lives, but which has known the thrills? well, on a time elenor murray, janet stearns, myself thought we would see seattle and vancouver, we had saved money teaching school that year-- the plan was elenor murray's. so we sailed to 'frisco from los angeles, saw 'frisco by daylight, but to see the town by night was elenor murray's wish, and up to now we had no men, had found none. elenor said, "let's go to palo alto, find some men." we landed in a blinding sun, and walked about the desolate campus, but no men. and janet and myself were tired and hot; but elenor, who never knew fatigue, went searching here and there, and left us sitting under a palm tree waiting. hours went by, two hours, i think, when she came down the walk a man on either side. she brought them up and introduced them. they were gay and young, students with money. then the fun began: we wished to see the place, must hurry back to keep engagements in the city--whew! how elenor murray baited hooks for us with words about the city and our plans; what fun we three had had already there! until at last these fellows begged to come, return with us to 'frisco, be allowed to join our party. "could we manage it?" asked elenor murray, "do you think we can?" we fell into the play and talked it over, considered this and that, resolved the thing, and said at last to come, and come they did.... well, such a time in 'frisco. for you see our money had been figured down to cents for what we planned to do. these fellows helped, we scarcely had seen 'frisco but for them. they bought our dinners, paid our way about through china town and so forth, but we kept our staterooms on the boat, slept on the boat. and after three days' feasting sailed away with bouquets for each one of us. but this girl could never get enough, must on and on see more, have more sensations, never tired. and when we saw vancouver then the dream of going to alaska entered her. i had no money, janet had no money to help her out, and elenor was short. we begged her not to try it--what a will! she set her jaw and said she meant to go. and when we missed her for a day, behold we find her, she's a cashier in a store, and earning money there to take the trip. our boat was going back, we left her there. i see her next when school commences, ruling her room of pupils at los angeles. the summer after this she wandered east, was now engaged to simeon strong, but writing to gregory wenner, saw him in chicago. she traveled to new york, he followed her. she was a girl who had to live her life, could not live through another, found no man whose life sufficed for hers, must live herself, be individual. and en route for france she wrote me from new york, was seeing much of margery, an aunt--i never knew her, but sensed an evil in her, and a mind that used the will of elenor murray--how or why, i knew not. but she wrote to me this margery had brought her lawyer in, there in new york to draw a document, and put some letters in a safety box. whose letters? gregory wenner's? i don't know. she told me much of secrets, but of letters that needed for their preciousness a box, a lawyer to arrange the matter, nothing. for if there was another man, she felt too shamed, no doubt, to tell me:--"this is he, the love i sought, the great reality," when she had said as much of gregory wenner. but now a deeper matter: with this letter she sent a formal writing giving me charge of these letters, if she died to give the letters to the writer. i'm to know the identity of the writer, so she planned when i obtain them. how about this lawyer, and margery the aunt? what shall i do? write to this lawyer what my duty is appointed me of her, go to new york? i must do something, for this lawyer has, as i believe, no knowledge of my place in this affair. who has the box's key? this lawyer, or the aunt--i have no key-- and if they have the key, or one of them, and enter, take the letters, look! our friend gets stains upon her memory; or the man who wrote the letters finds embarrassment. somehow, i think, these letters hold a secret, the deepest of her life and cruelest, and figured in her death. my dearest friend, what if they brought me to the coroner, if i should get these letters, and they learned i had them, this relation to our elenor! yet how can i neglect to write this lawyer and tell him elenor murray gave to me this power of disposition? come what may i must write to this lawyer. here i write to get the letters, and obey the wish of our dear friend. our friend who never could carry her ventures to success, but always just at the prosperous moment wrecked her hope. she really wished to marry simeon strong. then why imperil such a wish by keeping this gregory wenner friendship living, go about with gregory wenner, fill the heart of simeon strong with doubt? oh well, my friend, we wonder at each other, i at you, and you at me, for doing this or that. and yet i think no man or woman acts without a certain logic in the act of nature or of circumstance. look here, this letter to the lawyer. will it do? i think so. if it brings the letters--well! if not, i'll get them somehow, it must be, i loved her, faults and all, and so did you.... so while jane fisher pondered on her duty, but didn't write the letter to the lawyer, who had the charge of elenor murray's letters, the lawyer, henry baker, in new york finds great perplexity. sometimes a case walks in a lawyer's office, makes his future, or wrecks his health, or brings him face to face with some one rising from the mass of things, faces and circumstance, that ends his life. so henry baker took such chances, taking the custody of these letters. james rex hunter is partner of this baker, sees at last merival and tells him how it was with baker at the last; he died because of elenor murray's letters, hunter told the coroner at the waldorf. dramatized his talk with lawyer baker in these words:-- henry baker, at new york one partner may consult another--james, here is a matter you must help me with, it's coming to a head. well, to be plain, and to begin at the beginning first, i knew a woman up on sixty-third, have known her since i got her a divorce, married, divorced, before--last night we quarreled, i must do something, hear me and advise. she is a woman notable for eyes bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light shows spectrally almost in squares and circles. her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh, a feaster and a liver, thinks and plans of money, how to get it. and this husband whom she divorced last summer went away, and left her to get on as best she could. all legal matters settled, we went driving-- this story can be skipped. last night we dined, afterward went to her apartment. first she told me at the dinner that her niece named elenor murray died some days ago. i sensed what she was after--here's the point:-- she followed up the theme when we returned to her apartment, where we quarreled. you see i would not do her bidding, left her mad, in silent wrath after some bitter words. i managed her divorce as i have said, then i stepped in as lover, months had passed. when elenor murray came here to new york, i met her at the apartment of the aunt whose name is margery camp. before, she said her niece was here, was happy and in love but sorrowful for leaving, just the talk that has no meaning till you see the subject or afterwards, perhaps; it passes in one ear and out the other. then at last one afternoon i met this elenor murray when i go up to call on margery camp. the staging of the matter is like this: the niece looks fagged, is sitting on the couch, has loosed her collar for her throat to feel the air about it, for the day is hot. and margery camp goes out, brings in a pitcher of absinthe cocktails, so we drink. i sit, begin to study what is done, and look this elenor murray over, get the thought that somehow margery camp has taken elenor in her control for something, has begun to use her, manage her, is coiling her with dominant will or cunning. then i look, see margery camp observing elenor murray, who drinks the absinthe, and in margery's eyes i see these parallelograms of light just like a vase of crockery, there she stands, her face like ivory, and laughs and shows her marvelous teeth, smooths with her shapely hands the skirt upon her hips. somehow i feel she is a soul who watches passion work. then elenor murray rouses, gets her spirits out of the absinthe, rises and exclaims: "i'm better now;" and margery camp speaks up, poor child, in intonation like a doll that speaks from reeds of steel, no sympathy or meaning in the words. the interview seems spooky to me, cold and sinister. we drink again and then we drink again. and what with her fatigue and lowered spirits, this elenor murray drifts in talk and mood with so much drink. at last this margery camp says suddenly: "you'll have to help my niece, there is a matter you must manage for her, we've talked it over; in a day or two before she goes away, we'll come to you." i took them out to dinner, after dinner drove margery camp to her apartment, then went down with elenor murray to her place. then in a day or two, one afternoon margery camp and elenor murray came here to my office with a bundle, which this margery camp was carrying, rather large. and margery camp was bright and keen as winter. but elenor murray seemed a little dull, abstracted as of drink, or thought perhaps. after the greeting and preliminaries, margery said to elenor: "better tell what we have come for, get it done and go." then elenor murray said: "here are some letters, i've tied them in this package, and i wish to put them in a safety box, give you one key and keep the other, leave with you a sealed instruction, which, in case i die, while over-seas, you may break open, read and follow, if you will." she handed me a writing signed by her which merely read what i have told you--here it is--you see: "when legal proof is furnished i am dead, break open the sealed letter which will give instruction for you." so i took the trust, went with these women to a vault and placed the letters in the box, gave her a key, kept one myself. they left. at dinner time i joined them, saw more evidence of the will of margery camp controlling elenor's. which seemed in part an older woman's power against a younger woman's, and in part something less innocent. we ate and drank, i took them to their places as before, and didn't see this elenor again. but now last night when i see margery she says at once, "my niece is dead;" goes on to say, no other than herself has care or interest in her, was estranged from father, and mother too, herself the closest heart in all the world, and therefore she must look after the memory of the niece, and adds: "she came to you through me, i picked you out to do this business." so she went along with this and that, advancing and retreating to catch me, bind me. well, i saw her game, sat non-committal, sipping wine, but keeping the wits she hoped i'd lose, as i could see. after the dinner we went to her place and there she said these letters might contain something to smudge the memory of her niece, she wished she had insisted on the plan of having one of the keys, the sealed instruction made out and left with her; being her aunt, the closest heart in the world to elenor murray, that would have been the right way. but she said her niece was willful and secretive, too, not over wise, but now that she was dead it was her duty to reform the plan, do what was best, and take control herself. so working to the point by devious ways she said at last: "you must give me the key, the sealed instruction: i'll go to the box, and get the letters, do with them as elenor directed in the letter; for i think, cannot believe it different, that my niece has left these letters with me, so directs in that sealed letter." "then if that be true, why give the key to me, the letter?--no this is a trust, a lawyer would betray, a sacred trust to do what you request." i saw her growing angry. then i added: "i have no proof your niece is dead:" "my word is good enough," she answered, "we are friends, you are my lover, as i thought; my word should be sufficient." and she kept at me until i said: "i can't give you the key, and if i did they would not let you in, you are not registered as a deputy to use the key." she did not understand, did not believe me, but she tacked about, and said: "you can do this, take me along when you go to the vault and open the box, and break the letter open which she gave." i only answered: "if i find your niece has given these letters to you, you shall have the letters, but i think the letters go back to the writer, and if that's the case, i'll send them to the writer." here at last she lost control, took off her mask and stormed: "we'll see about it. you will scarcely care to have the matter aired in court. i'll see a lawyer, bring a suit and try it out, and see if i, the aunt, am not entitled to have my niece's letters and effects, whatever's in the package. i am tired and cannot see you longer. take five days to think the matter over. if you come and do what i request, no suit, but if you still refuse, the courts can settle it." and so i left her. in a day or two i read of elenor murray's death. it seems the coroner investigates her death. she died mysteriously. well, then i break the sealed instruction, look! i am to send the package to jane fisher, in chicago. we know, of course, jane fisher did not write the letters, that the letters are a man's. what is the inference? why, that elenor murray pretended to comply, obey her aunt, yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish the aunt or me to know who wrote the letters. feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt, yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt beyond her finding out, if i observe the trust imposed, keep hands of margery camp from getting at the letters. now two things: suppose the writer of the letters killed this elenor murray, is somehow involved in elenor murray's death? if that's the case, should not these letters reach the coroner? to help enforce the law is higher trust than doing what a client has commanded. and secondly, if margery camp should sue, my wife will learn the secret, bring divorce. three days remain before the woman's threat is ripe to execute. think over this. we'll talk again--i really need advice.... * * * * * so hunter told the coroner. then resumed the matter was a simple thing: i said to telegraph the coroner. you are right: those letters give a clue perhaps, your trust is first to see the law enforced. and yet i saw he was confused and drinking too, for fear his wife would learn of margery camp. i added, for that matter open the box, take out the letters, find who wrote them, send a telegram to the coroner giving the name of the writer of the letters. well, he nodded, seemed to consent to anything i said. and hunter left me, leaving me in doubt what he would do. and what is next? next day he's in the hospital and has pneumonia. i take a cab to see him, but i find he is too sick to see, is out of mind. in three days he is dead. his wife comes in and tells me worry killed him--knows the truth about this margery camp, oh, so she said. had sent a lawyer to her husband asking for certain letters of an elenor murray. and that her husband stood between the fire of some exposure by this margery camp, or suffering these letters to be used by margery camp against the writer for a bit of money. this was mrs. hunter's interpretation. well, the fact is clear that hunter feared this margery camp--was scared about his wife who in some way had learned just at this time of margery camp--i think was called up, written to. between it all poor hunter's worry, far too fast a life, he broke and died. and now you know it all. i've learned no client enters at your door and nothing casual happens in the day that may not change your life, or bring you death. and hunter in a liaison with margery is brought within the scope of elenor's life and takes his mortal hurt and dies. * * * * * so much for riffles in new york. we turn back to leroy and see the riffles there, see all of them together. loveridge chase receives a letter from a new york friend, a secret service man who trails and spies on henry baker, knows about the letters, and writes to loveridge chase and says to him: "that elenor murray dying near leroy left letters in new york. i trailed the aunt of elenor murray, margery camp. also a lawyer, henry baker, who controls a box with letters left by elenor murray-- so for the story. why not join with me and get these letters? there is money in it, perhaps, who knows? i work for mrs. hunter-- she wants the letters placed where they belong, and wants the man who killed this elenor murray punished as he should be. go see the coroner and get the work of bringing back the letters." and chase came to the coroner and spoke: loveridge chase here is the secret of the death of elenor, from what i learn of her, from what i know in living, knowing women, i am clear about this elenor murray. give me power to get the letters, power to give a bond to indemnify the company, for you know letters belong to him who writes the letters; and if the company is given bond it will surrender them, and then you'll know what man she loved, this gregory wenner or some other man, and if some other man, whether he caused her death. the coroner and loveridge chase sat in the coroner's office and talked the matter over. and the coroner, who knew this loveridge chase, was wondering why loveridge chase had taken up the work of secret service, followed it, and asked, "how did you come to give your brains to this, who could do other things?" and loveridge said: "a woman made me, i went round the world as jackie once, was brought into this world by a mother good and wise, but took from her, my father, someone, sense of chivalry too noble for this world, a pity too, abused too much by women. i came back, was hired in a bank; had i gone on by this time had been up in banking circles, but something happened. you can guess, i think it was a woman, was my wife leone. it matters nothing here, except i knew this elenor murray through my wife. these two were schoolmates, even chums. i'll get these letters if you commission me. the fact is this: i think this elenor murray and leone were kindred spirits, and it does me good now that i'm living thus without a wife to ferret out this matter of elenor murray, perhaps this way, or somewhere on the way, find news of my leone; what life she lives, and where she is. i'm curious still, you see." then coroner merival, who had not heard of elenor murray's letters in new york before this talk of loveridge chase, who heard this story and analysis of leone mixed in with other talk, and got a light on elenor murray, said: "i know your work, know you as well, have confidence in you, make ready to go, and bring the letters back." and on the day that loveridge chase departs to get the letters in new york, bernard, a veteran of belleau, married that day to amy whidden, on a lofty dune at millers, indiana, with his bride-- long quiet, tells her something of the war. these soldiers cannot speak what they have lived. but elenor murray helps him; for the talk of elenor murray runs the rounds, so many stations whence the talk is sent:--the men or women who had known her, came in touch somehow with her. these newly wedded two go out to see blue water, yellow sand, and watch the white caps pat the sky, and hear the intermittent whispers of the waves. and here bernard, the soldier, tells his bride of elenor murray and their days at nice: at nice dear, let me tell you, safe beside you now, your hand in mine, here from this peak of sand, under this pine tree, where the wild grapes spill their fragrance on the lake breeze, from that oak half buried in the sand, devoured by sand-- the water of the lake is just as blue as the sea is there at nice, the caps as white as foam around mont boron, cap ferrat. here let me tell you things you do not know, i could not write, repeat what well you know, how love of you sustained me, never changed, but through a love was brighter, flame of the torch i bore for you in battle, as an incense cast in a flame awakes the deeper essence of fire and makes it mount. and i am here-- here now with you at last--the war is over-- i have this aching side, these languid mornings, and pray for that old strength which never knew fatigue or pain--but i am here with you, you are my bride now, i have earned you, dear. i fought the fight, endured the endless days when rain fell, days of absence, and the days of danger when my only prayer was this: give me, o god, to see you once again. this is the deepest rapture, tragedy of this our life, beyond our minds to fathom, a thing to stand in awe of, touch in reverence, that we--we mortals, find in one another such source of ecstasy, of pain. my love, i lay there in the hospital so weak, flopping my hands upon the coverlet, and praying god to live. in such an hour to be away from you! there are no words to speak the weary hours of fear and thought, in such an absence, facing death, perhaps, a burial in france, with thoughts of you, mourning some years, perhaps, healed partly then and wedded to another; then at last myself forgot, or nearly so, and life taking you on with duties, house and children; and my poor self forgotten, gone to dust, wasted along the soil of france. thank god, i'm here with you--it's real, all this is true: the roar of the water, sand-hills, infinite sky, the gulls, the distant smoke, the smell of grapes, the haze of amethyst behind us there, in those ravines of stunted oak and pine. all this is real. this is america. the very air we find from coast to coast, the sensible air for lungs seems freer here. i had no sooner landed in new york than my arms said stretch out, there's room to stretch. i walked along the streets so happy, light of heart and heard the newsboys, shop-girls talk: "o, what a cheese he is," or "beat it now"-- i can't describe the thrill i had to hear this loose abandoned slang spilled all around, like coppers soiled from handling, but so real, and having power to purchase memories of what i loved and lost awhile, my land! well, then i wanted roast-beef, corn on cob, and had them in an hour at early lunch. i telegraphed you, gave new york a day, and came to you. we are together now, we do not dream, do we? we are together after the war, to live our lives and grow and make of love, experience, life more rich. that's what you say to me--it shall be so. now i will tell you what i promised to tell about my illness and the battle--well, i wrote you of my illness, only hinted about the care i had, that is the point; 'twas care alone that saved me, i was ill beyond all words to tell. and all the while i suffered, fearing i would die; but then i could not bear to think i should not rise to join my fellows, battle once again, and charge across the trenches, take no part in crushing down the prussian. for i knew he would be crushed at last. i could not bear to think i should not take a hand in that, be there when he lay fallen, victory from voice to voice should pass along the lines. well, for some weeks i lay there, and at last words dropped around me that the time was near for blows to count--would i be there to strike? could i get well in time? and every day a sweet voice said: "you're better, oh it's great how you are growing stronger; yesterday your fever was but one degree, to-day it is a little higher. you must rest, not think so much! it may be normal perhaps to-morrow or the next day. in a week you will be up and gaining, and the battle will not be fought before then, i am sure, and not until you're well and strong again." and thus it went from day to day. such hands washed my hot face and bathed me, tucked me in, and fed me too. and once i said to her: "i love a girl, i must get well to fight, i must get well to go to her." and she, it was the nurse i spoke to, took my hand, and turned away with tears. you see it's there we see the big things, nothing else, the things that stand out like the mountains, lesser things are lost like little hillocks under the shadows of great emotions, hopes, realities. well, so it went. and on a day she leaned above my face to smooth the pillow out. and from her heart a golden locket fell, and dangled by the silver chain. the locket flew open and i saw a face within it, that is i saw there was a face, but saw no eyes or hair, saw nothing to limn out the face so i would know it. then i said: "you have a lover, nurse." she straightened up and questioned me: "have you been ill before? do you know of the care a nurse can give, and what she can withhold?" i answered "yes." and then she asked: "have you felt in my hands great tenderness, solicitude, even prayer?"-- here, sweetheart, do not let your eyes get moist, i'll tell you everything, for you must see how spirits work together, love to love passes and does its work. well, it was true, i felt her tenderness, which was like prayer, and so i answered her: "if i get well, you will have cured me with your human love." and then she said: "our unit reached this place when there was neither stoves nor lights. at night we went to bed by candles. stumbled around amid the trunks and beds by candle light. well, one of us would light a candle, then each, one by one, the others lighted theirs from this one down the room. and so we passed the light along. and as a candle died, the others burned, to which the light was passed. well, now," she said, "that is a figure of love: we get the flame from someone, light another, make brighter light by holding flame to flame-- sometimes we searched for something, held two candles together for a greater light. and so, my soldier, i have given you the care that comes from love--of country and the cause, but brightened, warmed by one from whom the flame was passed to me, a love that took my hand and warmed it, made it tender for that love, which said pour out and serve, take love for him and use it in the cause, by using hands to bathe, to soothe, to smooth a pillow down, to heal, sustain." the truth is, dearest heart, i had not lived, i think, except for her. and there we were: i filled with love for you, and therefore praying to get well and fight, be worthy of your love, and there she was with love for someone, striving with that love to nurse me through and give me well and strong to battle in the cause. then i got well and joined my company. she took my hand as i departed, closed her eyes and said: "may god be with you." well, it was belleau, that jungle of machine guns, like a thicket of rattle snakes. and there was just one thing to clean that thicket out--we had to charge, and so we yelled and charged. no soldier knows how one survives in such a charge as that. you simply yell and charge; the bullets fall like drops of rain around you pitter-pat; and on you go and think: where will it get me, the stomach or the heart or through the head? what will it be like, sudden blackness, pain, no pain at all? and so you charge the nests. the fellows fell around us like tenpins, dropped guns, or flung them up, fell on their faces, or toppled backward, pitched ahead and flung their helmets off in pitching. and at last i found myself half-dazed, as in a dream, right in a nest, two boches facing me, and then i saw this locket, as i saw it fall from her breast, it might have been a glint of metal, flash of firing, i don't know. i only know i ran my bayonet through one of them; he fell, i stuck the other, then something stung my side. when i awoke i lay upon a cot, and heard the nurses discuss the peace, the armistice was signed, the war was over. well, and in a way we won the war, i won the war, as one who did his part, at least. then i got up, but i was weak and dazed. they said to me i should not cross the ocean in the winter, my lungs might get infected; anyway, the flu was raging. so they sent me down to nice upon a furlough, as i wrote. i could not write you all i saw and heard, it was all lovely and all memorable. but first before i picture nice to you, my days at nice, lest you have doubts and fears when i reveal to you i saw this nurse first on the promenade des anglais there, saw much of her in nice, i saw at once she was that elenor murray whom they found along the river dead; and for the rest to make all clear, i'll tell you everything. you see i didn't write you of this girl and what we did there, lest you might suspect some vagrant mood in me concealed or glossed, which ended in betrayal of our love. eyes should look into eyes to supplement the words of truth with light of truth, where nothing of thoughts that hide have chance to slip and crawl through eyes averted, twinklings, change of light, or if they do, reveal themselves, as snakes are seen when winding into coverts of grass. well, then we met upon the promenade. she ran toward me, kissed me--oh so glad. i told her of the battle, of my wound. and for herself it seemed she had been ill, off duty for a month before she came to nice for health; she said as much to me. i think she had been ill, yet i could sense, or seemed to sense a mystery, i don't know, behind her illness. yet you understand how it was natural we should be happy to meet again, in nice, too. for you see the army life develops comradeship. and when we meet the old life rises up and wakes its thrills and memories. it seemed she had been there some days when i arrived and knew the place, and said, "i'll show you nice." there was a major she was waiting for, as it turned out. he came there in a week, we had some walks together, all the three, and then i lost them. but before he came we did the bright cafés and monte carlo, and here my little nurse showed something else besides the tender hands, the prayerful soul. she had been taking egg-nogs, so she said, but now she took to wine, and drink she could beyond all men i know. i had to stop or fall beneath the table, leaving her to order more. and she would sit and weave from right to left hip in a rhythmic way, and cast her eyes obliquely right and left. it was this way: the music set her thrilling, and keeping time this way. she loved to go where we could see cocotes, adventurers; where red vitality was feasting, drinking, and dropping gold upon the gaming table. we sunned ourselves within the jardin public, and walked the beach between the bathing places where they dry orange peel to make perfumes. and in that golden sunshine by the sea caught whiffs of lemon blossoms, and each day i bought her at the stands acacia, or red anemones--i tell you all-- there was no moment that my thought betrayed your heart, dear one. she had been good to me. i saw that she was hungry for these things, for rapture, so i gave them--you don't mind, it came to nothing, dearest. but at last a different elenor murray than i knew there in the hospital took shape before me. that serving soul, that maid of humble tasks, and sacrifice for others, and that face of waitress or of ingenue, day by day assumed sophistication, looks and lines of knowledge in the world, experience in places of patrician ways. she knew new york as well as i, cafés and shops; dropped pregnant hints at times that made me think what more she knew, what she was holding back. until at last all she had done for me seemed just what mortals do to earn their bread in any calling, made more generous, maybe, by something in a moment's mood. in truth the ideal showed the clogged pores in the skin under the light she stood in. for you know when we see people happy we can say those tears were not all tears--we pitied more than we were wise to pity--that's the feeling: most men are puritans in this, i think. a woman dancing, drinking, makes you laugh, and half despise yourself for great emotion when seeing her in prayer or reverent thought. but now i come to something more concrete: the day before the major came we lunched where we could see the mediterranean, the clubs, hotels and villas. there she sat all dressed in white, a knitted jacket of silk matching the leaves upon the trees, and looked as fashionable as the rest. the waiter came. she did not take the card nor order from it, was nonchalant, familiar, said at last: "we want some epernay. you have it doubtless." the waiter bowed. i looked at elenor, that was the character of revealing things i saw from day to day. for truth to tell this epernay might well have been charged water for all i knew. i asked her, and she said: "delicious wine, not strong." and so we lunched, and the music stormed, and lunchers gabbled, smoked, and dandies ogled. and this epernay worked in our blood and elenor rattled on. and she was flinging eyes from right to left and moving rhythmically from hip to hip, and with a finger beating out the time. somehow our hands touched, then she closed her eyes, her body shook a little and grew limp. "what is the matter?" then she raised her eyes and looked me through an instant. what, my dear, you won't hear any more? oh, very well, that's all, there is no more. but after while when things got quieter, the lunchers thinned, the music ended, and the wine grown tame within our veins, she told me on a time some years before she was confirmed, and thought she'd take the veil, and for two years or more was all absorbed in pious thoughts and works. "but how we learn and change," she added then, "in training we see bodies, learn to know how thirst and hunger, needs of body cry for daily care, become materialists, unmoralists a little in the sense that any book, or theories of the soul should tie the body from its natural needs. though i accept the faith, no less than ever, that god is and the savior is and spirit is no less real than body, has its needs, separate or through the body." oh, that girl! she made me guess and wonder. but next day i had a fresh surprise, the major came and she was changed completely. i forgot, i must tell you what happened after lunch. we rose and she grew impish, stood and laughed as if the secret of the laugh was hers beyond the concrete matter of the laugh. she said, "i'll show you something beautiful." we started out to see it, walked the road around the foot of castle hill. you know the wind blows gustily at nice; and so all of a sudden went my hat, way up, far off, and instantly such laughter rose, and boisterous shouts that made me think at once i had been tricked, somehow. it is this way: the gamins loiter there to watch the victims who lose their hats. and elenor sat down, and laughed until she cried. i do not know, perhaps i was not amorous enough at luncheon and she pranked me for revenge. well, then the major came, he took my place. i was the third one in the party now, but saw them every day. what did we do? no monte carlo now, nor ordering without the card, she was completely changed, demure again, all words of lovely things: the war had changed the world, had lifted up the spirit of man to visions, and the major adored her, drank it in. and we explored limpia and the old town, looked aloft at mont cau d'aspremont, picked hellebore, and orchids in the gorges, saw st. pons, the valley of hepaticas, sunned ourselves within the jardin public, where the children play riotously; and elenor would draw a straying child to her and say: "you darling." i saw her do this once and dry her eyes and to the major say: "they are so lovely, i had to give up teaching school, the children stirred my emotions till i could not bear to be among them." and to make an end, i spent the parts of three days with these two. and on the last day we went to the summit of the corinche road, and saw the sea and europe spread out before us--oh, you cannot know the beauty of it, dear, until you see it. and elenor sat down as in a trance, and looked and did not speak for minutes. then she said: "how pure a place this is--it's nature, and i can worship here, this makes you hate the cafés and the pleasures of the town." what was this woman, dear, what was her soul? or was she half and half? oh, after all, i am a hostile mixture, so are you. and so i drifted out, and only stayed a day or two beyond that afternoon. i took a last walk on the promenade; at last saw just ahead of me these two, his arm was fast in hers, they sauntered on as if in serious talk. as i came up, i greeted them and said good-bye again. where is the major? did the major steal the heart of elenor murray, speed her death? they could have married. why did she return? or did the major follow her? well, dear, here is the story, truthful to a fault. my soul is yours, i kept it true to you. hear how the waters roar upon the sand! i close my eyes and almost can believe we are together on the corniche road. * * * * * well, it may never be that merival heard from bernard of elenor at nice, although he knew it sometime, knew as well her service in the war had nerved the men and by that much had put the germans down. america at the fateful moment lent her strength to bring the war's end. elenor was one of many to cross seas and bring life strength against the emperor, once secure, and throned in power against such phagocytes as elenor murray, bernard, even kings. and sawing wood at amerongen all he thought of was of brains and monstrous hearts which sent the phagocytes from america, england and france to eat him up at last. one day an american soldier, so 'tis said someone told merival, was walking near the house at amerongen, saw a man with drooped mustache and whitened beard approach, two mastiffs walked beside him. as he passed unrecognized, the soldier to a mate spoke up and said: "what hellish dogs are those?-- like bismarck used to have; i saw a picture of bismarck with his dogs." the drooped mustache turned nervously and took the soldiers in, then strode ahead. the emperor was stunned to hear an american soldier use a knife as sharp as that. but elenor at nice walked with the major as bernard has told. and this is wrinkled water, dark and far from merival, unknown to him. he hears, and this alone, she went from nice to florence, was ill there in a convent, we shall see. this is the tale that irma leese related to coroner merival in a leisure hour: the major and elenor murray at nice elenor murray and petain, the major, the promenade des anglais walked at nice. a cloud was over him, and in her heart a growing grief. he knew her at the hospital, first saw her face among a little group of faces at a grave when rain was falling, the burial of a nurse, when elenor's face was bathed in tears and strained with agony. and after that he saw her in the wards; heard soldiers, whom she nursed, say as she passed, dear little soul, sweet soul, or take her hand in gratitude and kiss it. but as a stream flows with clear water even with the filth of scum, debris that drifts beside the current of crystal water, nor corrupts it, keeps its poisoned, heavier medium apart, so at the hospital where the nurses' hands poured sacrifice, heroic love, the filth of envy, anger, malice, plots, intrigue kept pace with pure devotion, noble work for suffering and the cause. the major helped to free the rules for elenor murray so she might recuperate at nice, and said: "go and await me, i shall join you there. for in my trouble i must have a friend, a woman to assuage me, give me light, and ever since i saw you by that grave, and saw you cross yourself, and bow your head and watched your services along the wards among the sick and dying, i have felt the soul of you, its human tenderness, its prodigal power of giving, pouring forth itself for others. and you seem a soul where nothing of our human frailty has come to dim the flame that burns in you, you are all light, i think." and elenor murray looked down and said: "there is no soul like that. this hospital, the war itself, reflects the good and bad together of our souls. you are a boy--oh such a boy to see all good in me." and major petain said: "at least you have not found dishonor here as i have found it, for a lust of flesh a weakness and a trespass." this was after the hospital was noisy with the talk of major petain and his shame, the hand of discipline lay on him. elenor murray looked steadily in his eyes, but only said: "we mortals know each other but a little, nor guess each other's secrets." and she glanced a moment at the tragedy that had come to her at paris on her furlough there, and of its train of sorrows, even now her broken health and failure in the work as consequence to that, and how it brought the breaking of her passionate will and dream to serve and not to fail--she glanced at this a moment as she faced him, looked at him. then as she turned away: "there is one thing that i must tell you, it is fitting now, i love and am beloved. but if you come to nice and i can help you, come, if talk and any poor advice of mine can help." so major petain, elenor murray walked the promenade at nice, arm fast in arm. and major petain to relieve his heart told all the tragedy that had come to him: "duty to france was first with me where love was paramount with you, if i divine your heart, america's, at least a love unmixed of other feelings as may be. what could you find here, if you seek no husband, even in seeing france so partially? what in adventure, lures to bring you here, where peril, labor are? you either came to expiate your soul, or as you say, to make more worthy of this man beloved back in america your love for him. dear idealist, i give my faith to you, and all your words. but as i said 'twas duty, then dreams of freedom, europe's chains struck off, the menace of the german crushed to earth that fired me as a soldier, trained to go when france should need me. so it is you saw france go about this business calm and stern, and patient for the prize, or if 'twere lost then brave to meet the future as france met the arduous years that followed metz, sedan." "but had i been american to the core, would i have put the sweet temptation by? however flamed with zeal had i said no when lips like hers were offered? oh, you see whatever sun-light gilds the mountain tops rich grass grows in the valleys, herds will feed, though rising suns put glories on the heights. and herds will run and stumble over rocks, break fences and encounter beasts of prey to get the grass that's sweetest." "to begin i met her there in paris. in a trice we loved each other, wrote, made vows, she pledged the consummation. there was danger here, great danger, as you know, for her and me. and yet it never stopped us, gave us fear. and then i schemed and got her through the lines, took all the chances." "danger was not all: there was my knowledge of her husband's love, his life immaculate, his daily letters. he put by woman chances that arose with saying, i am married, am beloved, i love my wife, all said so earnestly we could not joke him, though behind his back some said: he trusts her, but he'd better watch; at least no sense of passing good things by. i sat with him at mess, i saw him read the letters that she wrote him, face of light devouring eyes. the others rallied him; but i was like a man who knows a plot to take another's life, but keeps the secret, eats with the victim, does not warn him, makes himself thereby a party to the plot. or like a man who knows a fellow man has some insidious disease beginning, and hears him speak with unconcern of it, and does not tell him what to do, you know, and let him go to death. and just for her, the rapture of a secret love i choked all risings of an honest manhood, mercy, honor with self and him. oh, well you know the isolation, hunger of us soldiers, i only need to hint of these. but now i see these well endured for sake of peace and quiet memory." "for here we stood just 'round the corner in that long arcade that runs between our building, next to yours. and this is what i hear--the husband's voice, which well i knew, the officer's in command: 'why have you brought your wife here?' asked the officer. 'pardon, i have not done so,' said the husband. 'you're adding falsehood to the offense; you know the rules forbid your wife to pass the lines.' 'pardon, i have not brought her,' he exclaimed in passionate earnestness. "well, there we stood. my sweetheart, but his wife, was turned to snow, as white and cold. i got in readiness to kill the husband. how could we escape? i thought the husband had been sent away; her coming had been timed with his departure, arriving afterward, and we had failed. but as for that, before our feet could stir, the officer said, 'come now, i'll prove your lie,' and in a twinkling, taking a dozen steps they turned into the arcade, there they were, the officer was shaking him and saying, 'you lie! you lie!' "all happened in a moment, the humbled, ruined fellow saw the truth, and blew his brains out on the very spot! and made a wonder, gossip for you girls-- and here i am." so major petain finished. then elenor murray said: "let's watch the sea." and as they sat in silence, as he turned to look upon her face, he saw the tears, hanging like dew drops on her lashes, drip and course her cheeks. "my friend, you weep for me," the major said at last, "my gratitude for tears like these." "i weep," said elenor murray, "for you, but for myself. what can i say? nothing, my friend, your soul must find its way. only this word: i'll go to mass with you, i'll sit beside you, pray with you, for you, and do you pray for me." and then she paused. the long wash of the sea filled in the silence. and then she said again, "i'll go with you, where we may pray, each for the other pray. i have a sorrow, too, as deep as yours." the convent elenor murray stole away from nice before her furlough ended, tense to see something of italy, and planned to go to genoa, explore the ancient town of christopher columbus, if she might elude the regulation, as she did, in leaving nice for italy. but for her always the dream, and always the defeat of what she dreamed. she found herself in florence and saw the city. but the weariness of labor and her illness came again at intervals, and on such days she lay and heard the hours toll, wished for death and wept, being alone and sorrowful. on a morning she rose and looked for galleries, came at last into the via gino capponi and saw a little church and entered in, and saw amid the darkness of the church a woman kneeling, knelt beside the woman, and put her hand upon the woman's forehead to find that it was wrinkled, strange to say a scar upon the forehead, like a cross.... elenor murray rose and walked away, sobs gathering in her throat, her body weak, and reeled against the wall, for so it seemed, against which hung thick curtains, velvet, red, a little grimed and worn. and as she leaned against the curtains, clung to them, she felt a giving, parted them, and found a door, pushed on the door which yielded, opened it and saw a yard before her. it was walled. a garden of old urns and ancient growths, some flowering plants around the wall. before her and in the garden's center stood a statue, with outstretched arms, the virgin without the child. and suddenly on elenor murray came great sorrow like a madness, seeing there the pitying virgin, stretching arms to her. and so she ran along the pebbly walk, fell fainting at the virgin's feet and lay unconscious in the garden. when she woke two nuns were standing by, and one was dressed in purest white, and held within her hands a tray of gold, and on the tray of gold there was a glass of wine, and in a cup some broth of beef, and on a plate of gold a wafer. and the other nun was dressed in purest white, but over her shoulders lay a cape of blue, blue as the sky of florence above the garden wall. then as she saw the nuns before her, in the interval of gathering thought, re-limning life again from wonder if she had not died, and these were guides or ministrants of another world, the nun with cape of blue to elenor said: "drink this wine, this broth;" and elenor drank and arose, being lifted up by them, and taken through the convent door and given a little room as white and clean as light, and a bed of snowy linen. then they said: "this is the convent where we send up prayers, prayers for the souls who do not pray for self-- rest, child, and be at peace; and if there be friends you would tell that you are here, then we will send the word for you, sleep now and rest." and listening to their voices elenor slept. and when she woke a nurse was at her side, and food was served her, broths and fruit. each day a doctor came to tell her all was well, and health would soon return. so for a month elenor murray lay and heard the bells, and breathed the fragrance of the flowering city that floated through her window, in the stillness of the convent dreamed, and said to self: this place is good to die in, who is there to tell that i am here? there was no one. to them she gave her name, but said: "till i am well let me remain, and if i die, some place must be for me for burial, put me there. and if i live to go again to france and join my unit, let me have a writing that i did not desert, was stricken here and could not leave. for while i stole away from nice to get a glimpse of italy, i might have done so in my furlough time, and not stayed over it." and to elenor the nuns said: "we will help you, but for now rest and put by anxieties." on a day elenor murray made confessional. and to the nuns told bit by bit her life, her childhood, schooling, travels, work in the war, what fate had followed her, what sufferings. and sister mary, she who saw her first, and held the tray of gold with wine and broth, sat often with her, read to her, and said: "letters will go ahead of you to clear your absence over time--be not afraid, all will be well." and so when elenor murray arose to leave she found all things prepared: a cab to take her to the train, compartments reserved for her from place to place, her fare and tickets paid for, till at last she came to brest and joined her unit, in three days looked at the rolling waters as the ship drove to america--such a coming home! to what and whom? * * * * * loveridge chase returned and brought the letters to coroner merival from new york. that day the chemical analysis was finished, showed no ricin and no poison. elenor murray died how? what were the circumstances? then when coroner merival broke the seals of wax, and cut the twine that bound the package, found the man was barrett bays who wrote the letters-- there were a hundred--then he cast about to lay his hands on barrett bays, and found that barrett bays lived in chicago, taught, was a professor, aged some forty years. why did this barrett bays emerge not, speak, come forward? was it simply to conceal a passion written in these letters here for his sake or his wife's? or was it guilt for some complicity in elenor's death? and on this day the coroner had a letter from margery camp which said: "where's barrett bays? why have you not arrested him? he knows something, perhaps about the death of elenor." so coroner merival sent process forth to bring in barrett bays, _non est inventus_. he had not visited his place of teaching, been seen in haunts accustomed for some days-- not since the death of elenor murray, none knew where to find him, and none seemed to know what lay between this man and elenor murray. this was the more suspicious. then the _times_ made headlines of the letters, published some wherein this barrett bays had written elenor: "you are my hope in life, my morning star, my love at last, my all." from coast to coast the word was flashed about this barrett bays; and mrs. bays at martha's vineyard read, turned up her nose, continued on the round of gaieties, but to a chum relieved her loathing with these words: "another woman, he's soiled himself at last." and barrett bays, who roughed it in the adirondacks, hoped the inquest's end would leave him undisclosed in elenor murray's life, though wracked with fear about the letters in the vault, some day to be unearthed, or taken, it might be, by margery camp for uses sinister-- he reading that the letters had been given to coroner merival, and seeing his name printed in every sheet, saw no escape in any nook of earth, returned and walked in merival's office: trembling, white as snow. so barrett bays was sworn, before the jury sat and replied to questions, said he knew elenor murray in the fall before she went to france, saw much of her for weeks; had written her these letters before she left. had followed her in the war, and gone to france, had seen her for some days in paris when she had a furlough. had come back and parted with elenor murray, broken with her, found a cause for crushing out his love for her. came back to win forgetfulness, had written no word to her since leaving paris--let her letters lie unanswered; brought her letters, and gave them to the coroner. then he told of the day before her death, and how she came by motor to chicago with her aunt, named irma leese, and telephoned him, begged an hour for talk. "come meet me by the river," she had said. and so went to meet her. then he told why he relented, after he had left her in paris with no word beside this one: "this is the end." now he was curious to know what she would say, what could be said beyond what she had written--so he went out of a curious but hardened heart. barrett bays "i was walking by the river," barrett said, "when she arrived. i took her hand, no kiss, a silence for some minutes as we walked. then we began to take up point by point, for she was concentrated on the hope of clearing up all doubtful things that we might start anew, clear visioned, perfect friends, more perfect for mistakes and clouds. her will was passionate beyond all other wills, and when she set her mind upon a course she could not be diverted, or if so, her failure kept her brooding. what with me she wanted after what had stunned my faith i knew not, save she loved me. for in truth i have no money, and no prospects either to tempt cupidity." "well; first we talked-- you must be patient with me, gentlemen, you see my nerves--they're weakened--but i'll try to tell you all--well then--a glass of water-- at first we talked but trifles. silences came on us like great calms between the stir of ineffectual breezes, like this day in august growing sultry as the sun rose upward. she was striving to break down the hard corrosion of my thought, and i could not surrender. till at last, i said: 'that day in paris when you stood revealed can never be forgotten. once i killed a love with hatred for a woman who betrayed me, as you did. and you can kill a love with hatred but you kill your soul while killing love. and so with you i kept all hatred from my heart, but cannot keep a poisonous doubt of you from blood and brain.'... i learned in paris, (to be clear on this), that after she had given herself to me she fell back in the arms of gregory wenner. and here as we were walking i revealed my agony, my anger, emptied out my heart of all its bitterness. at last when she protested it was natural for her to do what she had done, the act as natural as breathing, taking food, not signifying faithlessness nor love-- though she admitted had she loved me then she had not done so--i grew tense with rage, a serpent which grows stiff and rears its head to strike its enemy was what i seemed to myself then, and so i said to her in voice controlled and low, but deadly clear, 'what are you but a whore--you are a whore!' murderous words no doubt, but do you hear she justified herself with gregory wenner; yes, justified herself when she had written and asked forgiveness--yes, brought me out to meet her by the river. and for what? i said you whore, she shook from head to heels, and toppled, but i caught her in my arms, and held her up, she paled, head rolled around, her eyes set, mouth fell open, all at once i saw that she was dead, or syncope profound had come upon her. elenor, what is the matter? love came back to me, love there with death. i laid her on the ground. i found her dead. "if i had any thought there in that awful moment, it was this: to run away, escape, could i maintain an innocent presence there, be clear of fault? and if i had that thought, as i believe, i had no other; all my mind's a blank until i find myself at one o'clock disrobing in my room, too full of drink, and trying to remember. "with the morning i lay in bed and thought: did irma leese know anything of me, or did she know that elenor went out to meet a man? and if she did not know, who could disclose that i was with her? no one saw us there. could i not wait from day to day and see what turn the news would take? for at the last i did not kill her. if the inquest showed her death was natural, as it was, for all of me, why then my secret might be hidden in elenor murray's grave. and if they found that i was with her, brought me in the court, i could make clear my innocence. and thus i watched the papers, gambled with the chance of never being known in this affair. does this sound like a coward? put yourself in my place in that horror. think of me with all these psychic shell shocks--first the war, its great emotions, then this elenor." and thus he spoke and twisted hands, and twitched, and ended suddenly. then david borrow, and winthrop marion with the coroner shot questions at him till he woke, regained a memory, concentration: who are you? what was your youth? your love life? what your wife? where did you meet this elenor at the first? why did you go to france? in paris what happened to break your balance? tell us all. for as they eyed him, he looked down, away, stirred restless in the chair. and was it truth he told of meeting elenor, her death? guilt like a guise was on his face. and one-- this isaac newfeldt, juryman, whispered, "look, that man is guilty, let us fly the questions like arrows at him till we bring him down." and as they flew the arrows he came to and spoke as follows:-- "first, i am a heart that from my youth has sought for love and hungered. and elenor murray's heart had hungered too, which drew our hearts together, made our love as it were mystical, more real. i was a boy who sought for beauty, hope and faith in woman's love; at fourteen met a girl who carried me to ecstasy till i walked in dreamland, stepping clouds. she loved me too. i could not cure my heart, have always felt a dull pain for that girl. she died, you know. i found another, rather made myself discover my ideal in her, until my heart was sure she was the one. and then i woke up from this trance, went to another still searching; always searching, reaching now an early cynicism, how to play with hearts, extract their beauty, pass to someone else. i was a little tired now, seemed to know there is no wonder woman, just a woman somewhere to be a wife. and then i met the woman whom i married, thought to solve my problem with the average things of life; the satisfaction of insistent sex, a home, a regular program, turn to work, forget the dream, the quest. what did i find? a woman who exhausted me and bored me, stirred never a thought, a fancy, brought no friends, no pleasures or diversions, took from me all that i had to give of mind and heart, purse, or what not. and she was barren too, and restless; by that restlessness relieved the boredom of our life; it took her off in travels here and there. and i was glad to have her absent, but it still is true there is a hell in marriage, when it keeps delights of freedom off, all other women not willing to intrigue, pass distantly your married man; but on the other hand what was my marriage with a wife away six months or more of every year? and when i said to her, divorce me, she would say, you want your freedom to get married--well, the other woman shall not have you, if there is another woman, as i think. and so the years went by. i'm thirty-five and meet a woman, play light heartedly, she is past thirty, understands nor asks a serious love. it's summer and we jaunt about the country, for my wife's away. as usual, in the fall returns, and then my woman says, the holiday is over, go back to work, and i'll go back to work. i cannot give her up, would still go on for this delight so sweet to me. by will i hold her, stir the fire up to inflame her hands for me, make love to her in short and find myself in love, beholding in her all beauties and all virtues. well, at first what did i care what she had been before, whose mistress, sweetheart? now i cared and asked fidelity from her, and this she pledged. and so a settled life seemed come to us, we had found happiness. but on a day i caught her in unfaithfulness. a man she knew before she knew me crossed her path. why do they do this, even while their lips are wet with kisses given you? i think a woman may be true in marriage, never in any free relationship. and then i left her, killed the love i had with hate. hate is an energy with which to save a heart knocked over by a blow like this. to forgive this wrong is never to forget, but always to remember, with increasing sorrow and dreams invest the ruined love. and so i turned to hate, came from the flames as hard and glittering as crockery ware, and went my way with gallant gestures, winning an hour of rapture where it came to me. and all the time my wife was much away, yet left me in this state where i was kept from serious love if i had found the woman. a pterodactyl in my life and soul: had wings, could fly, but slumbered in the mud. was neither bird nor beast; as social being was neither bachelor nor married man. the years went on with work, day after day arising to the task, night after night returning for the rest with which to rise, forever following the mad illusion, the dream, the expected friend, the great event which should change life, and never finding it. and all the while i see myself consumed, sapped somehow by this wife and hating her; then fearful for myself for hating her, then melting into generosities for hating her. and so tossed back and forth between such passions, also never at peace from the dream of love, the woman and the mate i stagger, amble, hurtle through the years, and reach that summer of two years ago when life began to change. it was this way: my wife is home, for a wonder, and my friend, most sympathetic, nearest, comes to dine. he casts his comprehending eyes about, takes all things in. as we go down to town, and afterward at luncheon, when alone he says to me: she is a worthy woman, beautiful, too, there is no other woman to make you happier, the fault is yours, at least in part, remove your part of the fault, to woo her, give yourself, find good in her. go take a trip. for neither man nor woman yields everything till wooed, tried out, beloved. bring all your energies to the trial of her. she will respond, unfold, repay your work. he won me with his words. i said to her, let's summer at lake placid--so we went. i tried his plan, did all i could, no use. the woman is not mine, was never mine, was meant for someone else. and in despair, in wrath as well, i left her and came back and telephoned a woman that i knew to dine with me. she came, was glad and gay, but as she drew her gloves off let me see a solitaire. what, you? i said to her, you leave me too? she smiled and answered me; marriage may be the horror that you think, and yet we all must try it once, and charles is nearest my ideal of any man. i have been very ill since last we met, had not survived except for skillful hands, and charles was good to me, with heart and purse. my illness took my savings. i repay his goodness with my hand. i love him too. you do not care to lose me. as for that i know one who will more than take my place; she is the nurse who nursed me back to health, i'll have you meet her, i can get her now. she rose and telephoned. in half an hour elenor murray joined us, dined with us. i watched her as she entered, did not see a single wonder in her, cannot now remember how she looked, what dress she wore, what hat in point of color, anything. after the dinner i rode home with them, saw elenor at luncheon next day. so the intimacy began." "she was alone, unsettled and unhappy, pressed for funds. she had, it seemed, nursed janet without pay till charles made good at last the weekly wage; since janet's illness had no work to do. i was alone and bored, she came to me almost at first as woman never came to me before, so radiant, sympathetic, admiring, so devoted with a heart that soothed and strove to help me. strange to say these manifests of spirit, ministrations bespoke the woman who has found a man, and never knew a man before. she seemed an old maid jubilant for a man at last, and truth to tell i took her rapturous ways with just a little reticence, and shrinking of spirit lest her hands would touch too close my spirit which misvalued hers, withdraw itself from hers with hidden smiles that she could find so much in me. she did not change, retreat, draw in; advanced, poured out, gave more and wooed me, till i feared if i should take her body she would follow me, grow mad and shameless for her love." "but as for that that next day while at luncheon, frank and bold, i spoke right out to her and then she shook from head to foot, and made her knife in hand rattle the plate for trembling, turned as pale as the table linen. afterward as we met, having begun so, i renewed the word, half smiling to behold her so perturbed, and serious, and gradually toning down pursuit of her this way, as i perceived her interest growing and her clinging ways, her ardor, huddling to me, great devotion; rapt words of friendship, offers of herself for me or mine for nothing were we ill and needed her." "these currents flowed along. hers plunged and sparkled, mine was slow for thought. a doubt of her, or fear, till on a night when nothing had been said of this before, quite suddenly when nearing home she shrank, involved herself in shrinking in the corner of the cab's seat, and spoke up: 'take me now, i'm yours to-night, will do what you desire, whatever you desire.' i acted then, seemed overjoyed, was puzzled just the same, and almost feared her. as i said before, i feared she might pursue me, trouble me after a hold like this,--and yet i said: 'go get your satchel, meet me in an hour.' i let her out, drove to the club, and thought; then telephoned her, business had come up, i could not meet her, but would telephone to-morrow." "and to-morrow when it came brought ridicule and taunting from myself: to have pursued this woman, for two months, and if half-heartedly, you've made her think your heart was wholly in it, now she yields, bestows herself. you fly, you are a fool; a village pastor playing don juan, a booby costumed as a gallant--pooh! go take your chance. i telephoned her then, that night she met me." "here was my surprise: all semblance of the old maid fell away, like robes as she disrobed. she brought with her accoutrements of slippers, caps of lace, and oriental perfumes languorous. the hour had been all heaven had i sensed, sensed without thinking consciously a play, dramatics, acting, like an old maid who resorts to tricks of dress she fancies wins a gallant of experience, fancies only and knows not, being fancied so appears half ludicrous." "but so our woe began. that morning we had breakfast in our room, and i was thinking, in an absent way responded to her laughter, joyous ways. for i was thinking of my life again, of love that still eluded me, was bored because i sat there, did not have the spirit to share her buoyancy--or was it such? did she not ripple merriment to hide her disappointment, wake me if she could? and spite of what i thought of her before that she had known another man or men, i thought now i was first. and to let down, slope off the event, our parting for the day have no abruptness, i invited her to luncheon, when i left her 'twas to meet again at noon. we met and parted then. so now it seemed a thing achieved. two weeks elapsed before i telephoned her. then the story we repeated as before, same room and all. but meantime we had sat some moments over tea, the orchestra played chopin for her." "then she handed me a little box, i opened it and found a locket too ornate, her picture in it, a little flag." "so in that moment there love came to me for elenor murray. music, that poor pathetic locket, and her way so humble, so devoted, and the thought of those months past, wherein she never swerved from ways of love, in spite of all my moods, half-hearted, distant--these combined at once, and with a flame that rose up silently consumed my heart with love." "she went away, and left me hungering, lonely. she returned, and saw at last dubieties no more, the answering light for her within my eyes." "i must recur a little here to say that at the first, first meeting it may be, with janet, there at tea, she said to me she had signed for the war, would go to france, to nurse the soldiers. you cannot remember what people say at first, before you know, have interest in them. also at that time i had no interest in the war, believed the war would end before we took a hand. the war lay out of me, objectified like news of earthquakes in japan. and then as time went on she said: 'i do not know what day i shall be called, the time's at hand.' i loathed the germans then; but loathed the war, the hatred, lying, which it bred, the filth spewed over europe, from the war, on us at last. i loathed it all, and saw the spirit of the world debauched and fouled with blood and falsehood." "elenor found in me cold water for her zeal, and even asked: 'are you pro-german?--no!' i tried to say what stirred in me, she did not comprehend, and went her way with saying: 'i shall serve, o, glorious privilege to serve, to give, and since this love of ours is tragedy, cannot be blessed with children, or with home, it will be better if i die, am swept under the tide of war with work.' this girl exhausted me with ardors, spoken faiths, and zeal which never tired, until at last i longed for her to go and make an end. what better way to end it?" "april came, one day she telephoned me that to-morrow she left for france. we met that night and walked a wind swept boulevard by the lake, and she was luminous, a spirit; tucked herself under my coat, adored me, said to me: 'if i survive i shall return to you, to serve you, help you, be your friend for life, and sacrifice my womanhood for you. you cannot marry me, in spite of that if i can be your comfort, give you peace, that will be marriage, all that god intends as marriage for me. you have blessed me, dear, with hope and happiness. and oh at last you did behold the war as good, you give me, you send me to the war. i serve for you, i serve the country in your name, your love, so blessed for you, your love.'" "that night at two i woke somehow as if an angel stood beside the bed in light, beneficence, and found her head close to my heart--she woke at once with me, spoke dreamily 'dear heart,' then turned to sleep again. i loved her then." "she left next day. an olden mood came back which said, the end has come, and it is best. i left the city too, breathed freer then, sought new companionships. but in three days my heart was sinking, sickness of the heart, nostalgia took me. how to fight it off became the daily problem; work, diversions seemed best for cures. the malady progressed beyond the remedies. my wife came back, divined my trouble, laughed. and every day the papers pounded nerves with battle news; the bands were playing, soldiers marched the streets. and taggers on the corner every day reminded you of suffering and of want. and orators were talking where you ate: bonds must be bought--war--war was everywhere. there was no place remote to hide from it, and rest from its insistence. then began elenor murray's letters sent from france, which told of what she did, and always said: 'would you were with me, serving in the war. if you could come and serve; they need you, dear; you could do much.' until at last the war which had lain out of me, objectified, became a part of me, i saw the war, and felt the war through her, and every tune and every marching soldier, every word spoken by orators said elenor murray. at dining places, theatres, pursued by this one thought of war and elenor murray; in every drawing room pursued, pursued in quiet places by the memories. i had no rest. the war and love of her had taken body of me, soul of me, with madness, ecstasy, and nameless longing, hunger and hope, fear and despair--but love for elenor murray with intenser flame ran round it all." "at last all other things: place in the world, my business, and my home, my wife if she be counted, sunk away to nothingness. i stood stripped of the past, saw nothing but the war and elenor, saw nothing but the day of finding her in france, and serving there to be with her, or near where i could see her, go to her, perhaps if she was ill or needed me. and so i went to france, began to serve, went in the ordnance. in that ecstasy of war, religion, love, found happiness; became a part of the event, and cured my languors, boredom, longing, in the work; and saw the war as greatest good, the hand of god through all of it to bring the world beauty and freedom, a millennium of peace and justice." "so the days went by with work and waiting, waiting for the hour when elenor should have a furlough, come to paris, see me. and she came at last." "before she came she wrote me, told me where to meet her first. 'at two o'clock,' she wrote, 'be on the landing back of the piano' of a hotel she named. an ominous thought passed through my brain, as through a room a bat flits in and out. i read the letter over: how could this letter pass the censor? escape the censor's eye? but eagerness of passion, and longing, love, submerged such thoughts as these. i walked the streets and waited, loitered through the garden of the tuilleries, watched the clocks, the lagging minutes, counted with their strokes. and then at last the longed for hour arrived. i reached the landing--what a meeting place! with pillars, curtains hiding us, a nook no one could see us in, unless he spied. and she was here, was standing by the corner of the piano, very pale and worn, looked down, not at me, pathos over her like autumn light. i took her in my arms, she could not speak, it seemed. i could not speak. dumb sobs filled heart and throat of us. and then i held her from me, looked at her, re-clasped her head against my breast, with choking breath that was half whisper, half a cry, i said, 'i love you, love you, now at last we're here together, oh, my love!' she put her lips against my throat and kissed it: 'oh, my love, you really love me, now i know and see, my soul, my dear one,' elenor breathed up the words against my throat." "we took a suite: soft rugs upon the floor, a bed built up, and canopied with satin, on the wall some battle pictures, one of bonaparte, a bottle of crystal water on a stand and roses in a bowl--the room was sweet with odors, and so comfortable. here we stood. 'it's paris, dear,' she said, 'we are together; you're serving in the war, how glorious! we love each other, life is good--so good!' that afternoon we saw the city a little, so many things occurred to prophesy, interpret." "and that night we saw the moon, one star above the arc de triomphe, over the chariot of bronze and leaping horses. dined merrily and slept and woke together beneath that satin canopy." "in brief, the days went by with laughter and with love. we watched the seine from bridges, in a spell there at versailles in the temple of love sat in the fading day." "upon the lawn she took her diary from her bag and read what she had done in france; years past as well. began to tell me of a simeon strong whom she was pledged to marry years before. how jealousy of simeon strong destroyed his love, and all because in innocence she had received some roses from a friend. that led to other men that she had known who wished to marry her, as she said. but most she talked of simeon strong; then of a man who had absorbed her life until she went in training as a nurse, a married man, whom she had put away, himself forgetting a hopeless love he crushed. until at last i said, no more, my dear--the past is dead, what is the past to me? it could not be that you could live and never meet a man to love you, whom you loved. and then at last she put the diary in her bag, we walked and scanned the village from the heights; the train took back for paris, went to dine, be gay. this afternoon was the last, this night the last. to-morrow she was going back to work, and i was to resume my duties too, both hopeful for another meeting soon, the war's end, a re-union, some solution of what was now a problem hard to bear." "we left our dinner early, she was tired, there in our room again we clung together, grieved for the morrow. sadness fell upon us, her eyes were veiled, her voice was low, her speech was brief and nebulous. she soon disrobed, lay with her hair spread out upon the pillow, one hand above the coverlet." "and soon was lying with head turned from me. i sat and read to man my grief. you see the war blew to intenser flame all moods, all love, all grief at parting, fear, or doubt. at last as i looked up to see her i could see her breast with sleep arise and fall. the silence of night was on the city, even her breath i heard as she was sleeping--for myself i wondered what i was and why i was, what world is this and why, and if there be god who creates us to this life, then why this agony of living, peace or war; this agony which grows greater, never less, and multiplies its sources with the days, increases its perplexities with time, and gives the soul no rest. and why this love, this woman in my life. the mystery of my own torture asked to be explained. and why i married whom i married, why she was content to stand far off and watch my crucifixion. why?" "and with these thoughts came thought of changing them. a wonder slipped about her diary in my brain. i paused, said to myself, you have no right to spy upon such secret records, yet indeed a devilish sense of curiosity came as relaxment to my graver mood, as one will fetch up laughter to dispel thoughts that cannot be quelled or made to take the form of action, clarity. i arose took from her bag the diary, turned to see what entry she had made when first she came and gave herself to me. and look! the page just opposite from this had words to show she gave herself to gregory wenner just the week that followed on the week in which she gave herself to me." "a glass of water, before i can proceed!"... "i reeled and struck the bed post. she awoke. i thought that death had come with apoplexy, could not see, and in a spell vertiginous, with hands that shook and could not find the post, stood there palsied from head to foot. quick, she divined the event, the horror anyway, sprang out, and saw the diary lying at my feet. before i gained control of self, could catch or hold her hands, she seized it, threw it out the window on the street, and flung herself face down upon the bed." "oh awful hell! what other entries did i miss, what shames recorded since she left me, here in france? what was she then? a woman of one sin, or many sins, her life filled up with treason, since i had left her?" "and now think of me: this monstrous war had entered me through her, its passion, beauty, promise came through her into my blood and spirit, swept me forth from country, life i knew, all settled things. i had gone mad through her, and from her lips had caught the poison of the war, its hate, its yellow sentiment, its sickly dreams, its lying ideals, and its gilded filth. and here she lay before me, like a snake that having struck, by instinct now is limp; by instinct knows its fangs have done their work, and merely lies and rests." "i went to her, pulled down her hands from eyes and shook her hard: what is this? tell me all?" "she only said: 'you have seen all, know all.'" "'you do not mean that was the first and last with him?' she said, 'that is the truth.' 'you lie,' i answered her. 'you lie and all your course has been a lie: your words that asked me to be true to you, that i could break your heart. the breasts you showed flowering because of me, as you declared; our intimacy of bodies in the dance now first permitted you because of love; your plaints for truth and for fidelity, your fears, a practiced veteran in the game, all simulated. and your prayer to god for me, our love, your protests for the war, for service, sacrifice, your mother hunger, are all elaborate lies, hypocrisies, studied in coolest cruelty, and mockery of every lovely thing, if there can be a holy thing in life, as there cannot, as you have proven it. the diary's gone-- and let it go--you kept it from my eyes which shows that there was more. what are you then, a whore, that's all, a masquerading whore, not worthy of the hand that plies her trade in openness, without deceit. for if this was the first and only time with him here is dissimulation month by month by word of mouth, in letters by the score; and here your willingness to take my soul and feed upon it. knowing that my soul through what i thought was love was caught and whirled to faith in the war, and faith in you as one who symbolized the war as good, as means of goodness for the world--and this deceit, insane, remorseless, conscienceless, is worse than what you did with him. i could forgive disloyalty like that, but this deceit is unforgivable. i go,' i said. i turned to leave. she rose up from the bed, 'forgive! forgive!' she pleaded, 'i was mad, be fair! be fair! you took me, turned from me, seemed not to want me, so i went to him. i cried the whole day long when first i gave myself to you, for thinking you had found all that you wanted, left me, did not care to see me any more. i swear to you i have been faithful to you since that day when we heard chopin played, and i could see you loved me, and i loved you. o be fair!'"... then barrett bays shook like an animal that starves and freezes. and the jury looked and waited till he got control of self and spoke again his horror and his grief:-- "i left her, went upon the silent streets, and walked the night through half insane, i think. cannot remember what i saw that night, have only blurs of buildings, arches, towers, remember dawn at last, returning strength, and taking rolls and coffee, all my spirit grown clear and hard as crystal, with a will as sharp as steel to find reality: to see life as it is and face its terrors, and never feel a tremor, bat an eye. drink any cup to find the truth, and be a pioneer in a world made new again, stripped of the husks, bring new faith to the world, of souls devoted to themselves to make souls truer, more developed, wise and fair! write down the creed of service, and write in self-culture, self-dependence, throw away the testaments of jesus, old and new, save as they speak and help the river life to mould our truer beings; the rest discard which teaches compensation, to forgive that you may be forgiven, mercy show that mercy may be yours, and love your neighbor, love so to gain--all balances like this of doctrine for the spirit false and vile, corrupted with such calculating filth; and if you'd be the greatest, be the servant-- when one to be the greatest must be great in self, a light, a harmony in self, perfected by the inner law, the works done for the sake of beauty, for the self without the hope of gain except the soul, your one possession, grows a perfect thing if tended, studied, disciplined. while all this ethic of the war, the sickly creed which elenor murray mouthed, but hides the will which struggles still, would live, lies to itself, lies to its neighbor and the world, and leaves our life upon a wall of rotting rock of village mortals, patriotism, lies!" "and as for that, what did i see in paris but human nature working in the war as everywhere it works in peace? cabals, and jealousies and hatreds, greed alert; ambition, cruelty, strife piled on strife; no peace in labor that was done for peace; hypocrisy elaborate and rampant. saw at first hand what coiled about the breast of florence nightingale when she suffered, strove in the crimean war, struck down by envy, or nearly so. oh, is it human nature, that fights like maggots in the rotting carcass? or is it human nature tortured, bound by artificial doctrines, creeds which all pretend belief in, really doubt, resist and cannot live by?" "if i had a thought of charity toward this woman then it was that she, a little mind, had tried to live the faith against her nature, used a woman's cunning to get on in life. for as i said it was her lies that hurt. and had she lied, had she been living free, unshackled of our system, faith and cult, american or christian, what you will? "she was a woman free or bound, but women enslave and rule by sex. the female tigers howl in the jungle when their dugs are dry for meat to suckle cubs. and germany of bullet heads and bristling pompadours, and wives made humble, cowed by basso brutes, had women to enslave the brutes with sex, and make them seek possessions, land and food for breeding women and for broods." "and now if women make the wars, yet nurse the sick, the wounded in the wars, when peace results, what peace will be, except a peace that fools the gaping idealist, all souls in truth but souls like mine? a peace that leaves the world just where it was with women in command who, weak but cunning, clinging to the faith of christ, therefore as organized and made a part, if not the whole of western culture. away with all of this! blow down the mists, the rainbows, give us air and cloudless skies. give water to our fevered eyes, give strength to see what is and live it, tear away these clumsy scaffoldings, by which the mystics, ascetics, mad-men all st. stylites would rise above the world of body, brain, thirst, hunger, living, nature! let us free the soul of man from sophists, logic spinners, the mad-magicians who would conjure death, yet fear him most themselves, the coward hearts who mouth eternal bliss, yet cling to earth and keep away from heaven." "for it's true nature, or god, gives birth and also death. and power has never come to draw the sting of death or make it pleasant, creed nor faith prevents disease, old age and death at last. this truth is here and we must face it, or lie to ourselves and cloud our brains with lies, postponements and illusions, childish hopes! but lie most childish is the christian myth of adam's fall, by which disease and death entered the world, until the savior came and conquered death. he did? but people die, some millions slaughtered in the war! they live in heaven, say your elenor murrays, well, who knows this? if you know it, why drop tears for people better off? how ludicrous the patch-work is! i leave it, turn again to what man in this world can do with life made free of superstition, rules and faiths, that make him lie to self and to his fellows."... and barrett bays, now warmed up to his work, grown calmer, stronger, mind returned, that found full courage for the thought, the word to say it recurred to elenor murray, analyzed:-- and now a final word: "this elenor murray, what was she, just a woman, a little life swept in the war and broken? if no more, she is not worth these words: she is the symbol of our america, perhaps this world this side of india, of america at least she is the symbol. what was she? a restlessness, a hunger, and a zeal; a hope for goodness, and a tenderness; a love, a sorrow, and a venturing will; a dreamer fooled but dreaming still, a vision that followed lures that fled her, generous, loving, but also avid and insatiable; an egoism chained and starved too long that breaks away and runs; a cruelty, a wilfulness, a dealer in false weights, and measures of herself, her duty, others, a lust, a slick hypocrisy and a faith faithless and hollow. but at last i say she taught me, saved me for myself, and turned my steps upon the path of making self as much as i can make myself--my thanks to elenor murray!" "for that day i saw the war for what it was, and saw myself an artificial factor, working there because of elenor murray--what a fool! i was not really needed, like too many was just pretending, though i did not know that i was just pretending, saw myself swept in this mad procession by a woman; and through myself i saw the howling mob back in america that shouted hate, in god's name, all the carriers of flags, the superheated patriots who did nothing, gave nothing but the clapping of their hands, and shouts for freedom of the seas. the souls who hated freedom on the sea or earth, had, as the vile majority, set up intolerable tyrannies in america, america that launched herself without a god or faith, but in the name of man and for humanity, so long accursed by gods and priests--the vile majority! which in the war, and through the war went on with other tyrannies as to meat and drink, thought, speech, the mind in living--here was i one of the vile majority through a woman-- and serving in the war because of her, and meretricious sentiments of her. you see i had the madness of the world, was just as crazy as america. and like america must wake from madness and suffer, and regret, and build again. my soul was soiled, you see. and now i saw how she had pressed her lips against my soul and sapped my spirit in the name of beauty she simulated; for a loyalty her lips averred; how as a courtesan she had made soft my tissues, like an apple handled too much; how vision of me went into her life sucked forth; how never a word which ever came from her interpreted in terms of worth the war; how she had coiled her serpent loins about me; how she draped herself in ardors borrowed; how my arms were mottled from the needle's scar where she had shot the opiates of her lying soul; how asking truth, she was herself untrue; how she, adventuress in the war, had sought from lust grown stale, renewal of herself. and then at last i saw her scullery brows fail out and fade beside the republic's face, and leave me free upon the hills, who saw, strong, seeking cleanliness in truth, her hand which sought the cup worn smooth by leper lips dipped in the fountain where the thirst of many passionate pilgrims had been quenched, not lifted up by me, nor yet befriended by the cleaner cup i offered. now you think that i am hard. philosophy is hard, and i philosophize, admit as well that i have failed, am full of faults myself, all faults, we'll say, but one, i trust and pray the fault of falsehood and hypocrisy."... "i gave my work in paris up--that day made ready to return, but with this thought to use my wisdom for the war, do work for america that had no touch of her, no flavor of her nature, far removed from the symphony of sex, be masculine, alone, and self-sufficient, needing nothing, no hand, no kiss, no mate, pure thought alone directed to this work. i found the work and gave it all my energy." "from then i wrote her nothing, though she wrote to me these more than hundred letters--here they are! since you have mine brought to you from new york all written before she went to france, i think you should have hers to make the woman out and read her as she wrote herself to me. the rest is brief. she cabled when she sailed, and wrote me from new york. while at leroy with irma leese she wrote me. then that day she telephoned me when she motored here with irma leese, and said: 'forgive, forgive, o see me, come to me, or let me come to you, you cannot crush me out. these months of silence, what are they? eternity makes nothing of these months. i love you, never in all eternity shall cease to love you, love makes you mine, and you must come to me now or hereafter.'" "and you see at last my soul was clear again, as clean and cold as our march days, as clear too, and the war stood off envisioned for the thing it was. peace now had come, which helped our eyes to see what dread event the war was. so to see this woman with these eyes of mine, made true and unpersuadable of her plaints and ways i gave consent and went." "arriving first, i walked along the river till she came. and as i saw her, i looked through the tricks of dress she played to win me, i could see how she arrayed herself before the mirror, adjusting this or that to make herself victorious in the meeting. but my eyes were wizard eyes for her, and this she knew, began at first to writhe, change color, flap her nervous hands in gestures half controlled. i only said, 'good morning,' took her hand, she tried to kiss me, but i drew away. 'i have been true,' she said, 'i love you, dear, if i was false and did not love you, why would i pursue you, write you, all against your coldness and your silence? o believe me, the war and you have changed me. i have served, served hard among the sufferers in the war, sustained by love for you. i come to you and give my life to you, take it and use, keep me your secret joy. i do not dream of winning you in marriage. here and now i humble self to you, ask nothing of you, except your kindness, love again, if love can come again to you--o this must be! it is my due who love you, with my soul, my body.'" "'no,' i said, 'i can forgive all things but lying and hypocrisy.'... how could i trust her? she had kept from me the diary, threw it from the window, what was life of her in france? should i expunge this gregory wenner, what was life of her in france, i ask. and so i said to her: 'i have no confidence in you'--o well i told the jury all. but quick at once she showed to me, that if i could forgive her course of lying, she was changed to me, the war had changed her, she was hard and wild, schooled in the ways of soldiers, and in war. that beauty of her womanhood was gone, transmuted into waywardness, distaste for simple ways, for quiet, loveliness. the adventuress in her was magnified, cleared up and set, she had become a shrike, a spar hawk, and i loathed her for these ways which she revealed, dropping her gentleness when it had failed her. yes, i saw in her the war at last; its lying and its hate, its special pleading, and its double dealing, its lust, its greed, its covert purposes, its passion out of hell which obelised such noble things in man. its crooked uses of lofty spirits, flaming fires of youth, young dreamers, lovers. and at last she said, as i have told the jury, what she did was natural, and i cursed her. then she shook, turned pale, and reeled, i caught her, held her up, she died right in my arms! and this is all; except that had i killed her and should spend my days in prison for it, i am free, my spirit being free." "who was this woman? this elenor murray was america; corrupt, deceived, deceiving, self-deceived, half-disciplined, half-lettered, crude and smart, enslaved yet wanting freedom, brave and coarse, cowardly, shabby, hypocritical, generous, loving, noble, full of prayer, scorning, embracing rituals, recreant to christ so much professed; adventuresome; curious, mediocre, venal, hungry for money, place, experience, restless, no repose, restraint; before the world made up to act and sport ideals, go abroad to bring the world its freedom, having choked freedom at home--the girl was this because these things were bred in her, she breathed them in here where she lived and grew." then barrett bays stepped down and said, "if this is all, i'd like to go." then david borrow whispered in the ear of merival, and merival conferred with ritter and llewellyn george and said: "we may need you again, a deputy will take you to my house, and for the time keep you in custody." the deputy came in and led him from the jury room. elenor murray coroner merival took the hundred letters which elenor murray wrote to barrett bays, found some of them unopened, as he said, and read them to the jury. day by day she made a record of her life, and wrote her life out hour by hour, that he might know. the hundredth letter was the last she wrote. and this the coroner found unopened, cut the envelope and read it in these words: "you see i am at nice. if you have read the other letters that i wrote you since our parting there in paris, you will know about my illness; but i write you now some other details." "i went back to work so troubled and depressed about you, dear, about myself as well. i thought of you, your suffering and doubt, perhaps your hate. and since you do not write me, not a line have written since we parted, it may be hatred has entered you to make distrust less hard to bear. but in no waking hour, and in no hour of sleep when i have dreamed, have you been from my mind. i love you, dear, shall always love you, all eternity cannot exhaust my love, no change shall come to change my love. and yet to love you so, and have no recompense but silence, thoughts of your contempt for me, make exquisite the suffering of my spirit. could i sing my sorrow would enchant the world, or write, i might regain your love with beauty born out of this agony." "when i returned i had three typhoid cases given me. and with that passion which you see in me i gave myself to save them, took this love which fills my heart for you and nursed them with it; said to myself to keep me on my feet when i was staggering from fatigue, 'give now out of this love, it may be god's own gift with which you may restore these boys to health. what matter if he love you not.' and so for twelve hours day by day i waged with death a slowly winning battle." "as they rallied, but when my strength was almost spent--what comes? this miriam fay writes odiously to me. she has heard something of our love, or sensed some dereliction, since she learned that i had not been to confessional. anyway she writes me, writes our head-nurse. all at once a cloud of vile suspicion, like a dust blown from an alley takes my breath away, and blinds my eyes. with all these things piled up, my labors and my sorrow, your neglect, my fears of a dishonorable discharge from service, which i love, i faint, collapse, have streptococcus of the throat, and lie two weeks in fever, sleepless, and with thoughts of you, and what may happen, my disgrace. but suffering brought me friends, the officers perhaps had heard the scandal, but they knew my heart was in the work. the major who was the attending doctor of these boys i broke myself with nursing, cared for me, and cheered me with his praise. and so it was your little soldier, still i call myself, your little soldier, though you own me not, turned failure into victory, won by pain befriending hands. the major kept me here and intercepted my discharge, procured my furlough here in nice." "i rose from bed, went back to work, in nine days failed again, this time with influenza; for three weeks was ill enough to die, for all the while my fever raged, my heart was hurting too, because of you. when i got up again i looked a ghost, was weaker than a child, at last came here to nice." "this is the hundredth letter that i've written since we parted. my heart is tired, dear, i shall write no more. you shall have silence for your silence, yet when i am silent, trust me none the less, believe i love you. if you say that i have hidden secrets, have not told you all, the diary flung away to keep my life beyond your eye's inspection, still i say where is your right to know what lips i've kissed, what hopes or dreams i cherished in the past before i knew you. if you still accuse my spirit of deceit, hypocrisy in lifting up my flower of love to you fresh, as it seemed, with morning dew, not tears, i have my own defense for that, you'll see. or lastly, if your love is turned to gall because, as you discovered, body of love was given to gregory wenner, after you had come to me in love and chosen me as servant of you in the war, i write to clear myself to you respecting that, and re-insist 'twas body of love alone, not love i gave, and what i gave was given because you won me, left me, did not claim as wholly yours what you had won. but now, as i have hope of life beyond the grave, as i love god, though serving him but ill, i say to you, i have been wholly yours in spirit and in body since the day i gave to you the locket, sat with you and heard the waltz of chopin, six days after i went with gregory wenner. i explain why i did this, shall mention it no more; you must be satisfied or go your way in bitterness and hatred." "but first, my love, as spirits equal and with equal rights, or privilege of equal wrongs, have i demanded former purity of you? i have repelled revealments of your past; have never questioned of your marriage, asked, which might be juster, rights withdrawn from her; may rightly think, since you and she have life in one abode together, that you live as marriage warrants. and above it all have i not written you to go your way, find pleasures where you could, have only begged that you keep out of love, continue to give your love to me? and why? be cynical, and think i gave you freedom as a gallant that i might with a quiet conscience take such freedom for myself. it is not true: i've learned the human body, know the male, and know his life is motile, does not rest, and wait, as woman's does, cannot do so. so understanding have put down distaste, that you should fare in freedom, in my heart have wished that love or ideals might sustain your spirit; but if not, my heart is filled with happiness, if you love me. take these thoughts and with them solve your sorrow for my past, your loathing of it, if you feel that way however bad it be, whatever sins imagination in you stirred depicts as being in my past." "men have been known whom women made fifth husbands, more than that. not my case, i'll say that, and if you face reality, and put all passion love where nature puts it by the side of love which custom favors, you have only left the matter of the truth to grasp, believe, see clearly and accept: do i swear true i love you, and since loving you am faithful, cannot be otherwise, nor wish to be?" "dear, listen and be fair. you did not love me when first i came to you. you did not ask, because of love, a faithfulness; in truth you did not ask a faithfulness at all. but then and theretofore you treated me as woman to be won, a happiness to be achieved and put aside. be fair, this was your mood. but if you loved me then, or soon thereafter loved me, as i know, what should i do? i loved you, am a woman. at last behold your love, am lifted, thrilled. see what i thought was love before was nothing; know i was never loved before you loved me; and know as well i never loved before; know all the former raptures of my heart as buds in march closed hard and scentless, never the june before for my heart! o, my love, what should i do when this most priceless gift was held up like a crown within your hands to place upon my brows--what should i do? take you aside and say, here is the truth, here's gregory wenner--what's the good of that? how had it benefited you or me, increased your love, or founded it upon a surer rock than beauty? hideous truth! useless too often, childish in such case. you would have suffered, turned from me, and lost the rapture which i gave you, and if rapture be not a prize, where in this world so much of ugliness and agony prevails, i do not know our life." "but just suppose i gave you rapture, beauty--you concede i gave you these, that's why you suffer so: you choose to think them spurious since you found i knew this gregory wenner, are they so? they are as real in spite of gregory wenner as if my lips had been a cradled child's. but just suppose, as i began to say, you never had discovered gregory wenner, and had the rapture, beauty which you had, how stands the case? was i not justified in hiding gregory wenner to preserve the beauty and the rapture which you craved? dear, it was love of beauty which impelled what you have called deceit, it was my woman's passionate hope to give the man she loved the beauty which he saw in her that inspired my acting, as you phrase it, an elaborate hypocrisy, an ugly word from you!... but listen, dear, how spirit works in love: when you beheld me pure, i would be pure; as virginal, i would be virginal; as innocent, i would be innocent; as truthful, constant, so i would be these though to be truthful, constant when i loved you came to me like my breath, as natural. so i would be all things to you for love, fill full your dreams, your vision of my soul for now and future days, but make myself in days before i knew you what you thought, believed and cherished. hence if you combine the thought that what i was did not concern you, with fear that if you knew, your heart would change; and with these join that passionate zeal of love to be your lover, wholly beautiful, you have the exposition of my soul in its elaborate deceit,--your words." "some fifty years ago a man and woman are talking in a room, say certain things, we were not there! we two are with each other somewhere, and fifty years from now, we two will look to after souls who were not there like figures in a crystal globe; i mean to lift to light the wounds of brooding love, and show you that the world contains events of which we live in ignorance, if we know they hurt us with their mystery, coming near in our soul's cycle, somehow. but the dead, and what they lived, what are they?--what the things of our dead selves to selves who are alive, and live the hour that's given us?" "what's your past to me, beloved, if your soul and body are mine to-day, not only mine, but made by living more my own, more rich for me, more truly harmonized with me? believe me you are my highest hope made real at last, the climax of my love life, i accept whatever passed in rooms in years gone by; whatever contacts, raptures, pains or hopes as schooling of your soul to make it precious, and for my worship, my advancement, kneel and thank the god of mysteries and wisdom who made you for me, let me find you, love you!" "now of myself a word. in years to come these words i write will seem all truth to you, their prism colors, violet and red, will fade away and leave them in the light arranged and reasonable and wholly true. then you will read the words: i found you, dear, after a life of pain; and you will see my spirit like a blossom that you watch from budding to unfolding, knowing thus how it matured from day to day. i say my life has been all pain, i see at first a father and a mother linked in strife. am thrown upon my girlhood's strength to teach, earn money for my schooling, would know french; i studied greek a little, gave it up, distractions, duties, came too fast for me. i longed to sing, took lessons, lack of money ended the lessons. but above it all my heart was like an altar lit with flame, aspired to heaven, asked for sacrifice, for incense to be bright, more beautiful for beauty's sake. and in my soul's despair, and just to use this vital flame, i turned to god, the church. you must be stone to hear such words as these and not relent, an image of basalt which i pray to not to see and not to hear! but listen! look at me, did i become a drifter, wholly fail? did i become a common woman, turn to common life and ways? can you dispute my eyes were fixed upon a lovelier life, have never gaze withdrawn from loveliness? did i give up, or break, turn to the flesh, pleasures, the solace of the senses--no! where some take drink to ease their hurts and dull their disappointments, i renewed my will to sacrifice and service, work, who saw these things in essence may be drink as well, and bring the end, oblivion while you live, but bring supremacy instead of failure, collapse, disgust and fears. think what you will of me for gregory wenner, and imagine the worst you may, i stand here as i am, with my life proven! and to end the pain i went to nurse the soldiers in the war with thoughts that if i died in service, good! not that i gladly give up life, i love it. but life must be surrendered; let it be in service, as some end it up in drink, or opium or lust. beloved heart, i know my will is stronger than my vision, that passion masters judgment; that my love for love and life and beauty are too much for gifts like mine; i know that i am dumb, songless, without articulate words--but still my very dumbness is a kind of speech which some day will flood down your deafened rocks, and sweep my meaning over you." "well, now why did i turn to gregory from you? i did not love you or i had not done it. you did not love me or i had not done it. i loved him once, he had been good to me. he was an old familiar friend and touch.... farewell, if it must be, but save me grief, the greatest agony: be brave and strong, be all that god requires your soul to be, o, give me not this cup of poison--this: that i have been your cause of bitterness; have stopped your growth and introverted you, given you eyes that see but lies and lust in human nature, evil in the world-- eyes that god meant to see the good and strive for goodness. if i drove you from the war, made you distrust its purpose and its faith, triumphant over selfishness and wrong, oh, leave me with the hope that peace will come, and vision once again to bless your life. behold me as america, taught but half, wayward and thoughtless, fighting for a chance; denied its ordered youth, thrown into life but half prepared, so seeking to emerge out of a tangled blood, and out of the earth a creature of the earth that strives to win a soul, a voice. behold me thus--forgive! take from my life the beauty that you found, nothing can kill that beauty if you press its blossom to your heart, and with it rise to nobleness, to duty, give your life to our america." "the lord bless you, and make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you. the lord lift up his countenance upon you, give you peace, both now and ever more. amen!" * * * * * so elenor's letters ended the evidence. the afternoon was spent. the inquest was adjourned till ten o'clock next morning. they arose and left the room.... and merival half-ill went home. next day he lounged with books and had the doctor in, and read his mail, more letters, articles about the inquest, elenor. and from france a little package came. and here at last is elenor murray's diary! merival turns and finds the entries true to barrett bays; some word, a letter too from france which says: the sender learned the name by tracing out a number in the diary, heard the news of elenor murray from the paper at home in illinois. and of the diary this: he got it from a poilu who was struck by this same diary on the cheek. a slap that stung him, since the diary had been thrown by elenor murray from the second story. this poilu, being tipsy, raved and thought some challenger had struck him. roaring so he's taken in. some weeks elapse, he meets our soldiers from the states, and shows the diary, and tells the story, has the diary read by this american, gives up the diary for certain drinks. and this american has sent it to the coroner. a letter to merival from an old maiden aunt, who's given her life to teaching, pensioned now and visiting at madison, wisconsin. aunt cynthia writes to merival and says: "i know you are fatigued, a little tired with troubles of the lower plane of life. quit thinking of the war and elenor murray. each soul should use its own divinity by mastering nature outward and within. do this by work or worship, soul's control, philosophy, by one or more or all. above them all be free. this is religion, and all of it. books, temples, dogmas, rituals or forms are details only. by these means find god within you, prove that you and god are one, not several, justify the ways of god to man, to speak the western way. i wish you could be here while i am here with arielle, she is a soul, a woman. you need a woman in your life, my dear-- i met her in calcutta five years since, she and her husband toured the world--and now she is a widow these two years. i started arielle in the wisdom of the east. that avid mind of hers devours all things. she is an adept, but she thinks her sense of fun and human nature as the source of laughter and of tears keep her from being a mystic, though she uses hindu thought and practice for her soul." "i'd like to send some pictures of her, if she'd let me do it: arielle with her dogs upon the lawn, her arms about their necks. or arielle about her flowers. i've another one, arielle on her favorite horse: another, arielle by her window, hand extended, the very soul of rhythm; and another, arielle laughing like a rising sun, no one can laugh as she does. for you see her outward soul is love, her inward soul is wisdom and that makes her what she is: a robin goodfellow, a puck, a girl, a prankish wit, a spirit of bright tears, a queenly woman, clothed in majesty, a rapture and a solace, comrade, friend, a lover of old women such as i; a mother to young children, for she keeps a brood of orphans in her little town. she is a will as disciplined as steel, has suffered and grown wise. her tenderness is hidden under words so brief and pure you cannot sense the tenderness in all until you read them over many times. she is a lady bountiful, who gives as prodigally as nature, and she asks no gifts from you, but gets them anyway, because all spirits pour themselves to her. if i were taking for america a symbol, it would be my arielle and not your elenor murray." "here's her life! her father died when she was just a child, leaving a modest fortune to a widow, arielle's mother, also other children. after a time the mother went to england and settled down in sussex. there the mother was married to a scoundrel, mad-man, genius, who tyrannized the household, whipped the children. so arielle at fourteen ran away. she pined for her wisconsin and america. she went to madison, or near the place, and taught school in the country, much the same as elenor murray did. "now here is something: behold our world, humanity, the groups of people into states, communities, full up of powers and virtues, aid and light-- friends, helpers, understanders of the soul. it may be just the status of enlightment, but i think there are brothers of the light, and powers around us; for if elenor murray half-fails, is broken, here is arielle who with the surer instinct finds the springs of health and life. and so, i say, if i had daughters, and were dying, leaving them, i should not fear; for i should know the world would care for them and give them everything they had the strength to take." "here's arielle. she teaches school and studies--o that wag-- she posts herself in shakespeare, forms a class of women thrice her age and teaches them, adds that way to her earnings. just in time-- such things are always opportune, a man comes by and sees her spirit, says to her you may read plato, and she reads and passes to kant and schopenhauer. so it goes until by twenty all her brain is seething with knowledge and with dreams. she is beloved by all the people of the country-side, besought and honored--yet she keeps to self, has hardly means enough, since now she sends some help to mother who has been despoiled, abandoned by the mad-man." "then one spring a paper in milwaukee gives a prize, a trip to europe, to the one who gets the most subscriptions in a given time-- and arielle who has so many friends-- achievement brings achievement, friends bring friends-- finds rallying support and wins the prize. is off to europe where she meets the man she married when returned." "he is a youth of beauty and of promise, yet a soul who riots in the sunlight, honey of life. and gets his wings gummed in the poisonous sweet. and arielle one morning wakes to find a horror on her hands: her husband's found dead in a house of ill-fame. she is calm out of that rhythm, sense of beauty which makes her a power, all her deeds a song. she lays the body under the dancing muses there in the wondrous library and flings a purple robe across it, kneels and lays her sunny head against it, says a prayer. she had been constant, loyal even to dreams, to this wild youth, whose errant ways she knew. now don't you see the contrast? i refrain from judging elenor murray, but i say one thing is beautiful and one is not. and arielle is beautiful as a spirit, and elenor is somewhat beautiful, but streaked and mottled, too. say what you will of freedom, nature, body's rights, no less honor and constancy are beautiful, and truth most beautiful. and arielle could kneel beside the body of her dead, who had neglected her so constantly, and say a prayer of thankfulness that she had honored him throughout those seven years of married life--she prayed so--why, she says that prayer was worth a thousand stolen raptures offered her in the years of life between." "now here she was at thirty left to a mansion there in madison. her husband lived there; it was life, you know, for her to meet one of her neighborhood in europe, though a stranger until then. and here is arielle in her mansion, priestess amid her treasures, beauties, for this man has left her many thousands, and she lives among her books and flowers, rides and walks, and frolics with her dogs, and entertains."... and as the coroner folded the letter out a letter from this arielle fell, which read: "we have an aunt in common, cynthia. i know her better than you do, i think, and love her better too. you men go off with wandering and business, leave these aunts, and precious kindred to be found by souls who are more kindred, maybe. i have heard most everything about you, of your youth your schooling, shall i say your sorrow too? admire your life, have studied elenor, as i have had the chance or got the word. and what your aunt writes in advice i like, approve of and commend to you. you see i leap right over social rules to write, and speak my mind. so many friends i've made by searching out and asking. why delay? time slips away like moving clouds, but life says to the wise make haste. is there a soul you'd like to know? then signal it. i light from every peak a beacon fire, my peaks are new found heights of vision, reaching them i either see a beacon light, or flash a beacon light. and thus it was i found your cynthia and mine, and now i write. i have a book to send you, show that way how much i value your good citizenship, your work as coroner. i had the thought of coroners as something like horse doctors-- your aunt says you're as polished as a surgeon. when i was ripe for shakespeare some one brought his books to me; when i was ripe for kant, i found him through a friend. i know about you, i sense you too, and i believe you need the spiritual uplifting of the gita. you haven't read it, have you? no! you haven't. i wish that elenor murray might have read it. i grieve about that girl, you can't imagine how much i grieve. nov write me, coroner, what is your final judgment of the girl." "i have so many friends who love me, always new friends come by to give me wisdom--you can teach me, i believe, a man like you so versed in life. you must have learned new things exploring in the life of elenor murray. i was about to write you several times. i loved that girl from all i heard of her. she must have had some faculty or fault that thwarted her, and left her, so to speak, just looking into promised lands, but never possessing or enjoying them--poor girl! and here she flung her spirit in the war and wrecked herself--it makes me sorrowful. i went to europe through a prize i won, and saw the notable places--but this girl who hungered just as much as i, saw nothing or little, gave her time to labor, nursing-- it is most pitiful, if you'll believe me i've wept about your eleanor. write me now what is your final judgment of the girl?"... so merival read these letters, fell asleep. next day was weaker, had a fever too, and took to bed at last. he had to fight six weeks or more for life. when he was up and strong enough he called the jury in and at his house they talked the case and supped. the jury deliberates the jurymen are seated here and there in merival's great library. they smoke, and drink a little beer or scotch. arise at times to read the evidence taken down, and typed for reference. before them lie elenor murray's letters, all the letters written to merival--there's alma bell's, and miriam fay's, letters anonymous. the article of roberts in the _dawn_, that one of demos, hogos; a daily file of lowell's _times_--lowell has festered now some weeks, a felon-finger in a stall. and where is barrett bays? in kankakee where elenor murray's ancestor was kept. the strain and shame had broken him; a fear fell on him of a consequence when the coroner still kept him with a deputy. he grew wild, attacked the deputy, began to wander and show some several selves. a multiple spirit of devils had him. dr. burke went over him and found him mad. and now the jury meet amid a rapid shift of changes, mist and cloud. the man is sick who administers the country. has come back to laud the pact of peace; his auditors turn silently away, whole states assemble to hear and turn away, sometimes to heckle. and if a mattoid emperor caused the war, and elenor murrays put the emperor down, the emperor, could he laugh at all, can laugh to see a country, bent to spend its last dollar, its blood to the last drop, having spent enough of these, go mad as barrett bays. and like a headless man, seen in a dream, go capering in an ecstasy of doubt, regret and disillusion. he can laugh to see the pact, which took the great estate, once his and god's, and wrapt it as with snakes that stung and sucked, rejected in the land that sent these elenor murrays to make free the world from despotism. see that very land crop despotisms--so the jury sees convened to end the case of elenor murray.... and rev. maiworm, juryman, gives his thought to conquest of the world for christ, and says the churches must unite to free the world from war and sin. result? why less and less homes like the murray home, where husband, wife, live in dissension. more and more of schools for elenor murrays. happy marriages will be the rule, our elenors will find good husbands, quiet hearths, a competence. and isaac newfeldt said: "you talk pish-posh. you go about at snipping withered leaves, and picking blasted petals--take the root, get at the soil--you cannot end these wars until you solve the feeding problem. quit relying on your magic to make bread with five loaves broken, raise a bigger crop of wheat, and get it to the mouths of men. and as for sin--what is it?--all of sin lies in the customs, comes from how you view the bread and butter matter; all your gods and sons of god are guardians of the status of business and of money; sin a thing which contradicts, or threatens banks and wharves. and as for that your churches now control as much as human nature can digest a dominance like that. and what's the state of things in christendom? why, wars, and want and many elenor murrays. tyrannies are like as pea and pea; you shall not drink, or read, or talk, or trade, are from one pod. what would i do? why, socialize the world, then leave men free to live or die, let nature go decimating as she will, and weed the worthless with disease or alcohol-- you won't see much of that, however, if you socialize the world." and david barrow spoke up and said: "no ism is enough. the question is, is life worth living, good or bad? if bad, i think that elenor murray had as good a life as any. here we've sat these weeks and heard these stories--nothing new; and as to waste, our time is wasted here, if there were better things to do; and yet perhaps there is no better. i've enjoyed this work, association. well, you're told to judge not, and that means to judge not man; you are not told to judge not god. and so i judge him. and again your elenor murrays, your human being cannot will his way, but god's omnipotent, and where he fails he should be censured. why does he allow a world like this, and suffer earthquakes, storms, the sinking of _titanics_, cancers? why suffer these wars, this war?--talk of the riffles that flowed from elenor murray--here's a wave of tidal power, stirred by a greedy coot who called himself an emperor! and look our land, america, is ruined, slopped for good, or for our lives with filth and stench; so that to live here takes what strength you have, none left for living, as a man should live. and this america once free and fair is now the hatefulest, commonest group of men, women and children in the occident. what's life here now? why, boredom, nothing else.... why pity elenor murray? gottlieb gerald told of her home life; it was good enough, average american, or better. schools she had in plenty, what would she have done with courses to the end in music, art? she was not happy. elenor had a brain, and brains and happiness are at enmity. and if the world goes on some thousand years, the race as much advanced beyond us now in feeling, thought, as we are now beyond pinthecanthropus, say, why, all will see what i see now;--'twere better if the race had never risen. all analogies of nature show that death of man is death. he plants his seed and dies, the resurrection is not the man, but is the child that grows from sperm he sows. the grain of wheat that sprouts is not the stalk that bore it. now suppose we get the secret in a thousand years, can prove that death's the end, analogies put by with amber, frogs' legs--tell me then what opiate will still the shrieks of men? but some of us know now, and i am one. there is no heaven for me; and as for those who make a heaven to get out of this-- you gentlemen who call life good, the world the work of god's perfection; yet invent a heaven to rest in from this world of woe-- you do not wish to go there; and resort to cures and christian science to stay here! which shows you are not sure. and thus we have your christian saying at heart that life is bad, and heaven is good, but not so good and sure that you will hurry to it. why, i'll prove the christian pessimist, as well as i. he says life is so bad it has no meaning, unless there be a future; and i say life's bad, and if no future, then is worse. and as it has no future, is a hell. this girl was soaked in opiates to the last. religion, love for barrett bays, believed that god is love. love is a word to me that has no meaning but in terms of man. and if a man cause war, or suffer war, when he could stop it, do we say he loves? why call god love who can prevent a war? to chasten us, to better, purge our sins? well, if it be then we are bettered, purged when william hohenzollern goes to war and makes the whole world crazy." "understand i do not mock, i pity man and life. no man has sat here who has suffered more, seeing the life of elenor murray, through her life beholding life, our country's life. i pity man and life. i curse the scheme which wakes the senseless clay to lips that bleed, and eyes that weep, and hearts that agonize, then in an instant make them clay again! and for it all no reason, that the reason can bring to light to stand the light." "and yet i'd make life better, food and shelter better and wider happiness, and fuller love. we're travelers on a ship that has no bourne but rocks, for us. on such a ship 'twere wise to have the daily comforts, foolish course to neither eat, nor sleep, keep warm, nor sing. but only walk the rainy deck and wait. the little opiates of happiness would make the sailing better, though we know the trip is nowhere and the rocks will sink the portless steamer." "is it portless?" asked llewellyn george, "you're leaping to a thought, and overlook a world of intimations, and hints of truth. i grant you take this race that lives to-day, and make the world a boat there is no port for us as human lives in this our life. but look, you see the race has climbed, a mountain trail, and looks below from certain heights to-day at man the beast. we scan a half a million years of man from caves to temples, gestures, beacon fires to wireless. call that mechanical, and power developed over tools. but here is mystery beyond these.--what of powers, devotions, aspirations, sacred flame which masters nature, worships life, defies death to obstruct it, hungers for the right, the truth, hates wrong, and by that passion wills all art, all beauty, goodness, and creates those living waters of increasing life by which man lives, and has to-day the means of fuller living. here's a realm of richness, beyond and separate from material things, your aeroplanes or conquests. now i put this question to you, david barrow, what but god who is and has some end for life, and gives it meaning, though we see it not-- what is it in the heart of man which lifts, sustains him to the truth, the harmony, the beauty say of loyalty, or truth or art, or science? lighting lamps for men to walk by, men who hate the lamps, the hand that lights? what is this spirit, but the spirit of something which moves through us, to an end, and by its constancy in man made constant proclaims an end? there's bruno, socrates, there's washington who might have lost his life, why do these men cling to the vision, hope? when neither poverty, nor jeers, nor flames, nor cups of poison stay? who say thereby that death is nothing, but this life of ours, which can be shaped to truth and harmony, and rising flame of spirit, giving light, is everything worth while, must be lived so and if not lived so, then there's death indeed, by turning from the voice that says that man must still aspire. and why aspire if death ends us, the scheme? and all this realm of spirit, of love for truth and beauty, is the play of shadows on the tomb?" "now take this girl: she knew before she sailed to france, this man, this barrett bays was mad about her--knew she could stay here and have him, live with him, and thus achieve a happiness. and she knew to leave him was to make a chance to lose him. but then you say she knew he'd tire of her, and left for france. and still that happiness before he tired would be hers. you see this spirit i'd delineate working here: to sacrifice and by the sacrifice rise to a bigger spirit, make it truer; then bring that truer spirit to her love for barrett bays, and not just loll and slop in love to-day. why does she wish to give a finer spirit to this barrett bays? and to that end take life in hand? it's this: my something, god at work. you say it's woman in sublimate of passion--call it that. why sublimate a passion? all her life this girl aspires--you think to win a man? but win a man with what? with finest self make this her contribution to these riches, which bruno and the others filled so full. you see this something going on, but races come up, express themselves and pass away; but yet this something manifests itself through souls like elenor murray's--fills her life with fuller meanings, maybe at the last this something will reveal itself so clear that men like david barrow can perceive. and love, this spirit, twin of death, you see love slays this girl, but love remains to slay, lift up, drive on and slay. i call death twin of love, and why? because two things alone make what we are and live, first love the flame, and death the cap that snuffs it. is it bread that keeps us dancing, skating like these bugs that play criss-cross on evening waters?--no! it's bread to get more life to give more love, bring to some heart a fuller life, receive a fuller life for having given life. this force of love may look demonical. it tears, destroys, and crushes, chokes and kills, is always stretching hands to death its twin. and yet it is creation and creates, feeds roses, jonquils, columbines, gardenias, as well as thistles, cockle burrs and thorns. this is the force to which the girl's alert, and sensitive, is shaken by its power, driven, uplifted, purified; a doll of paper dancing on magnetic plates; and by that passion lusts for death himself, for union with another, sacrifice, beauty, and she aspires and toils, and turns to god, the symptom always of this nature. my fellow-jurymen, you'll never see, or learn so well about another soul that had this love force deeper in her flesh, her spirit, suffered more. why do we suffer? what is this love force? 'tis the child of blood of madness, as this elenor is the seed of that old grandma, who was mad, and cousin of taylor who did murder. what is this but human spirit flamed and subtleized until it is a poison and a food; a madness but a clearest sanity; a vision and a blindness, all as if when nature goes so far, refines so much her balance has been broken, if the something makes not a genius or a giant soul. and so we suffer. but why do we suffer? well, not as barrow said, that life is bad; a failure and a fraud. not suffering that points to dust, defeat, is painfulest; but suffering that points to skies and realms above us, whence we came, or where we go, that suffering is most poignant, as it is significant as well, and rapturous too. the pain that thrills us for the singing flame of love, the force creative, that's the pain! and those must suffer most to whom the sounds of music or of words, or scents, or scenes recall lost realms. no soul can understand music or words in whom there is not stirred a recollection--that is genius too: a memory, and reliving hours we lived before we looked upon this world of man."... then winthrop marion said: "i like your talk, llewellyn george, but still what killed the girl? what was the cause of death of elenor murray? she died from syncope, that's clear enough. the doctors tell us that in syncope the victim should be laid down, not held up. and barrett bays, the bungler, held her up when she was stricken--like the man, i think! well, coroner, suppose we make a verdict, and say we find that had this barrett bays sustained this elenor murray in the war, and in her life, with friendship, and with faith she had not died. suppose we further find that when he took her, held her in his arms when she had syncope, he was dull or crazed, and missed a chance to save her. we could find that had he laid her down when she was stricken she might have lived--i knew that much myself. and we could find that had he never driven this woman from his arms, but kept her there, before said day of august th, no doubt she had not died on august th. in short, he held her up, and should have laid her down, and drove her from him when she needed arms to hold her up. and so we find her death was due to barrett bays--we censure him, would hold him to the courts--that cannot be-- and so we hold him up for memory contemptuous, and say his bitter words brought on the syncope, so long prepared by what he did. we write his course unfeeling, weak, selfish, petty, flowing from the craze of sexual jealousy, made worse by war, and universal madness, erethism of hellish war. and, gentlemen, one thing: paul robert's article in the _dawn_ suggests some things i credit, knowing them. we get our notions of uncleanness from the jews, the pentateuch. there are no women here, and i can talk;--you know the ancient jews deemed sex unclean, and only to be touched at sufferance of jehovah; birth unclean, a mother needing purification after her hour of giving birth. you know their laws concerning adultery. well, they've tainted us in spite of greece. now look at elenor murray: what if she went with gregory wenner. hell! did that contaminate her, change her flesh, or change her spirit? all this evidence shows that it did not. but it changed this man, because his mind was slime where snakes could breed. but now what do we see? that woman is essential genius, man just mechanism of conscious thought and strength. this elenor is wiser, being nature, than this man, and lives a life that puts this barrett bays to shame and laughter. look at her: she's brave, devoted, loyal, true and dutiful, she's will to life, and through it senses god, and seeks to serve the cosmic soul. i think this jury should start now to raise a fund to erect a statue of her in the park to keep her name and labors fresh in mind to those who shall come after." "and i'll sign a verdict in these words, but understand such things are _coram non judice_; still we can chip in our money, start the fund to build this monument." ritter interrupted. the banker said: "i'll start it with a hundred," and so the fund was started. marion resumed to speak of riffles: "in chicago there's less than half the people speaking english, the rest is babel: germans, russians, poles and all the tongues, much rippling going on, and if we couldn't trace the riffles out from elenor murray, we must give this up. one thing is sure: look out for england, if america shall grow a separate soul. you may have congresses, and presidents, these states, but if america is a realm. of tribute as to thought, america is just a province. and it's past the time when we should be ourselves, we've wasted time, and grafted alien things upon our bole. a domesday of the minds that think and know in our america would give us hope, we have them in abundance. what i hate is that crude demos which shouts down the minds, outvotes them, takes these silly lies that move the populace and makes them into laws, and makes a village of a great republic." and merival listened as the jurymen philosophied the case of elenor murray, and life at large. and having listened spoke: "i like the words llewellyn george has said. love is a sea which wrecks and sinks our craft, but re-creates the hands that build again; and like a tidal wave which sponges out an island or a city, lifts and leaves fresh seeds and forms of beauty on the peaks. the whinchat in the mud upon its claws, storm driven from its course to sea, brings life of animal and plant to virgin shores, and islands strange and new. these happenings of elenor murray carry beauty forth, unhurt amid the storm-cloud, darkness, fire, to lives and eras. and our country too, so ruined and so weltering, like a ball of mud made in a missile by a god may bear, no less, a pearl at core, a truth, a liberty, a genius, beauty,--thrown in mischief by the god, and staining walls of this our temple; in a day to be dried up, cracks open, and the pearl appears to be set in a precious time beyond our time and vision. this is what i mean: call elenor egoist, and make her work, and life the means of rich return to her in exaltation, pride;--a missile of mud, it carries still the pearl of her, the seed of finer spirits. we must open eyes to see inside the mud-ball. if it be we conquered slavery of the negro through, because of economic forces, yet we conquered it. trade, cotton, were the mud upon the whinchat's claws containing seeds of liberties to be, and carried forth in mid seas of the future to sunny isles, more blest than ours. and as for this, you know the english blotted slavery from their books and left their books unbalanced in point of cash, but balanced richly in a manhood gain. i warn you, david barrow, pessimist, against a general slur on life and man. deride the christian ethic, if you choose, you must retain its word of benevolence; or better, you must honor man, whose heart leaps up to its benevolence, from whose heart the christian doctrine of benevolence did issue to this world. if christian doctrine be man-made, not a miracle, as it is all man-made, still it's out of generous fire of human spirit; that's the thing divine.... now how is elenor murray wonderful to me viewed through this mass of evidence? why, as the soul maternal, out of which all goodness, beauty, and benevolence, all aspiration, sacrifice, all death for truth and liberty blesses life of us. this soul maternal, passion to create new life and guide it into happiness, is mother mary of all tenderness, all charity, all vision, rises up from its obscurity and primal force of romance, passion and the child, to realms, democracies, republics; never flags to make them brighter, freer, so to spread its ecstasy to all, and take in turn redoubled ecstasy! the tragedy is that this elenor for her mother gift is cursed and tortured, sent a wanderer; and in her death must find much clinging mud around the pearl of her. if that be mud, which we have heard, around her, is it mud that weights the soul of america, the pure dream of our founders? larger athens, where all things should be heard gladly and considered, and men should grow, be forced to grow, because not driven or restrained by usages, or laws of mad majorities, but left at their own peril to work out their lives.... well, gentlemen, i'll tell you what i've learned. what is a man or woman but a sperm accreted into largeness? still a sperm in likeness, being brain and spinal cord, fed by the glands, the thyroid and the rest, whose secrets we are ignorant of. we know that when they fail our minds fail. but the glands are visible and clear: but in us whirl emotions; fear, disgust, murder or wrath, traced back to animals as moods of flight repulsion, curiosity, all the rest. now what are these but levers of our machine? elenor murray teaches this to me: build up a science of these levers, learn to handle fear, disgust, anger, wonder. they teach us physiology; who teaches the use of instincts and emotions, powers? all learning may be that, but what is that? why just a spread of food, where after nibbling you learn what you can eat, and what is good for you to eat. you'll see a different world when this philosophy of levers rules."... then merival tacked round and said: "i'll show the riffles in my life from elenor murray: the politicians give me notice now i cannot be the coroner again. i didn't want to be, but i had planned to go to congress, and they say to that we do not want you. so my circle turns, and riffles back to breeding better hogs, and finer cattle. here's the verdict, sign your names, and i'll return it to the clerk. the verdict "an inquisition taken for the people of the state of illinois here at leroy, county aforesaid, on the th of august, anna domini, nineteen hundred nineteen, before me, william merival, coroner for the said county, viewing here the body of elenor murray lying dead, upon the oath of six good lawful men, the same of the said county, being duly sworn to inquire for the said people into all the circumstances of her death, the said elenor murray, and by whom the same was brought about, and in what manner, when, and where she came to death, do say upon their oaths, that elenor murray lying dead in the office of the coroner at leroy came to her death on august th aforesaid upon the east shore of the illinois river a mile above starved rock, from syncope, while in the company of barrett bays, who held her in his arms when she was seized, and should have laid her down when she was seized to give her heart a chance to resume its beat." * * * * * the jury signed the verdict and arose and said good-night to merival, went their way. next day the coroner went to madison to look on arielle, who had written him. [transcriber's note: these stories have introductions which end with thought breaks, sometimes with a closing quotation mark from the storyteller. when the storyteller continues the story after the thought break, opening quotation marks are consistently omitted. remaining transcriber's notes are located at the end of the text.] [cover illustration: on secret service, william nelson taft] on secret service [decoration] on secret service _detective-mystery stories based on real cases solved by government agents_ by william nelson taft [illustration] harper & brothers publishers new york and london * * * * * on secret service copyright, , by harper & brothers printed in the united states of america * * * * * contents page i. a flash in the night ii. the mint mystery iii. the ypiranga case iv. the clue on shelf v. phyllis dodge, smuggler extraordinary vi. a matter of record vii. the secret still viii. the taxicab tangle ix. a match for the government x. the girl at the switchboard xi. "lost--$ , !" xii. "the double code" xiii. the trail of the white mice xiv. wah lee and the flower of heaven xv. the man with three wives xvi. after seven years xvii. the poison-pen puzzle xviii. thirty thousand yards of silk xix. the clue in the classified column xx. in the shadow of the capitol xxi. a million-dollar quarter xxii. "the looting of the c. t. c." xxiii. the case of mrs. armitage xxiv. five inches of death on secret service i a flash in the night we were sitting in the lobby of the willard, bill quinn and i, watching the constant stream of politicians, pretty women, and petty office seekers who drift constantly through the heart of washington. suddenly, under his breath, i heard quinn mutter, "hello!" and, following his eyes, i saw a trim, dapper, almost effeminate-looking chap of about twenty-five strolling through peacock alley as if he didn't have a care in the world. "what's the matter?" i inquired. "somebody who oughtn't to be here?" "not at all. he's got a perfect right to be anywhere he pleases, but i didn't know he was home. last time i heard of him he was in seattle, mixed up with those riots that ole hanson handled so well." "bolshevist?" "hardly," and quinn smiled. "don't you know jimmy callahan? well, it's scarcely the province of a secret service man to impress his face upon everyone ... the secret wouldn't last long. no, jimmy was working on the other end of the seattle affair. trying to locate the men behind the move--and i understand he did it fairly well, too. but what else would you expect from the man who solved that submarine tangle in norfolk?" quinn must have read the look of interest in my face, for he continued, almost without a pause: "did you ever hear the inside of that case? one of the most remarkable in the whole history of the secret service, and that's saying a good deal. i don't suppose it would do any harm to spill it, so let's move over there in a corner and i'll relate a few details of a case where the second hand of a watch played a leading role." * * * * * the whole thing started back in the spring of [said quinn, who held down a soft berth in the treasury department as a reward for a game leg obtained during a counterfeiting raid on long island]. along about then, if you remember, the germans let loose a lot of boasting statements as to what they were going to do to american ships and american shipping. transports were going to be sunk, commerce crippled and all that sort of thing. while not a word of it got into the papers, there were a bunch of people right here in washington who took these threats seriously--for the hun's most powerful weapon appeared to be in his submarines, and if a fleet of them once got going off the coast we'd lose a lot of valuable men and time landing them. then came the sinking of the _carolina_ and those other ships off the jersey coast. altogether it looked like a warm summer. one afternoon the chief sent for callahan, who'd just come back from taking care of some job down on the border, and told him his troubles. "jimmy," said the chief, "somebody on this side is giving those damn huns a whole lot of information that they haven't any business getting. you know about those boats they've sunk already, of course. they're only small fry. what they're laying for is a transport, another _tuscania_ that they can stab in the dark and make their getaway. the point that's worrying us is that the u-boats must be getting their information from some one over here. the sinking of the _carolina_ proves that. no submarine, operating on general cruising orders, could possibly have known when that ship was due or what course she was going to take. every precaution was taken at san juan to keep her sailing a secret, but of course you can't hide every detail of that kind. she got out. some one saw her, wired the information up the coast here and the man we've got to nab tipped the u-boat off. "of course we could go at it from porto rico, but that would mean wasting a whole lot more time than we can afford. it's not so much a question of the other end of the cable as it is who transmitted the message to the submarine--and how! "it's your job to find out before they score a real hit." callahan, knowing the way things are handled in the little suite on the west side of the treasury building, asked for the file containing the available information and found it very meager indeed. details of the sinking of the _carolina_ were included, among them the fact that the _u- _ had been waiting directly in the path of the steamer, though the latter was using a course entirely different from the one the new york and porto rico s. s. company's boats generally took. the evidence of a number of passengers was that the submarine didn't appear a bit surprised at the size of her prey, but went about the whole affair in a businesslike manner. the meat of the report was contained in the final paragraph, stating that one of the german officers had boasted that they "would get a lot more ships in the same way," adding, "don't worry--we'll be notified when they are going to sail." of course, callahan reasoned, this might be simply a piece of teutonic bravado--but there was more than an even chance that it was the truth, particularly when taken in conjunction with the sinking of the _texel_ and the _pinar del rio_ and the fact that the _carolina's_ course was so accurately known. but how in the name of heaven had they gotten their information? callahan knew that the four principal ports of embarkation for troops--boston, new york, norfolk, and charleston--were shrouded in a mantle of secrecy which it was almost impossible to penetrate. some months before, when he had been working on the case which grew out of the disappearance of the plans of the battleship _pennsylvania_, he had had occasion to make a number of guarded inquiries in naval circles in new york, and he recalled that it had been necessary not only to show his badge, but to submit to the most searching scrutiny before he was allowed to see the men he wished to reach. he therefore felt certain that no outsider could have dug up the specific information in the short space of time at their disposal. but, arguing that it had been obtained, the way in which it had been passed on to the u-boat also presented a puzzle. was there a secret submarine base on the coast? had some german, more daring than the rest, actually come ashore and penetrated into the very lines of the service? had he laid a plan whereby he could repeat this operation as often as necessary? or did the answer lie in a concealed wireless, operating upon information supplied through underground channels? these were only a few of the questions which raced through callahan's mind. the submarine base he dismissed as impracticable. he knew that the _thor_, the _unita_, the _macedonia_, and nine other vessels had, at the beginning of the war, cleared from american ports under false papers with the intention of supplying german warships with oil, coal, and food. he also knew that, of the million and a half dollars' worth of supplies, less than one-sixth had ever been transshipped. therefore, having failed so signally here, the germans would hardly try the same scheme again. the rumor that german officers had actually come into new york, where they were supposed to have been seen in a theater, was also rather far-fetched. so the wireless theory seemed to be the most tenable. but even a wireless cannot conceal its existence from the other stations indefinitely. of course, it was possible that it might be located on some unfrequented part of the coast--but then how could the operator obtain the information which he transmitted to the u-boat? callahan gave it up in despair--for that night. he was tired and he felt that eight hours' sleep would do him more good than thrashing around with a problem for which there appeared to be no solution; a problem which, after all, he couldn't even be sure existed. maybe, he thought, drowsily, as he turned off the light--maybe the german on the u-boat was only boasting, after all--or, maybe.... the first thing jimmy did the next morning was to call upon the head of the recently organized intelligence bureau of the war department--not the intelligence division which has charge of censorship and the handling of news, but the bureau which bears the same relation to the army that the secret service does to the treasury department. "from what ports are transports sailing within the next couple of weeks?" he inquired of the officer in charge. "from boston, new york, norfolk, and charleston," was the reply--merely confirming callahan's previous belief. he had hoped that the ground would be more limited, because he wanted to have the honor of solving this problem by himself, and it was hardly possible for him to cover the entire atlantic coast. "where's the biggest ship sailing from?" was his next question. "there's one that clears norfolk at daylight on monday morning with twelve thousand men aboard...." "norfolk?" interrupted callahan. "i thought most of the big ones left from new york or boston." "so they do, generally. but these men are from virginia and north carolina. therefore it's easier to ship them right out of norfolk--saves time and congestion of the railroads. as it happens, the ship they're going on is one of the largest that will clear for ten days or more. all of the other big ones are on the other side." "then," cut in callahan, "if the germans wanted to make a ten-strike they'd lay for that boat?" "they sure would--and one torpedo well placed would make the _tuscania_ look like a sunday-school picnic. but what's the idea? got a tip that the huns are going to try to grab her?" "no, not a tip," callahan called back over his shoulder, for he was already halfway out of the door; "just a hunch--and i'm going to play it for all it's worth!" the next morning, safely ensconced at the monticello under the name of "robert p. oliver, of williamsport, pa." callahan admitted to himself that he was indeed working on nothing more than a "hunch," and not a very well-defined one at that. the only point that appeared actually to back up his theory that the information was coming from norfolk was the fact that the u-boat was known to be operating between new york and the virginia capes. new york itself was well guarded and the surrounding country was continually patrolled by operatives of all kinds. it was the logical point to watch, and therefore it would be much more difficult to obtain and transmit information there than it would be in the vicinity of norfolk, where military and naval operations were not conducted on as large a scale nor with as great an amount of secrecy. norfolk, callahan found, was rather proud of her new-found glory. for years she had basked in the social prestige of the chamberlin, the annual gathering of the fleet at hampton roads and the military pomp and ceremony attendant upon the operations of fortress monroe. but the war had brought a new thrill. norfolk was now one of the principal ports of embarkation for the men going abroad. norfolk had finally taken her rank with new york and boston--the rank to which her harbor entitled her. callahan reached norfolk on wednesday morning. the _america_, according to the information he had received from the war department, would clear at daybreak monday--but at noon on saturday the secret service operative had very little more knowledge than when he arrived. he had found that there was a rumor to the effect that two u-boats were waiting off the capes for the transport, which, of course, would have the benefit of the usual convoy. "but," as one army officer phrased it, "what's the use of a convoy if they know just where you are? germany would willingly lose a sub. or two to get us, and, with the sea that's been running for the past ten days, there'd be no hope of saving more than half the boys." spurred by the rapidity with which time was passing and the fact that he sensed a thrill of danger--an intuition of impending peril--around the _america_, callahan spent the better part of friday night and all saturday morning running down tips that proved to be groundless. a man with a german name was reported to be working in secret upon some invention in an isolated house on willoughby spit; a woman, concerning whom little was known, had been seen frequently in the company of two lieutenants slated to sail on the _america_; a house in newport news emitted strange "clacking" sounds at night. but the alleged german proved to be a photographer of unassailable loyalty, putting in extra hours trying to develop a new process of color printing. the woman came from one of the oldest families in richmond and had known the two lieutenants for years. the house in newport news proved to be the residence of a young man who hoped some day to sell a photoplay scenario, the irregular clacking noise being made by a typewriter operated none too steadily. "that's what happens to most of the 'clues' that people hand you," callahan mused as he sat before his open window on saturday evening, with less than thirty-six hours left before the _america_ was scheduled to leave. "some fellows have luck with them, but i'll be hanged if i ever did. here i'm working in the dark on a case that i'm not even positive exists. that infernal submarine may be laying off boston at this minute, waiting for the ship that leaves there tuesday. maybe they don't get any word from shore at all.... maybe they just...." but here he was brought up with a sudden jar that concentrated all his mental faculties along an entirely different road. gazing out over the lights of the city, scarcely aware that he saw them, his subconscious mind had been following for the past three minutes something apparently usual, but in reality entirely out of the ordinary. "by george!" he muttered, "i wonder...." then, taking his watch from his pocket, his eyes alternated between a point several blocks distant--a point over the roofs of the houses--and the second hand of his timepiece. less than a minute elapsed before he reached for a pencil and commenced to jot down dots and dashes on the back of an envelope. when, a quarter of an hour later, he found that the dashes had become monotonous--as he expected they would--he reached for the telephone and asked to be connected with the private wire of the navy department in washington. "let me speak to mr. thurber at once," he directed. "operative callahan, s. s., speaking.... hello! that you, thurber?... this is callahan. i'm in norfolk and i want to know whether you can read this code. you can figure it out if anybody can. ready?... dash, dash, dash, dot, dash, dash, dot--" and he continued until he had repeated the entire series of symbols that he had plucked out of the night. "sounds like a variation of the international morse," came the comment from the other end of the wire--from thurber, librarian of the navy department and one of the leading american authorities on code and ciphers. "may take a little time to figure it out, but it doesn't look difficult. where can i reach you?" "i'm at the monticello--name of robert p. oliver. put in a call for me as soon as you see the light on it. i've got something important to do right now," and he hung up without another word. a quick grab for his hat, a pat under his arm, to make sure that the holster holding the automatic was in place, and callahan was on his way downstairs. once in the street, he quickened his pace and was soon gazing skyward at the corner of two deserted thoroughfares not many blocks from the monticello. a few minutes' consultation with his watch confirmed his impression that everything was right again and he commenced his search for the night watchman. "who," he inquired of that individual, "has charge of the operation of that phonograph sign on the roof?" "doan know fuh certain, suh, but ah think it's operated by a man down the street a piece. he's got charge of a bunch of them sort o' things. mighty funny kinder way to earn a livin', ah calls it--flashing on an' off all night long...." "but where's he work from?" interrupted callahan, fearful that the negro's garrulousness might delay him unduly. "straight down this street three blocks, suh. then turn one block to yo' left and yo' cain't miss the place. electrical advertisin' headquarters they calls it. thank you, suh," and callahan was gone almost before the watchman could grasp the fact that he held a five-dollar bill instead of a dollar, as he thought. it didn't take the secret service man long to locate the place he sought, and on the top floor he found a dark, swarthy individual bending over the complicated apparatus which operated a number of the electric signs throughout the city. before the other knew it, callahan was in the room--his back to the door and his automatic ready for action. "up with your hands!" snapped callahan. "higher! that's better. now tell me where you got that information you flashed out to sea to-night by means of that phonograph sign up the street. quick! i haven't any time to waste." "_si, si, señor_," stammered the man who faced him. "but i understand not the english very well." "all right," countered callahan. "let's try it in spanish," and he repeated his demands in that language. volubly the spaniard--or mexican, as he later turned out to be--maintained that he had received no information, nor had he transmitted any. he claimed his only duty was to watch the "drums" which operated the signs mechanically. "no drum in the world could make that sign flash like it did to-night," callahan cut in. "for more than fifteen minutes you sent a variation of the morse code seaward. come on--i'll give you just one minute to tell me, or i'll bend this gun over your head." before the minute had elapsed, the mexican commenced his confession. he had been paid a hundred dollars a week, he claimed, to flash a certain series of signals every saturday night, precisely at nine o'clock. the message itself--a series of dots and dashes which he produced from his pocket as evidence of his truthfulness--had reached him on saturday morning for the two preceding weeks. he didn't know what it meant. all he did was to disconnect the drum which operated the sign and move the switch himself. payment for each week's work, he stated, was inclosed with the next week's message. where it came from he didn't know, but the envelope was postmarked washington. with his revolver concealed in his coat pocket, but with its muzzle in the small of the mexican's back, callahan marched his captive back to the hotel and up into his room. as he opened the door the telephone rang out, and, ordering the other to stand with his face to the wall in a corner--"and be damn sure not to make a move"--the government agent answered the call. as he expected, it was thurber. "the code's a cinch," came the voice over the wire from washington. "but the message is infernally important. it's in german, and evidently you picked it up about two sentences from the start. the part you gave me states that the transport _america_, with twelve thousand men aboard, will leave norfolk at daylight monday. the route the ship will take is distinctly stated, as is the personnel of her convoy. where'd you get the message?" "flashes in the night," answered callahan. "i noticed that an electric sign wasn't behaving regularly--so i jotted down its signals and passed them on to you. the next important point is whether the message is complete enough for you to reconstruct the code. have you got all the letters?" "yes, every one of them." "then take down this message, put it into that dot-and-dash code and send it to me by special messenger on one of the navy torpedo boats to-night. it's a matter of life and death to thousands of men!" and callahan dictated three sentences over the wire. "got that?" he inquired. "good! get busy and hurry it down. i've got to have it in the morning." "turn around," he directed the mexican, as he replaced the receiver. "were you to send these messages only on saturday night?" "_si, señor._ save that i was told that there might be occasions when i had to do the same thing on sunday night, too." "at nine o'clock?" "_si, señor._" callahan smiled. things were breaking better than he had dared hope. it meant that the u-boat would be watching for the signal the following night. then, with proper emphasis of the automatic, he gave the mexican his orders. he was to return to his office with callahan and go about his business as usual, with the certainty that if he tried any foolishness the revolver could act more quickly than he. accompanied by the government agent, he was to come back to the monticello and spend the night in callahan's room, remaining there until the next evening when he would--promptly at nine o'clock and under the direction of an expert in telegraphy--send the message which callahan would hand him. that's practically all there is to the story. * * * * * "all?" i echoed, when quinn paused. "what do you mean, 'all'? what was the message callahan sent? what happened to the mexican? who sent the letter and the money from washington?" "nothing much happened to the mexican," replied my informant, with a smile. "they found that he was telling the truth, so they just sent him over the border with instructions not to show himself north of the rio grande. as for the letter--that took the post office, the department of justice, and the secret service the better part of three months to trace. but they finally located the sender, two weeks after she (yes, it was a woman, and a darned pretty one at that) had made her getaway. i understand they got her in england and sentenced her to penal servitude for some twenty years or more. in spite of the war, the anglo-saxon race hasn't completely overcome its prejudice against the death penalty for women." "but the message callahan sent?" i persisted. "that was short and to the point. as i recall it, it ran something like this: 'urgent--route of _america_ changed. she clears at daylight, but takes a course exactly ten miles south of one previously stated. be there." "the u-boat was there, all right. but so were four hydroplanes and half a dozen destroyers, all carrying the stars and stripes!" ii the mint mystery "mr drummond! wire for mr. drummond! mr. drummond, please!" it was the monotonous, oft-repeated call of a western union boy--according to my friend bill quinn, formerly of the united states secret service--that really was responsible for solving the mystery which surrounded the disappearance of $ , in gold from the philadelphia mint. "the boy himself didn't have a thing to do with the gold or the finding of it," admitted quinn, "but his persistence was responsible for locating drummond, of the secret service, just as he was about to start on a well-earned vacation in the maine woods. uncle sam's sleuths don't get any too much time off, you know, and a month or so in a part of the world where they don't know anything about international intrigues and don't care about counterfeiting is a blessing not to be despised. "that's the reason the boy had to be persistent when he was paging drummond. "the operative had a hunch that it was a summons to another case and he was dog tired. but the boy kept singing out the name through the train and finally landed his man, thus being indirectly responsible for the solution of a mystery that might have remained unsolved for weeks--and incidentally saved the government nearly every cent of the one hundred and thirty thousand dollars." * * * * * when drummond opened the telegram [continued quinn] he found that it was a summons to philadelphia, signed by hamlin, assistant secretary of the treasury. "preston needs you at once. extremely important," read the wire--and, as drummond was fully aware that preston was director of the united states mint, it didn't take much deduction to figure that something had gone wrong in the big building on spring garden street where a large part of the country's money is coined. but even the lure of the chase--something you read a lot about in detective stories, but find too seldom in the real hard work of tracing criminals--did not offset drummond's disappointment in having to defer his vacation. grumbling, he gathered his bags and cut across new york to the pennsylvania station, where he was fortunate enough to be able to make a train on the point of leaving for philadelphia. at the mint he found director preston and superintendent bosbyshell awaiting him. "mr. hamlin wired that he had instructed you to come up at once," said the director. "but we had hardly hoped that you could make it so soon." "wire reached me on board a train that would have pulled out of grand central station in another three minutes," growled drummond. "i was on my way to maine to forget all about work for a month. but," and his face broke into a smile, "since they did find me, what's the trouble?" "trouble enough," replied the director. "some hundred and thirty thousand dollars in gold is missing from the mint!" "what!" even drummond was shaken out of his professional calm, not to mention his grouch. robbery of the united states treasury or one of the government mints was a favorite dream with criminals, but--save for the memorable occasion when a gang was found trying to tunnel under fifteenth street in washington--there had been no time when the scheme was more than visionary. "are you certain? isn't there any chance for a mistake?" the questions were perfunctory, rather than hopeful. "unfortunately, not the least," continued preston. "somebody has made away with a hundred and thirty thousand dollars worth of the government's money. seven hundred pounds of gold is missing and there isn't a trace to show how or where it went. the vault doors haven't been tampered with. the combination of the grille inside the vault is intact. everything, apparently, is as it should be--but fifty bars of gold are missing." "and each bar," mused drummond, "weighs--" "fourteen pounds," cut in the superintendent. drummond looked at him in surprise. "i beg your pardon," said preston. "this is mr. bosbyshell, superintendent of the mint. this thing has gotten on my nerves so that i didn't have the common decency to introduce you. mr. bosbyshell was with me when we discovered that the gold was missing." "when was that?" "yesterday afternoon," replied the director. "every now and then--at irregular intervals--we weigh all the gold in the mint, to make sure that everything is as it should be. nothing wrong was discovered until we reached vault six, but there fifty bars were missing. there wasn't any chance of error. the records showed precisely how much should have been there and the scales showed how much there was, to the fraction of an ounce. "but even if we had only counted the bars, instead of weighing each one separately, the theft would have been instantly discovered, for the vault contained exactly fifty bars less than it should have. it was then that i wired washington and asked for assistance from the secret service." "thus spoiling my vacation," muttered drummond. "how many men know the combination to the vault door?" "only two," replied the superintendent. "cochrane, who is the official weigher, and myself. cochrane is above suspicion. he's been here for the past thirty years and there hasn't been a single complaint against him in all that time." drummond looked as if he would like to ask preston if the same could be said for the superintendent, but he contented himself with listening as bosbyshell continued: "but even if cochrane or i--yes, i'm just as much to be suspected as he--could have managed to open the vault door unseen, we could not have gotten inside the iron grille which guards the gold in the interior of the vault. that is always kept locked, with a combination known to two other men only. there's too much gold in each one of these vaults to take any chance with, which is the reason for this double protection. two men--cochrane and i--handle the combination to the vault door and open it whenever necessary. two others--jamison and strubel--are the only ones that know how to open the grille door. one of them has to be present whenever the bars are put in or taken away, for the men who can get inside the vault cannot enter the grille, and the men who can manipulate the grille door can't get into the vault." "it certainly sounds like a burglar-proof combination," commented drummond. "is there any possibility for conspiracy between"--and he hesitated for the fraction of a second--"between cochrane and either of the men who can open the grille door?" "apparently not the least in the world," replied preston. "so far as we know they are all as honest as the day--" "but the fact remains," drummond interrupted, "that the gold is missing." "exactly--but the grille door was sealed with the official governmental stamp when we entered the vault yesterday. that stamp is applied only in the presence of both men who know the combination. so the conspiracy, if there be any, must have included cochrane, strubel, and jamison--instead of being a two-man job." "how much gold did you say was missing?" inquired the treasury operative, taking another tack. "seven hundred pounds--fifty bars of fourteen pounds each," answered bosbyshell. "that's another problem that defies explanation. how could one man carry away all that gold without being seen? he'd need a dray to cart it off, and we're very careful about what goes out of the mint. there's a guard at the front door all the time, and no one is allowed to leave with a package of any kind until it has been examined and passed." a grunt was drummond's only comment--and those who knew the secret service man best would have interpreted the sound to mean studious digestion of facts, rather than admission of even temporary defeat. it was one of the government detective's pet theories that every crime, no matter how puzzling, could be solved by application of common-sense principles and the rules of logic. "the criminal with brains," he was fond of saying, "will deliberately try to throw you off the scent. then you've got to take your time and separate the wheat from the chaff--the false leads from the true. but the man who commits a crime on the spur of the moment--or who flatters himself that he hasn't left a single clue behind--is the one who's easy to catch. the cleverest crook in the world can't enter a room without leaving his visiting card in some way or other. it's up to you to find that card and read the name on it. and common sense is the best reading glass." requesting that his mission be kept secret, drummond said that he would like to examine vault no. six. "let cochrane open the vault for me and then have jamison and strubel open the grille," he directed. "unless mr. bosbyshell opened the vault door," preston reminded him, "there's no one but cochrane who could do it. it won't be necessary, however, to have either of the others open the grille--the door was taken from its hinges this morning in order the better to examine the place and it hasn't yet been replaced." "all right," agreed drummond. "let's have cochrane work the outer combination, then. i'll have a look at the other two later." accompanied by the director and the superintendent, drummond made his way to the basement where they were joined by the official weigher, a man well over fifty, who was introduced by preston to "mr. drummond, a visitor who is desirous of seeing the vaults." "i understand that you are the only man who can open them," said the detective. "suppose we look into this one," as he stopped, as if by accident, before vault no. . cochrane, without a word, bent forward and commenced to twirl the combination. a few spins to the right, a few to the left, back to the right, to the left once more--and he pulled at the heavy door expectantly. but it failed to budge. again he bent over the combination, spinning it rapidly. still the door refused to open. "i'm afraid i'll have to ask you to help me with this, superintendent," cochrane said, finally. "it doesn't seem to work, somehow." but, under bosbyshell's manipulation, the door swung back almost instantly. "nothing wrong with the combination," commented preston. drummond smiled. "has the combination been changed recently?" he asked. "not for the past month," bosbyshell replied. "we usually switch all of them six times a year, just as a general precaution--but this has been the same for the past few weeks. ever since the fifteenth of last month, to be precise." inside the vault drummond found that, as preston had stated, the door to the grille had been taken from its hinges, to facilitate the work of the men who had weighed the gold, and had not been replaced. "where are the gold bars?" asked the detective. "the place looks like it had been well looted." "they were all taken out this morning, to be carefully weighed," was preston's reply. "i'd like to see some of them stacked up there along the side of the grille, if it isn't too much trouble." "surely," said bosbyshell. "i'll have the men bring them in at once." as soon as the superintendent had left the room, drummond requested that the door of the grille be placed in its usual position, and cochrane set it up level with the floor, leaning against the supports at the side. "is that the way it always stays?" inquired the secret service man. "no, sir, but it's pretty heavy to handle, and i thought you just wanted to get a general idea of things." "i'd like to see it in place, if you don't mind. here, i'll help you with it--but we better slip our coats off, for it looks like a man's-sized job," and he removed his coat as he spoke. after cochrane had followed his example, the two of them hung the heavy door from its hinges and stepped back to get the effect. but drummond's eyes were fixed, not upon the entrance to the grille, but on the middle of cochrane's back, and, when the opportunity offered an instant later, he shifted his gaze to the waist of the elder man's trousers. something that he saw there caused the shadow of a smile to flit across his face. "thanks," he said. "that will do nicely," and he made a quick gesture to preston that he would like to have cochrane leave the vault. "very much obliged, mr. cochrane," said the director. "we won't bother you any more. you might ask those men to hurry in with the bars, if you will." and the weigher, pausing only to secure his coat, left the vault. "why all the stage setting?" inquired preston. "you don't suspect...." "i don't suspect a thing," drummond smiled, searching for his own coat, "beyond the fact that the solution to the mystery is so simple as to be almost absurd. by the way, have you noticed those scratches on the bars of the grille, about four feet from the floor?" "no, i hadn't," admitted the director. "but what of them? these vaults aren't new, you know, and i dare say you'd find similar marks on the grille bars in any of the others." "i hope not," drummond replied, grimly, "for that would almost certainly mean a shortage of gold in other sections of the mint. incidentally, has all the rest of the gold been weighed?" "every ounce of it." "nothing missing?" "outside of the seven hundred pounds from this vault, not a particle." "good--then i'll be willing to lay a small wager that you can't find the duplicates of these scratches anywhere else in the mint." and drummond smiled at the director's perplexity. when the men arrived with a truck loaded with gold bars, they stacked them--at the superintendent's direction--along the side of the grille nearest the vault entrance. "is that the way they are usually arranged?" inquired drummond. "yes--the grille bars are of tempered steel and the openings between them are too small to permit anyone to put his hand through. therefore, as we are somewhat pressed for space, we stack them up right along the outer wall of the grille and then work back. it saves time and labor in bringing them in." "is this the way the door of the grille ordinarily hangs?" bosbyshell inspected it a moment before he replied. "yes," he said. "it appears to be all right. it was purposely made to swing clear of the floor and the ceiling so that it might not become jammed. the combination and the use of the seal prevents its being opened by anyone who has no business in the grille." "and the seal was intact when you came in yesterday afternoon?" "it was." "thanks," said drummond; "that was all i wanted to know," and he made his way upstairs with a smile which seemed to say that his vacation in the maine woods had not been indefinitely postponed. once back in the director's office, the government operative asked permission to use the telephone, and, calling the philadelphia office of the secret service, requested that three agents be assigned to meet him down town as soon as possible. "have you a record of the home address of the people employed in the mint?" drummond inquired of the director, as he hung up the receiver. "surely," said preston, producing a typewritten list from the drawer of his desk. "i'll borrow this for a while, if i may. i'll probably be back with it before three o'clock--and bring some news with me, too," and the operative was out of the room before preston could frame a single question. as a matter of fact, the clock in the director's office pointed to two-thirty when drummond returned, accompanied by the three men who had been assigned to assist him. "have you discovered anything?" preston demanded. "let's have cochrane up here first," drummond smiled. "i can't be positive until i've talked to him. you might have the superintendent in, too. he'll be interested in developments, i think." bosbyshell was the first to arrive, and, at drummond's request, took up a position on the far side of the room. as soon as he had entered, two of the other secret service men ranged themselves on the other side of the doorway and, the moment cochrane came in, closed the door behind him. "cochrane," said drummond, "what did you do with the seven hundred pounds of gold that you took from vault no. six during the past few weeks?" "what--what--" stammered the weigher. "there's no use bluffing," continued the detective. "we've got the goods on you. the only thing missing is the gold itself, and the sooner you turn it over the more lenient the government will be with you. i know how you got the bars out of the grille--a piece of bent wire was sufficient to dislodge them from the top of the pile nearest the grille bars and it was easy to slip them under the door. no wonder the seal was never tampered with. it wasn't necessary for you to go inside the grille at all. "but, more than that, i know how you carried the bars, one at a time, out of the mint. it took these three men less than an hour this afternoon to find the tailor who fixed the false pocket in the front of your trousers--the next time you try a job of this kind you better attend to all these details yourself--and it needed only one look at your suspenders this morning to see that they were a good deal wider and heavier than necessary. that long coat you are in the habit of wearing is just the thing to cover up any suspicious bulge in your garments and the guard at the door, knowing you, would never think of telling you to stop unless you carried a package or something else contrary to orders. "the people in your neighborhood say that they've seen queer bluish lights in the basement of your house on woodland avenue. so i suspect you've been melting that gold up and hiding it somewhere, ready for a quick getaway. "yes, cochrane, we've got the goods on you and if you want to save half of a twenty-year sentence--which at your age means life--come across with the information. where is the gold?" "in the old sewer pipe," faltered the weigher, who appeared to have aged ten years while drummond was speaking. "in the old sewer pipe that leads from my basement." "good!" exclaimed drummond. "i think mr. preston will use his influence with the court to see that your sentence isn't any heavier than necessary. it's worth that much to guard the mint against future losses of the same kind, isn't it, mr. director?" "it surely is," replied preston. "but how in the name of heaven did you get the answer so quickly?" drummond delayed his answer until cochrane, accompanied by the three secret service men, had left the room. then-- "nothing but common sense," he said. "you remember those scratches i called your attention to--the ones on the side of the grille bars? they were a clear indication of the way in which the gold had been taken from the grille--knocked down from the top of the pile with a piece of wire and pulled under the door of the grille. that eliminated jamison and strubel immediately. they needn't have gone to that trouble, even if it had been possible for them to get into the vault in the first place. "but i had my suspicions of cochrane when he was unable to open the vault door. that pointed to nervousness, and nervousness indicated a guilty conscience. i made the hanging of the grille door an excuse to get him to shed his coat--though i did want to see whether the door came all the way down to the floor--and i noted that his suspenders were very broad and his trousers abnormally wide around the waist. he didn't want to take any chances with that extra fourteen pounds of gold, you know. it would never do to drop it in the street. "the rest is merely corroborative. i found that bluish lights had been observed in the basement of cochrane's house, and one of my men located the tailor who had enlarged his trousers. that's really all there was to it." with that drummond started to the door, only to be stopped by director preston's inquiry as to where he was going. "on my vacation, which you interrupted this morning," replied the secret service man. "it's a good thing i did," preston called after him. "if cochrane had really gotten away with that gold we might never have caught him." * * * * * "which," as bill quinn said, when he finished his narrative, "is the reason i claim that the telegraph boy who persisted in paging drummond is the one who was really responsible for the saving of some hundred and thirty thousand dollars that belonged to uncle sam." "but, surely," i said, "that case was an exception. in rapidity of action, i mean. don't governmental investigations usually take a long time?" "frequently," admitted quinn, "they drag on and on for months--sometimes years. but it's seldom that uncle sam fails to land his man--even though the trail leads into the realms of royalty, as in the ypiranga case. that happened before the world war opened, but it gave the state department a mighty good line on what to expect from germany." iii the ypiranga case "mexico," said bill quinn, who now holds a soft berth in the treasury department by virtue of an injury received in the line of duty--during a raid on counterfeiters a few years ago, to be precise--"is back on the first page of the papers again after being crowded off for some four years because of the world war. funny coincidence, that, when you remember that it was this same mexico that gave us our first indication of the way we might expect germany to behave." "huh?" i said, a bit startled. "what do you mean? the first spark of the war was kindled in serbia, not mexico. outside of the rumblings of the algeciras case and one or two other minor affairs, there wasn't the slightest indication of the conflict to come." "no?" and quinn's eyebrows went up in interrogation. "how about the ypiranga case?" "the which?" "the ypiranga case--the one where jack stewart stumbled across a clue in a mexico city café which led all the way to berlin and back to washington and threatened to precipitate a row before the kaiser was quite ready for it?" "no," i admitted, "that's a page of underground history that i haven't read--and i must confess that i don't know stewart, either." "probably not," said the former secret service man. "he wasn't connected with any of the branches of the government that get into print very often. as a matter of fact, the very existence of the organization to which he belonged isn't given any too much publicity. everyone knows of the secret service and the men who make the investigations for the department of justice and the post-office department--but the department of state, for obvious reasons, conducts its inquiries in a rather more diplomatic manner. its agents have to pose as commercial investigators, or something else equally as prosaic. their salaries are, as a general thing, paid out of the president's private allowance or out of the fund given to the department 'for use as it may see fit.' less than half a dozen people know the actual status of the organization or the names of its members at any one time, and its exploits are recorded only in the archives of the state department." "but who," i persisted, as quinn stopped, "was jack stewart and what was the nature of the affair upon which he stumbled in mexico city?" * * * * * stewart [replied quinn] was just a quiet, ordinary sort of chap, the kind that you'd expect to find behind a desk in the state department, sorting out consular reports and handling routine stuff. nothing exceptional about him at all--which was probably one reason for his being selected for work as a secret agent of the department. it doesn't do, you know, to pick men who are conspicuous, either in their dress or manner. too easy to spot and remember them. the chap who's swallowed up in the crowd is the one who can get by with a whole lot of quiet work without being suspected. when they sent jack down to mexico they didn't have the slightest idea he'd uncover anything as big as he did. the country south of the rio grande, if you recall, had been none too quiet for some time prior to . taft had had his troubles with it ever since the end of the diaz regime, and when wilson came in the "mexican question" was a legacy that caused the men in the state department to spend a good many sleepless nights. all sorts of rumors, most of them wild and bloody, floated up through official and unofficial channels. the one fact that seemed to be certain was that mexico was none too friendly to the united states, and that some other nation was behind this feeling, keeping it constantly stirred up and overlooking no opportunity to add fuel to the flame. three or four other members of the state department's secret organization had been wandering around picking up leads for some months past and, upon the return of one of these to washington, stewart was sent to replace him. his instructions were simple and delightfully indefinite. he was to proceed to mexico city, posing as the investigator for a financial house in new york which was on the lookout for a soft concession from the mexican government. this would give him an opportunity to seek the acquaintance of mexican officials and lend an air of plausibility to practically any line that he found it necessary to follow. but, once at the capital with his alibis well established, he was to overlook nothing which might throw light upon the question that had been bothering washington for some time past--just which one of the foreign powers was fanning the mexican unrest and to what lengths it was prepared to go? of course, the state department suspected--just as we now know--that berlin was behind the movement, but at that time there was no indication of the reason. in the light of later events, however, the plan is plain. germany, feeling certain that the greatest war europe had ever known was a matter of the immediate future, was laying her plans to keep other nations out of the conflict. she figured that mexico was the best foil for the united states and that our pitifully small army would have its hands full with troubles at home. if not, she intended to let japan enter into the equation--as shown by the zimmerman note some two years later. when stewart got to mexico city, it did not take him long to discover that there was an undercurrent of animosity to the united states which made itself felt in numberless ways. some of the mexican papers, apparently on a stronger financial basis than ever before, were outspoken in their criticism of american dollars and american dealings. the people as a whole, long dominated by diaz, were being stirred to resentment of the "gringoes," who "sought to purchase the soul of a nation as well as its mineral wealth." the improvements which american capital had made were entirely overlooked, and the spotlight of subsidized publicity was thrown upon the encroachments of the hated yankees. all this stewart reported to washington, and in reply was politely informed that, while interesting, it was hardly news. the state department had known all this for months. the question was: where was the money coming from and what was the immediate object of the game? "take your time and don't bother us unless you find something definite to report," was the substance of the instructions cabled to stewart. the secret agent, therefore, contented himself with lounging around the very inviting cafés of the mexican capital and making friends with such officials as might be able to drop scraps of information. it was november when he first hit mexico city. it was nearly the middle of april before he picked up anything at all worth while. of course, in the meantime he had uncovered a number of leads--but every one of them was blind. for a day or two, or a week at most, they would hold out glowing promise of something big just around the corner. then, when he got to the end of the rainbow, he would find an empty pail in place of the pot of gold he had hoped for. it wasn't surprising, therefore, that stewart was growing tired of the life of continual mystery, of developments that never developed, of secrets that were empty and surprises that faded away into nothing. it was on the th of april, while seated at a little table in front of a sidewalk café on the calles de victoria, that the american agent obtained his first real clue to the impending disaster. when two mexicans whom he knew by sight, but not by name, sat down at a table near his he pricked up his ears purely by instinct, rather than through any real hope of obtaining information of value. the arrival of the usual sugared drinks was followed by a few words of guarded conversation, and then one of the mexicans remarked, in a tone a trifle louder than necessary, that "the united states is a nation of cowardly women, dollar worshipers who are afraid to fight, and braggarts who would not dare to back up their threats." it was an effort for stewart to remain immersed in the newspaper propped up in front of him. often as he had heard these sentiments expressed, his southern blood still rose involuntarily--until his logic reminded him that his mission was not to start a quarrel, but to end one. he knew that no good could ensue from his taking up the challenge, and the very fact that the speaker had raised his voice gave him the tip that the words were uttered for his especial benefit, to find out whether he understood spanish--for he made no attempt to disguise his nationality. with a smile which did not show on his lips, stewart summoned the waiter and in atrocious spanish ordered another glass of lemonade. his complete knowledge of the language was the one thing which he had managed to keep entirely under cover ever since reaching mexico, for he figured that the natives would speak more freely in his presence if they believed he could not gather what they were discussing. the trick worked to perfection. "pig-headed yankee," commented the mexican who had first spoken. "lemonade! pah!--they haven't the nerve to take a man's drink!" and he drained his glass of _pulque_ at a single gulp. the other, who had not spoken above a whisper, raised his glass and regarded it in silence for a moment. then--"prosit," he said, and drank. "_nom di dio_," warned his companion. "be careful! the american hog does not speak spanish well enough to understand those who use it fluently, but he may speak german." stewart smothered a smile behind his paper. spanish had always been a hobby of his--but he only knew about three words in german! "i understand," continued the mexican, "that victoriano is preparing for the coup, just as i always figured he would" (stewart knew that "victoriano" was the familiar form in which the populace referred to victoriano huerta, self-appointed president of mexico and the man who had steadfastly defied the american government in every way possible, taking care not to allow matters to reach such a hot stage that he could handle them through diplomatic promises to see that things "improved in the future"). "_el presidente_ has always been careful to protect himself"--the speaker went on--"but now that you have brought definite assurance from our friends that the money and the arms will be forthcoming within the fortnight there is nothing further to fear from the yankee pigs. it will be easy to stir up sentiment against them here overnight, and before they can mass their handful of troops along the rio grande we will have retaken texas and wiped out the insult of 'forty-eight. what is the latest news from the ship?" "the ----?" inquired the man across the table, but his teutonic intonation of what was evidently a spanish name was so jumbled that all stewart could catch was the first syllable--something that sounded like "_eep_." "is that the name?" asked the mexican. "yes," replied the other. "she sailed from hamburg on the seventh. allowing two weeks for the passage--she isn't fast, you know--that would bring her into vera cruz about the twenty-first. once there, the arms can be landed and...." the events of the next few minutes moved so rapidly that, when stewart had time to catch his breath, he found it difficult to reconstruct the affair with accuracy. he recalled that he had been so interested in the conversation at the next table that he had failed to notice the approach of the only other man he knew in the state department's secret organization--dawson, who had been prowling around the west coast on an errand similar to his. before he knew it dawson had clapped him on the back and exclaimed: "hello, jack! didn't expect to see you here--thought you'd be looking over things in the vicinity of the palace." the words themselves were innocent enough, but--they were spoken in fluent, rapid spanish and stewart had shown that he understood! "_sapristi!_" hissed the mexican. "did you see?" and he bent forward to whisper hurriedly to his companion. stewart recovered himself instantly, but the damage had been done. "hello, dawson," he answered in english, trusting that the men at the next table had not noted his slip. "sit down and have something? rotten weather, isn't it? and not a lead in sight. these mexicans seem to be afraid to enter into any contract that ties them up more than a year--and eighteen revolutions can happen in that time." as dawson seated himself, stewart gave him a hasty sign to be careful. watching the mexican and his companion out of the corner of his eye, he steered the conversation into harmless channels, but a moment later the pair at the next table called the waiter, gave some whispered instructions, and left. "what's the matter?" asked dawson. "nothing--except that i involuntarily registered a knowledge of spanish when you spoke to me just now, and i've spent several months building up a reputation for knowing less about the language than anyone in mexico city. as luck would have it, there was a couple seated at the next table who were giving me what sounded like the first real dope i've had since i got here. i'll tell you about it later. the question now is to get back to the hotel before that precious pair get in their dirty work. a code message to washington is all i ask--but, if i'm not mistaken, we are going to have our work cut out for us on the way back." "scott! serious as that, is it?" muttered dawson. "well, there are two of us and i'd like to see their whole dam' army try to stop us. let's go!" "wait a minute," counseled stewart. "there's no real hurry, for they wouldn't dare try to start anything in the open. in case we get separated or--if anything should happen--wire the department in code that a vessel with a spanish name--something that begins with 'eep'--has cleared hamburg, loaded with guns and ammunition. expected at vera cruz about the twenty-first. germany's behind the whole plot. now i'll settle up and we'll move." but as he reached for his pocketbook a mexican swaggering along the sidewalk deliberately stumbled against his chair and sent him sprawling. dawson was on his feet in an instant, his fists clenched and ready for action. but stewart had noted that the mexican had three companions and that one of the men who had occupied the adjoining table was watching the affair from a vantage point half a block away. with a leap that was catlike in its agility, stewart seized the swaggering native by the legs in a football tackle, and upset him against his assistants. "quick, this way!" he called to dawson, starting up the street away from the watcher at the far corner. as he ran, his hand slipped into his coat pocket where the small, but extremely efficient, automatic with which all government agents are supplied usually rested. but the gun wasn't there! apparently it had slipped out in the scuffle a moment before. hardly had he realized that he was unarmed before he and dawson were confronted by five other natives coming from the opposite direction. the meager lighting system of the mexican capital, however, was rather a help than a detriment, for in the struggle which followed it was practically impossible to tell friend from foe. the two americans, standing shoulder to shoulder, had the added advantage of teamwork--something which the natives had never learned. "don't use your gun if you can help it," stewart warned. "we don't want the police in on this!" as he spoke his fist shot out and the leader of the attacking party sprawled in the street. no sound came from dawson, beyond a grunt, as he landed on the man he had singled out of the bunch. the ten seconds that followed were jammed with action, punctuated with the shrill cries for reinforcements from the mexicans, and brightened here and there by the dull light from down the street which glinted off the long knives--the favorite weapon of the latin-american fighter. stewart and dawson realized that they must not only fight, but fight fast. every second brought closer the arrival of help from the rear, but dawson waited until he could hear the reinforcements almost upon them before he gave the word to break through. then-- "come on, jack!" he called. "let's go!" heads down, fists moving with piston-like precision, the two americans plowed their way through. dawson swore later that he felt at least one rib give under the impact of the blows and he knew that he nursed a sore wrist for days, but stewart claimed that his energies were concentrated solely on the scrap and that he didn't have time to receive any impression of what was going on. he knew that he had to fight his way out--that it was essential for one of them to reach the telegraph office or the embassy with the news they carried. it was a case of fight like the devil and trust to luck and the darkness for aid. almost before they knew it, they had broken through the trio in front of them and had turned down the calles ancha, running in a form that would have done credit to a college track team. behind them they heard the muffled oaths of their pursuers as they fell over the party they had just left. "they don't want to attract the police any more than we do," gasped dawson. "they don't dare shoot!" but as he spoke there came the z-z-i-pp of a bullet, accompanied by the sharp crack of a revolver somewhere behind them. "careful," warned stewart. "we've got to skirt that street light ahead. duck and--" but with that he crumpled up, a bullet through his hip. without an instant's hesitation dawson stooped, swung his companion over his shoulder, and staggered on, his right hand groping for his automatic. once out of the glare of the arc light, he felt that he would be safe, at least for a moment. then, clattering toward them, he heard a sound that spelled safety--one of the open nighthawk cabs that prowl around the streets of the mexican capital. shifting stewart so that his feet rested on the ground, he wheeled and raked the street behind him with a fusillade from his automatic. there was only a dull mass of whitish clothing some fifty yards away at which to aim, but he knew that the counter-attack would probably gain a few precious seconds of time--time sufficient to stop the cab and to put his plan into operation. the moment the cab came into the circle of light from the street lamp dawson dragged his companion toward it, seized the horse's bridle with his free hand and ordered the driver to halt. before the cabby had recovered his wits the two americans were in the vehicle and dawson had his revolver pressed none too gently into the small of the driver's back. the weapon was empty, but the mexican didn't know that, and he responded instantly to dawson's order to turn around and drive "as if seventy devils of hades were after him!" outside of a few stray shots that followed as they disappeared up the street, the drive to the embassy was uneventful, and, once under the shelter of the american flag, the rest was easy. stewart, it developed, had sustained only a flesh wound through the muscles of his hip--painful, but not dangerous. within ten minutes after he had reached o'shaughnessy's office he was dictating a code wire to washington--a cable which stated that a vessel with a spanish name, commencing with something that sounded like "eep," had cleared hamburg on the seventh, loaded with arms and ammunition destined to advance the interests of mexican revolutionists and to hamper the efforts of the united states to preserve order south of the border. the wire reached washington at noon of the following day and was instantly transmitted to berlin, with instructions to ambassador gerard to look into the matter and report immediately. vessel in question is probably the _ypiranga_ [stated a code the following morning]. cleared hamburg on date mentioned, presumably loaded with grain. rumors here of large shipment of arms to some latin american republic. practically certain that wilhelmstrasse is behind the move, but impossible to obtain confirmation. motive unknown. ten minutes after this message had been decoded the newspaper correspondents at the white house noted that a special cabinet meeting had been called, but no announcement was made of its purpose or of the business transacted, beyond the admission that "the insult to the flag at tampico had been considered." promptly at noon the great wireless station at arlington flashed a message to admiral mayo, in command of the squadron off the mexican coast. in effect, it read: proceed immediately to vera cruz. await arrival of steamer _ypiranga_, loaded with arms. prevent landing at any cost. blockade upon pretext of recent insult to flag. atlantic fleet ordered to your support. * * * * * "the rest of the story," concluded quinn, "is a matter of history. how the fleet bottled up the harbor at vera cruz, how it was forced to send a landing party ashore under fire, and how seventeen american sailors lost their lives during the guerrilla attack which followed. all that was spread across the front pages of american papers in big black type--but the fact that a steamer named the _ypiranga_ had been held up by the american fleet and forced to anchor at a safe distance offshore, under the guns of the flagship, was given little space. apparently it was a minor incident--but in reality it was the crux of the whole situation, an indication of germany's rancor, which was to burst its bounds before four months had passed, another case in which the arm of uncle sam had been long enough to stretch halfway across a continent and nip impending disaster." "but," i inquired, as he paused, "what became of dawson and stewart?" "that i don't know," replied quinn. "the last time i heard of jack he had a captain's commission in france and was following up his feud with the hun that started in mexico city four months before the rest of the world dreamed of war. dawson, i believe, is still in the department, and rendered valuable assistance in combating german propaganda in chile and peru. he'll probably be rewarded with a consular job in some out-of-the-way hole, for, now that the war is over, the organization to which he belongs will gradually dwindle to its previous small proportions. "strange, wasn't it, how that pair stumbled across one of the first tentacles of the world war in front of a café in mexico city? that's one beauty of government detective work--you never know when the monotony is going to be blown wide open by the biggest thing you ever happened upon. "there was little mary mcnilless, who turned up the clue which prevented an explosion, compared to which the black tom affair would have been a sunday-school party. she never dreamed that she would prevent the loss of millions of dollars' worth of property and at least a score of lives, but she did--without moving from her desk." "how?" i asked. but quinn yawned, looked at his watch, and said: "that's entirely too long a story to spin right now. it's past my bedtime, and mrs. quinn's likely to be fussy if i'm not home by twelve at least. she says that now i have an office job she can at least count on my being round to guard the house--something that she never could do before. so let's leave mary for another time. goodnight"--and he was off. iv the clue on shelf "of course, it is possible that patriotism might have prompted mary mcnilless to locate the clue which prevented an explosion that would have seriously hampered the munitions industry of the united states--but the fact remains that she did it principally because she was in love with dick walters, and dick happened to be in the secret service. it was one case where cupid scored over mars." bill quinn eased the game leg which he won as the trophy of a counterfeiting raid some years before into a more comfortable position, reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch, and settled himself for another reminiscence of the service with which he had formerly been actively connected. "mary was--and doubtless still is--one of those red-headed, blue-eyed irish beauties whom nature has peppered with just enough freckles to make them alluring, evidences that the sun itself couldn't help kissing her. but, from all i've been able to gather, the sun was in a class by itself. until dick walters came upon the scene, miss mcnilless held herself strictly aloof from masculine company and much preferred to spend an evening with her books than to take a trip to coney or any of the other resorts where a girl's kisses pass as current coin in payment for three or four hours' outing. "dick was just the kind of chap that would have appealed to mary, or to 'most any other girl, for that matter. maybe you remember him. he used to be at the white house during taft's regime, but they shifted most of the force soon after wilson came in and dick was sent out to the coast on an opium hunt that kept him busy for more than a year. in fact, he came east just in time to be assigned to the von ewald case--and, incidentally, to fall foul of mary and cupid, a pair that you couldn't tie, much less beat." * * * * * the von ewald case [quinn continued, after pausing a moment to repack his pipe] was one of the many exploits of the secret service that never got in the papers. to be strictly truthful, it wasn't as much a triumph for the s. s. as it was for mary mcnilless--and, besides, we weren't at war with germany at that time, so it had to be kept rather dark. but germany was at war with us. you remember the black tom explosion in august, nineteen sixteen? well, if the plans of von ewald and his associates hadn't been frustrated by a little red-headed girl with exceptional powers of observation, there would have been a detonation in wilmington, delaware, that would have made the black tom affair, with its damage of thirty millions of dollars, sound like the college yell of a deaf-and-dumb institute. as far back as january, nineteen sixteen, the secret service knew that there were a number of germans in new york who desired nothing so much as to hinder the munitions industry of the united states, despite the fact that we were a neutral nation. from harry newton, the leader in the second plot to destroy the welland canal, and from paul seib, who was implicated in the attempt to destroy shipping at hoboken, they forced the information that the conspirators received their orders and drew their pay from a man of many aliases, known to his associates as "number eight fifty-nine" and occasionally, to the world at large, as "von ewald." this much was known in washington--but, when you came to analyze the information, it didn't amount to a whole lot. it's one thing to know that some one is plotting murder and arson on a wholesale scale, but discovering the identity of that individual is an entirely different proposition, one which called for all the finesse and obstinacy for which the governmental detective services are famous. another factor that complicated the situation was that speed was essential. the problem was entirely different from a counterfeiting or smuggling case, where you can be content to let the people on the other side of the table make as many moves as they wish, with the practical certainty that you'll land them sooner or later. "give them plenty of rope and they'll land in leavenworth" is a favorite axiom in the service--but here you had to conserve your rope to the uttermost. every day that passed meant that some new plot was that much nearer completion--that millions of dollars in property and the lives of no-one-knew-how-many people were still in danger. so the order went forward from the headquarters of the service, "get the man known as von ewald and get him quick!" secret service men, postal inspectors, and department of justice agents were called in from all parts of the country and rushed to new york, until the metropolis looked like the headquarters of a convention of governmental detectives. grogan, the chap that landed perry, the master-counterfeiter, was there, as were george macmasters and sid shields, who prevented the revolution in cuba three or four years ago. jimmy reynolds was borrowed from the internal revenue bureau, and althouse, who spoke german like a native, was brought up from the border where he had been working on a propaganda case just across the line. there must have been forty men turned loose on this assignment alone, and, in the course of the search for von ewald, there were a number of other developments scarcely less important than the main issue. at least two of these--the trenton taxicab tangle and the affair of the girl at the switchboard--are exploits worthy of separate mention. but, in spite of the great array of detective talent, no one could get a line on von ewald. in april, when dick walters returned from the coast, the other men in the service were frankly skeptical as to whether there was a von ewald at all. they had come to look upon him as a myth, a bugaboo. they couldn't deny that there must be some guiding spirit to the teutonic plots, but they rather favored the theory that several men, rather than one, were to blame. walters' instructions were just like the rest--to go to new york and stick on the job until the german conspirator was apprehended. "maybe it's one man, maybe there're half a dozen," the chief admitted, "but we've got to nail 'em. the very fact that they haven't started anything of consequence since the early part of the year would appear to point to renewed activity very shortly. it's up to you and the other men already in new york to prevent the success of any of these plots." walters listened patiently to all the dope that had been gathered and then figured, as had every new man, that it was up to him to do a little sleuthing of his own. the headquarters of the german agents was supposed to be somewhere in greenwich village, on one of those half-grown alleys that always threatens to meet itself coming back. but more than a score of government operatives had combed that part of the town without securing a trace of anything tangible. on the average of once a night the phone at headquarters would ring and some one at the other end would send in a hurry call for help up in the bronx or in harlem or some other distant part of the city where he thought he had turned up a clue. the men on duty would leap into the machine that always waited at the curb and fracture every speed law ever made--only to find, when they arrived, that it was a false alarm. finally, after several weeks of that sort of thing, conditions commenced to get on dick's nerves. "i'm going to tackle this thing on my own," he announced. "luck is going to play as much of a part in landing von ewald as anything else--and luck never hunted with more than one man. good-by! see you fellows later." but it was a good many weeks--august, to be precise--before the men in the federal building had the opportunity of talking to walters. he would report over the phone, of course, and drop down there every few days--but he'd only stay long enough to find out if there was any real news or any orders from washington. then he'd disappear uptown. "dick's sure got a grouch these days," was the comment that went around after walters had paid one of his flying visits. "yeh," grunted barry, who was on duty that night, "either the von ewald case's got on his nerves or he's found a girl that can't see him." neither supposition missed the mark very far. walters was getting sick and tired of the apparently fruitless chase after an elusive german. he had never been known to flinch in the face of danger--often went out of his way to find it, in fact--but this constant search for a man whom nobody knew, a man of whom there wasn't the slightest description, was nerve-racking, to say the least. then, too, he had met mary mcnilless. he'd wandered into the public library one evening just before closing time, and, like many another man, had fallen victim to mary's red hair and mary's irish eyes. but a brick wall was a soft proposition compared to mary mcnilless. snubbing good-looking young men who thought that the tailors were missing an excellent model was part of the day's work with the little library girl--though she secretly admitted to herself that this one was a bit above the average. dick didn't get a rise that night, though, or for some days after. every evening at seven found him at the desk over which miss mcnilless presided, framing some almost intelligent question about books in order to prolong the conversation. mary would answer politely and--that was all. but, almost imperceptibly, a bond of friendship sprang up between them. maybe it was the fact that dick's mother had been irish, too, or possibly it was because he admitted to himself that this girl was different from the rest, and, admitting it, laid the foundation for a deep-souled respect that couldn't help but show in his manner. within the month dick was taking her home, and in six weeks they were good pals, bumming around to queer, out-of-the-way restaurants and planning outings which dick, in his heart, knew could never materialize--not until von ewald had been run to cover, at any rate. several times mary tried to find out her companion's profession--diplomatically, of course, but nevertheless she was curious. naturally, dick couldn't tell her. said he had "just finished a job on the coast and was taking a vacation in new york." but mary had sense enough to know that he wasn't at leisure. also that he was working on something that kept his mind constantly active--for several times he had excused himself in a hurry and then returned, anywhere from half an hour to an hour later, with a rather crestfallen expression. after they had reached the "dick and mary" stage she came right out one night and asked him. "hon," he told her, "that's one thing that i've got to keep from you for a while. it's nothing that you would be ashamed of, though, but something that will make you mighty proud. at least," he added, "it'll make you proud if i don't fall down on the job almighty hard. meanwhile, all i can do is to ask you to trust me. will you?" the tips of her fingers rested on the back of his hand for just a moment before she said, "you know i will, dick"--and neither of them mentioned the subject from that time on. on the night of the black tom explosion, early in august, dick didn't show up at the library at the usual hour, and, while this didn't worry mary, because it had happened several times before, she began to be annoyed when three nights passed the same way. of course, she had no way of knowing that the service had received a tip from a stool pigeon on the pay roll of the new york police force that "a bunch of germans were planning a big explosion of some kind" just a few hours before the earth rocked with the force of the blow-up in jersey. every government operative in the city had been informed of the rumor, but few of them had taken it seriously and not one had any reason to expect that the plot would culminate so close to new york. but the echo of the first blast had hardly died away before there were a dozen agents on the spot, weaving a network around the entire district. all they got for their pains, however, was a few suspects who very evidently didn't know a thing. so it was a very tired and disgusted dick who entered the library four nights later and almost shambled up to mary's desk. "i'll be off duty in half an hour," she told him. "from the way you look, you need a little comforting." "i do that," he admitted. "don't make me wait any longer than you have to," and he amused himself by glancing over the late seekers after knowledge. when they had finally seated themselves in a cozy corner of a little restaurant in the upper forties, dick threw caution to the winds and told mary all about his troubles. "i haven't the least business to do it," he confessed, "and if the chief found it out i'd be bounced so fast that it would make my head swim. but, in the first place, i want you to marry me, and i know you wouldn't think of doing that unless you knew something more about me." there was just the flicker of a smile around mary's mouth as she said, almost perfunctorily, "no, of course not!" but her intuition told her that this wasn't the time to joke, and, before walters could go on, she added, "i know you well enough, dick, not to worry about that end of it." so walters told her everything from the beginning--and it didn't take more than five minutes at that. outside of the fact that his people lived in des moines, that he had been in the secret service for eight years, and that he hadn't been able to do a thing toward the apprehension of a certain german spy that the government was extremely anxious to locate, there was pitifully little to tell. "the whole thing," he concluded, "came to a head the other night--the night i didn't show up. we knew that something was going to break, somewhere, but we couldn't discover where until it was too late to prevent the explosion across the river. now that they've gotten away with that, they'll probably lay their lines for something even bigger." "well, now that i've told you, what d'you think?" "you mean you'd like to marry me?" mary asked with a smile. "i don't know how to put it any plainer," dick admitted--and what followed caused the waiter to wheel around and suddenly commence dusting off a table that already was bright enough to see your face in. "there wasn't the slightest clue left after the black tom affair?" mary asked, as she straightened her hat. "not one. we did find two of the bombs that hadn't exploded--devilishly clever arrangements, with a new combination of chemicals. something was evidently wrong with the mixture, though, for they wouldn't go off, even when our experts started to play with them. the man who made them evidently wasn't quite sure of his ground. but there wasn't a thing about the bombs themselves that would provide any indication of where they came from." "the man who made them must have had a pretty thorough knowledge of chemistry," mary mused. "mighty near perfect," admitted walters. "at least six exploded on time, and, from what i understand, they were loaded to the muzzle with a mixture that no one but an expert would dare handle." "and," continued mary, with just a hint of excitement in her voice, "the bomb-maker would continue to investigate the subject. he would want to get the latest information, the most recent books, the--" "what are you driving at?" walters interrupted. "just this," and mary leaned across the table so that there was no possibility of being overheard. "we girls have a good deal of time on our hands, so we get into the habit of making conjectures and forming theories about the 'regulars'--the people who come into the library often enough for us to know them by sight. "up to a month ago there was a man who dropped into the reference room nearly every day to consult books from shelf forty-five. naturally he came up to my desk, and, as he usually arrived during the slack periods, i had plenty of time to study him. maybe it was because i had been reading lombroso, or possibly it's because i am just naturally observant, but i noticed that, in addition to each of his ears being practically lobeless, one of them was quite pointed at the top--almost like a fox's. "for a week he didn't show up, and then one day another man came in and asked for a book from shelf forty-five. just as he turned away i had a shock. apparently he wasn't in the least like the other man in anything save height--but neither of his ears had any lobes to speak of and the top of them was pointed! when he returned the book i looked him over pretty thoroughly and came to the conclusion that, in spite of the fact that his general appearance differed entirely from the other man's, they were really one and the same!" "but what," grumbled walters, "has that to do with the black tom explosion?" "the last time this man came to the library," said mary, "was two days before the night you failed to arrive--two days before the explosion. and--do you know what books are kept on shelf forty-five?" "no. what?" "the latest works on the chemistry of explosives!" walters sat up with a jerk that threatened to overthrow the table. "mary," he said, in a whisper, "i've a hunch that you've succeeded where all the rest of us fell down! the disguises and the constant reference to books on explosives are certainly worth looking into. what name did this man give?" "names," she corrected. "i don't recall what they were or the addresses, either. but it would be easy to find them on the cards. we don't have very many calls for books from shelf forty-five." "it doesn't matter, though," and walters slipped back into his disconsolate mood. "he wouldn't leave a lead as open as that, of course." "no, certainly not," agreed mary. "but the last time he was there he asked for professor stevens's new book. it hadn't come in then, but i told him we expected it shortly. so, unless you men have scared him off, he'll be back in a day or two--possibly in a new disguise. why don't you see the librarian, get a place as attendant in the reference room, and i'll tip you off the instant i spot that pointed ear. that's one thing he can't hide!" the next morning there was a new employee in the reference room. no one knew where he came from and no one--save the librarian and mary mcnilless--knew what he was there for, because his principal occupation appeared to be lounging around inconspicuously in the neighborhood of the information desk. there he stayed for three days, wondering whether this clue, like all the rest, would dissolve into thin air. about five o'clock on the afternoon of the third day a man strolled up to mary's desk and asked if professor stevens's book had come in yet. it was reposing at that moment on shelf forty-five, as mary well knew, but she said she'd see, and left the room, carefully arranging her hair at the back of her neck with her left hand--a signal which she and dick had agreed upon the preceding evening. before she returned the new attendant had vanished, but dick walters, in his usual garb, was loitering around the only entrance to the reference room, watching the suspect out of the corner of his eye. "i'm sorry," mary reported, "but the stevens book won't be in until to-morrow," and she was barely able to keep the anxiety out of her voice as she spoke. had dick gotten her signal? would he be able to trail his man? could he capture him without being injured? these and a score of other questions rushed through her mind as she saw the german leave the room. once outside--well, she'd have to wait for dick to tell her what happened then. the man who was interested in the chemistry of explosives apparently wasn't in the least afraid of being followed, for he took a bus uptown, alighted at eighty-third street, and vanished into one of the innumerable small apartment houses in that section of the city. walters kept close behind him, and he entered the lobby of the apartment house in time to hear his quarry ascending to the fourth floor. then he signaled to the four men who had followed him up the avenue in a government-owned machine--men who had been stationed outside the library in the event of just such an occurrence--and instructed two of them to guard the rear of the house, while the other two remained in front. "i'm going to make this haul myself," walters stated, "but i want you boys to cover up in case anything happens to me. no matter what occurs, don't let him get away. shoot first and ask questions afterward!" and he had re-entered the house almost before he finished speaking. on the landing at the third floor he paused long enough to give the men at the rear a chance to get located. then--a quick ring at the bell on the fourth floor and he waited for action. nothing happened. another ring--and still no response. as he pressed the button for the third time the door swung slowly inward, affording only a glimpse of a dark, uninviting hall. but, once he was inside, the door closed silently and he heard a bolt slipped into place. simultaneously a spot light, arranged over the doorway, flashed on and dick was almost dazzled by the glare. out of the darkness came the guttural inquiry: "what do you want?" "not a thing in the world," replied walters, "except to know if a man named simpson lives here." "no," came the voice, "he does not. get out!" "sure i will if you'll pull back that bolt. what's the idea, anyhow? you're as mysterious as if you were running a bomb factory or something--" as he spoke he ducked, for if the words had the effect he hoped, the other would realize that he was cornered and attempt to escape. a guttural german oath, followed by a rapid movement of the man's hand toward his hip pocket was the reply. in a flash dick slipped forward, bending low to avoid the expected attack, and seized the german in a half nelson that defied movement. backing out of the circle of light, he held the helpless man in front of him--as a shelter in case of an attack from other occupants of the apartment--and called for assistance. the crash of glass at the rear told him that reinforcements had made their way up the fire escape and had broken in through the window. a moment later came the sound of feet on the stairs and the other two operatives were at the door, revolvers drawn and ready for action. but there wasn't any further struggle. von ewald--or whatever his real name was, for that was never decided--was alone and evidently realized that the odds were overwhelming. meekly, almost placidly, he allowed the handcuffs to be slipped over his wrists and stood by as the secret service men searched the apartment. not a line or record was found to implicate anyone else--but what they did discover was a box filled with bombs precisely like those picked up on the scene of the black tom explosion, proof sufficient to send the german to the penitentiary for ten years--for our laws, unfortunately, do not permit of the death penalty for spies unless caught red-handed by the military authorities. that he was the man for whom they were searching--the mysterious "no. "--was apparent from the fact that papers concealed in his desk contained full details as to the arrangement of the nemours plant at wilmington, delaware, with a dozen red dots indicative of the best places to plant bombs. of his associates and the manner in which he managed his organization there wasn't the slightest trace. but the black tom explosion, if you recall, was the last big catastrophe of its kind in america--and the capture of von ewald was the reason that more of the german plots didn't succeed. the treasury department realized this fact when mary mcnilless, on the morning of the day she was to be married to dick walters, u. s. s. s., received a very handsome chest of silver, including a platter engraved, "to miss mary mcnilless, whose cleverness and keen perception saved property valued at millions of dollars." no one ever found out who sent it, but it's a safe bet that the order came from washington by way of wilmington, where the nemours plant still stands--thanks to the quickness of mary's irish eyes. v phyllis dodge, smuggler extraordinary bill quinn tossed aside his evening paper and, cocking his feet upon a convenient chair, remarked that, now that peace was finally signed, sealed, and delivered, there ought to be a big boom in the favorite pastime of the idle rich. "meaning what?" i inquired. "smuggling, of course," said quinn, who only retired from secret service when an injury received in action forced him to do so. "did you ever travel on a liner when four out of every five people on board didn't admit that they were trying to beat the customs officials one way or another--and the only reason the other one didn't follow suit was because he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. that's how uncle sam's detectives pick up a lot of clues. the amateur crook never realizes that silence is golden and that oftentimes speech leads to a heavy fine. "now that the freedom of the seas is an accomplished fact the whole crew of would-be smugglers will doubtless get to work again, only to be nabbed in port. inasmuch as ocean travel has gone up with the rest of the cost of living, it'll probably be a sport confined to the comparatively rich, for a couple of years anyhow. "it was different in the old days. every steamer that came in was loaded to the eyes and you never knew when you were going to spot a hidden necklace or a packet of diamonds that wasn't destined to pay duty. there were thrills to the game, too, believe me. "why, just take the case of phyllis dodge...." * * * * * mrs. dodge [quinn continued, after he had packed his pipe to a condition where it was reasonably sure to remain lighted for some time] was, theoretically at least, a widow. her full name, as it appeared on many passenger lists during the early part of , was mrs. mortimer c. dodge, of cleveland, ohio. when the customs officials came to look into the matter they weren't able to find anyone in cleveland who knew her, but then it's no penal offense to give the purser a wrong address, or even a wrong name, for that matter. while there may have been doubts about mrs. dodge's widowhood--or whether she had ever been married, for that matter--there could be none about her beauty. in the language of the classics, she was there. black hair, brown eyes, a peaches-and-cream complexion that came and went while you watched it, and a figure that would have made her fortune in the follies. joe gregory said afterward that trailing her was one of the easiest things he had ever done. to get the whole story of phyllis and her extraordinary cleverness--extraordinary because it was so perfectly obvious--we'll have to cut back a few months before she came on the scene. for some time the treasury department had been well aware that a number of precious stones, principally pearl necklaces, were being smuggled into the country. agents abroad--the department maintains a regular force in paris, london, rotterdam, and other european points, you know--had reported the sale of the jewels and they had turned up a few weeks later in new york or chicago. but the customs service never considers it wise to trace stones back from their owners on this side. there are too many ramifications to any well-planned smuggling scheme, and it is too easy for some one to claim that he had found them in a long-forgotten chest in the attic or some such story as that. the burden of proof rests upon the government in a case of this kind and, except in the last extremity, it always tries to follow the chase from the other end--to nab the smuggler in the act and thus build up a jury-proof case. reports of the smuggling cases had been filtered into the department half a dozen times in as many months, and the matter finally got on the chief's nerves to such a degree that he determined to thrash it out if it took every man he had. in practically every case the procedure was the same--though the only principals known were different each time. rotterdam, for example, would report: "pearl necklace valued at $ , , sold to-day to man named silverburg. have reason to believe it is destined for states"--and then would follow a technical description of the necklace. anywhere from six weeks to three months later the necklace would turn up in the possession of a jeweler who bore a shady reputation. sometimes the article wouldn't appear at all, which might have been due to the fact that they weren't brought into this country or that the receivers had altered them beyond recognition. however, the european advices pointed to the latter supposition--which didn't soothe the chief's nerves the least bit. finally, along in the middle of the spring of nineteen thirteen, there came a cable from paris announcing the sale of the famous yquem emerald--a gorgeous stone that you couldn't help recognizing once you got the description. the purchaser was reported to be an american named williamson. he paid cash for it, so his references and his antecedents were not investigated at the time. sure enough, it wasn't two months later when a report came in from chicago that a pork-made millionaire had added to his collection a stone which tallied to the description of the yquem emerald. "shall we go after it from this end, chief?" inquired one of the men on the job in washington. "we can make the man who bought it tell us where he got it and then sweat the rest of the game out of the go-betweens." "yes," snorted the chief, "and be laughed out of court on some trumped-up story framed by a well-paid lawyer. not a chance! i'm going to land those birds and land 'em with the goods. we can't afford to take any chances with this crowd. they've evidently got money and brains, a combination that you've got to stay awake nights to beat. no--we'll nail 'em in new york just as they're bringing the stones in. "send a wire to gregory to get on the job at once and tell new york to turn loose every man they've got--though they've been working on the case long enough, heaven knows!" the next morning when gregory and his society manner strolled into the customhouse in new york he found the place buzzing. evidently the instructions from washington had been such as to make the entire force fear for their jobs unless the smuggling combination was broken up quickly. it didn't take joe very long to get the details. they weren't many and he immediately discarded the idea of possible collusion between the buyers of the stones abroad. it looked to be a certainty on the face of it, but, once you had discovered that, what good did it do you? it wasn't possible to jail a man just because he bought some jewels in europe--and, besides, the orders from washington were very clear that the case was to be handled strictly from this side--at least, the final arrest was to be made on american soil, to avoid extradition complications and the like. so when joe got all the facts they simply were that some valuable jewels had been purchased in europe and had turned up in america, without going through the formality of visiting the customhouse, anywhere from six weeks to three months later. "not much to work on," grumbled gregory, "and i suppose, as usual, that the chief will be as peevish as hades if we don't nab the guilty party within the week." "it's more than possible," admitted one of the men who had handled the case. gregory studied the dates on which the jewels had been purchased and those on which they had been located in this country for a few moments in silence. then: "get me copies of the passenger lists of every steamer that has docked here in the past year," he directed. "of course it's possible that these things might have been landed at boston or philadelphia, but new york's the most likely port." when the lists had been secured gregory stuffed them into his suit case and started for the door. "where you going?" inquired mcmahon, the man in charge of the new york office. "up to the adirondacks for a few days," gregory replied. "what's the idea? think the stuff is being brought over by airplane and landed inland? liners don't dock upstate, you know." "no," said gregory, "but that's where i'm going to dock until i can digest this stuff," and he tapped his suit case. "somewhere in this bunch of booklets there's a clue to this case and it's up to me to spot it. good-by." five days later when he sauntered back into the new york office the suit case was surprisingly light. apparently every one of the passenger lists had vanished. as a matter of fact, they had been boiled down to three names which were carefully inscribed in joe's notebook. "did you pick up any jewels in the catskills?" was the question that greeted him when he entered. "wasn't in the catskills," he growled. "went up to a camp in the adirondacks--colder'n blazes. any more stuff turn up?" "no, but a wire came from washington just after you left to watch out for a hundred-thousand-dollar string of pearls sold at a private auction in london last week to an american named--" "i don't care what _his_ name was," gregory cut in. "what was the date they were sold?" "the sixteenth." gregory glanced at the calendar. "and to-day is the twenty-second," he mused. "what boats are due in the next three days?" "the _cretic_ docks this afternoon and the _tasmania_ ought to get in to-morrow. that'll be all until the end of the week." "right!" snapped gregory. "don't let a soul off the _cretic_ until i've had a look at her passenger list. it's too late to go down the harbor now, but not a person's to get off that ship until i've had a chance to look 'em over. also cable for a copy of the _tasmania's_ passenger list. hurry it up!" less than ten minutes after he had slipped on board the _cretic_, however, gregory gave the signal which permitted the gangplank to be lowered and the passengers to proceed as usual--except for the fact that the luggage of everyone and the persons of not a few were searched with more than the average carefulness. but not a trace of the pearls was found, as joe had anticipated. a careful inspection of the passenger list and a few moments with the purser had convinced him that none of his three suspects were on board. shortly after he returned to the office, the list of the _tasmania's_ passengers began to come over the cables. less than half a page had been received when gregory uttered a sudden exclamation, reached for his notebook, compared a name in it with one which appeared on the cabled report, and indulged in the luxury of a deep-throated chuckle. "greg's got a nibble somewhere," commented one of the bystanders. "yes," admitted his companion, "but landin' the fish is a different matter. whoever's on the other end of that line is a mighty cagy individual." but, though he undoubtedly overheard the remark, gregory didn't seem to be the least bit worried. in fact, his hat was at a more rakish angle than usual and his cane fairly whistled through the air as he wandered up the avenue half an hour later. the next the customs force heard of him was when he boarded the quarantine boat the next morning, clambering on the liner a little later with all the skill of a pilot. "you have a passenger on board by the name of dodge," he informed the purser, after he had shown his badge. "mrs. mortimer c. dodge. what do you know about her?" "not a thing in the world," said the purser, "except that she is a most beautiful and apparently attractive woman. crossed with us once before--" "twice," corrected gregory. "came over in january and went right back." "that's right," said the purser, "so she did. i'd forgotten that. but, beyond that fact, there isn't anything that i can add." "seem to be familiar with anyone on board?" "not particularly. mixes with the younger married set and i've noticed her on deck with the mortons quite frequently. probably met them on her return trip last winter. they were along then, if i remember rightly." "thanks," said the customs operative. "you needn't mention anything about my inquiries, of course," and he mixed with the throng of newspaper reporters who were picking up news in various sections of the big vessel. when the _tasmania_ docked, gregory was the first one off. "search mrs. mortimer c. dodge to the skin," he directed the matron. "take down her hair, tap the heels of her shoes, and go through all the usual stunts, but be as gentle as you can about it. say that we've received word that some uncut diamonds--not pearls, mind you--are concealed on the _tasmania_ and that orders have been given to go over everybody thoroughly. pass the word along the line to give out the same information, so she won't be suspicious. i don't think you'll find anything, but you never can tell." at that, joe was right. the matron didn't locate a blessed thing out of the way. mrs. dodge had brought in a few dutiable trinkets, but they were all down on her declaration, and within the hour she was headed uptown in a taxi, accompanied by a maid who had met her as she stepped out of the customs office. not far behind them trailed another taxi, top up and gregory's eyes glued to the window behind the chauffeur. the first machine finally drew up at the astor, and mrs. dodge and the maid went in, followed by a pile of luggage which had been searched until it was a moral certainty that not a needle would have been concealed in it. gregory waited until they were out of sight and then followed. in answer to his inquiries at the desk he learned that mrs. dodge had stopped at the hotel several times before and the house detective assured him that there was nothing suspicious about her conduct. "how about the maid?" inquired gregory. "don't know a thing about her, either, except that she is the same one she had before. pretty little thing, too--though not as good-looking as her mistress." for the next three days joe hung around the hotel or followed the lady from the _tasmania_ wherever she went. something in the back of his head--call it intuition or a hunch or whatever you please, but it's the feeling that a good operative gets when he's on the right trail--told him that he was "warm," as the kids say. appearances seemed to deny that fact. mrs. dodge went only to the most natural places--a few visits to the stores, a couple to fashionable modistes and milliners, and some drives through the park, always accompanied by her maid and always in the most sedate and open manner. but on the evening of the third day the house detective tipped joe off that his prey was leaving in the morning. "guess she's going back to europe," reported the house man. "gave orders to have a taxi ready at nine and her trunks taken down to the docks before them. better get busy if you want to land her." "i'm not ready for that just yet," gregory admitted with a scowl. when mrs. dodge's taxi drove off the following morning joe wasn't far away, and, acting on orders which he had delivered over the phone, no less than half a dozen operatives watched the lady and the maid very closely when they reached the dock. not a thing came of it, however. both of them went to the stateroom which had been reserved and the maid remained to help with the unpacking until the "all-ashore-that-'re-going-ashore" was bellowed through the boat. then she left and stood on the pier until the ship had cleared the dock. "it beats me," muttered gregory. "but i'm willing to gamble my job that i'm right." and that night he wired to washington to keep a close lookout for the london pearls, adding that he felt certain they would turn up before long. "in that case," muttered the chief at the other end of the wire, "why in heaven's name didn't he get them when they came in?" sure enough, not a fortnight had passed before st. louis reported that a string of pearls, perfectly matched, answering to the description of the missing jewels, had been offered for sale there through private channels. the first reaction was a telegram to gregory that fairly burned the wires, short but to the point. "either the man who smuggled that necklace or your job in ten days," it read. and gregory replied, "give me three weeks and you'll have one or the other." meanwhile he had been far from inactive. still playing his hunch that phyllis dodge had something to do with the smuggling game, he had put in time cultivating the only person on this side that appeared to know her--the maid. it was far from a thankless task, for alyce--she spelled it with a "y"--was pretty and knew it. furthermore, she appeared to be entirely out of her element in a cheap room on twenty-fourth street. most of the time she spent in wandering up the avenue, and it was there that gregory made her acquaintance--through the expedient of bumping her bag out of her hands and restoring it with one of his courtly bows. the next minute he was strolling alongside, remarking on the beauty of the weather. but, although he soon got to know alyce well enough to take her to the theater and to the cabarets, it didn't seem to get him anywhere. she was perfectly frank about her position. said she was a hair dresser by trade and that she acted as lady's maid to a mrs. dodge, who spent the better part of her time abroad. "in fact," she said, "mrs. dodge is only here three or four days every two months or so." "and she pays you for your time in between?" "oh yes," alyce replied; "she's more than generous." "i should say she was," gregory thought to himself--but he considered it best to change the subject. during the days that followed, joe exerted every ounce of his personality in order to make the best possible impression. posing as a man who had made money in the west, he took alyce everywhere and treated her royally. finally, when he considered the time ripe, he injected a little love into the equation and hinted that he thought it was about time to settle down and that he appeared to have found the proper person to settle with. but there, for the first time, alyce balked. she didn't refuse him, but she stated in so many words that she had a place that suited her for the time being, and that, until the fall, at least, she preferred to keep on with it. "that suits me all right," declared gregory. "take your time about it. meanwhile we'll continue to be good friends and trail around together, eh?" "certainly," said alyce, "er--that is--until tuesday." "tuesday?" inquired joe. "what's coming off tuesday?" "mrs. dodge will arrive on the _atlantic_," was the reply, "and i'll have to be with her for three days at least." "three days--" commenced gregory, and halted himself. it wasn't wise to show too much interest. but that night he called the chief on long distance and inquired if there had been any recent reports of suspicious jewel sales abroad. "yes," came the voice from washington, "pearls again. loose ones, this time. and your three weeks' grace is up at noon saturday." the click that followed as the receiver hung up was finality itself. the same procedure, altered in a few minor details, was followed when mrs. dodge landed. again she was searched to the skin; again her luggage was gone over with microscopic care, and again nothing was found. this time she stayed at the knickerbocker, but alyce was with her as usual. deprived of his usual company and left to his own devices, gregory took a long walk up the drive and tried to thrash out the problem. "comes over on a different boat almost every trip," he thought, "so that eliminates collusion with any of the crew. doesn't stay at the same hotel two times running, so there's nothing there. has the same maid and always returns--" then it was that motorists on riverside drive were treated to the sight of a young and extremely prepossessing man, dressed in the height of fashion, throwing his hat in the air and uttering a yell that could be heard for blocks. after which he disappeared hurriedly in the direction of the nearest drug store. a hasty search through the phone book gave him the number he wanted--the offices of the black star line. "is mr. macpherson, the purser of the _atlantic_, there?" he inquired. then: "hello! mr. macpherson? this is gregory, customs division. you remember me, don't you? worked on the maitland diamond case with you two years ago.... wonder if you could tell me something i want to know--is mrs. mortimer c. dodge booked to go back with you to-morrow?... she is? what's the number of her stateroom? and--er--what was the number of the room she had coming over?... i thank you." if the motorists whom gregory had startled on the drive had seen him emerge from the phone booth they would have marveled at the look of keen satisfaction and relief that was spread over his face. the cat that swallowed the canary was tired of life, compared with joe at that moment. next morning the customs operatives were rather surprised to see gregory stroll down to the _atlantic_ dock about ten o'clock. "thought you were somewhere uptown on the chief's pet case," said one of them. "so i was," answered joe. "but that's practically cleaned up." with that he went aboard, and no one saw him until just before the "all-ashore" call. then he took up his place beside the gangplank, with three other men placed near by in case of accident. "follow my lead," he directed. "i'll speak to the girl. two of you stick here to make certain that she doesn't get away, and you, bill, beat it on board then and tell the captain that the boat's not to clear until we give the word. we won't delay him more than ten minutes at the outside." when alyce came down the gangplank a few minutes later, in the midst of people who had been saying good-by to friends and relatives, she spotted joe waiting for her, and started to move hurriedly away. gregory caught up with her before she had gone a dozen feet. "good morning, alyce," he said. "thought i'd come down to meet you. what've you got in the bag there?" indicating her maid's handbag. "not--not a thing," said the girl, flushing. just then the matron joined the party, as previously arranged, and joe's tone took on its official hardness. "hurry up and search her! we don't want to keep the boat any longer than we have to." less than a minute later the matron thrust her head out of the door long enough to report: "we found 'em--the pearls. she had 'em in the front of her dress." gregory was up the gangplank in a single bound. a moment later he was knocking at the door of mrs. dodge's stateroom. the instant the knob turned he was inside, informing phyllis that she was under arrest on a charge of bringing jewels into the united states without the formality of paying duty. of course, the lady protested--but the _atlantic_ sailed, less than ten minutes behind schedule time, without her. promptly at twelve the phone on the desk of the chief of the customs division in washington buzzed noisily. "gregory speaking," came through the receiver. "my time's up--and i've got the party you want. claims to be from cleveland and sails under the name of mrs. mortimer c. dodge--first name phyllis. she's confessed and promises to turn state's evidence if we'll go light with her." * * * * * "that," added quinn, "was the finish of mrs. dodge, so far as the government was concerned. in order to land the whole crew--the people who were handling the stuff on this side as well as the ones who were mixed up in the scheme abroad--they let her go scot-free, with the proviso that she's to be rushed to atlanta if she ever pokes her nose into the united states again. the last i heard of her she was in monaco, tangled up in a blackmail case there. "gregory told me all about it sometime later. said that the first hunch had come to him when he studied the passengers' lists in the wilds of the adirondacks. went there to be alone and concentrate. he found that of all the people listed, only three--two men and a mrs. dodge--had made the trip frequently in the past six months. the frequency of mrs. dodge's travel evidently made it impracticable for her to use different aliases. some one would be sure to spot her. "but it wasn't until that night on riverside drive that the significance of the data struck him. each time she took the same boat on which she had come over! did she have the same stateroom? the phone call to macpherson established the fact that she did--this time at least. the rest was almost as obvious as the original plan. the jewels were brought aboard, passed on to phyllis, and she tucked them away somewhere in her stateroom. her bags and her person could, of course, be searched with perfect safety. then, what was more natural than that her maid should accompany her on board when she was leaving? nobody ever pays any attention to people who board the boat at _this_ end, so alyce was able to walk off with the stuff under the very eyes of the customs authorities--and they found later that she had the nerve to place it in the hands of the government for the next twenty-four hours. she sent it by registered mail to pittsburgh and it was passed along through an underground "fence" channel until a prospective purchaser appeared. "perfectly obvious and perfectly simple--that's why the plan succeeded until gregory began to make love to alyce and got the idea that mrs. dodge was going right back to europe hammered into his head. it had occurred to him before, but he hadn't placed much value on it.... "o-o-o-o!" yawned quinn. "i'm getting dry. trot out some grape juice and put on that kreisler record--'drigo's serenade.' i love to hear it. makes me think of the time when they landed that scoundrel weimar." vi a matter of record "what was that you mentioned last week--something about the record of kreisler's 'drigo's serenade' reminding you of the capture of some one?" i asked bill quinn one summer evening as he painfully hoisted his game leg upon the porch railing. "sure it does," replied quinn. "never fails. put it on again so i can get the necessary atmosphere, as you writers call it, and possibly i'll spill the yarn--provided you guarantee to keep the ginger ale flowing freely. that and olive oil are about the only throat lubricants left us." so i slipped on the record, rustled a couple of bottles from the ice box, and settled back comfortably, for when quinn once started on one of his reminiscences of government detective work he didn't like to be interrupted. "that's the piece, all right," bill remarked, as the strains of the violin drifted off into the night. "funny how a few notes of music like that could nail a criminal while at the same time it was saving the lives of nobody knows how many other people--" * * * * * remember paul weimar [continued quinn, picking up the thread of his story]. he was the most dangerous of the entire gang that helped von bernstorff, von papen, and the rest of that crew plot against the united states at a time when we were supposed to be entirely neutral. an austrian by birth, weimar was as thoroughly a hun at heart as anyone who ever served the hohenzollerns and, in spite of his size, he was as slippery as they make 'em. back in the past somewhere he had been a detective in the service of the atlas line, but for some years before the war was superintendent of the police attached to the hamburg-american boats. that, of course, gave him the inside track in every bit of deviltry he wanted to be mixed up in, for he had made it his business to cultivate the acquaintance of wharf rats, dive keepers, and all the rest of the scum of the seven seas that haunts the docks. standing well over six feet, weimar had a pair of fists that came in mighty handy in a scuffle, and a tongue that could curl itself around all the blasphemies of a dozen languages. there wasn't a water front where they didn't hate him--neither was there a water front where they didn't fear him. of course, when the war broke in august, , the hamburg-american line didn't have any further official use for weimar. their ships were tied up in neutral or home ports and herr paul was out of a job--for at least ten minutes. but he was entirely too valuable a man for the german organization to overlook for longer than that, and von papen, in washington, immediately added him to his organization--with blanket instructions to go the limit on any dirty work he cared to undertake. later, he worked for von bernstorff; doctor dumba, the austrian ambassador; and doctor von nuber, the austrian consul in new york--but von papen had first claim upon his services and did not hesitate to press them, as proven by certain entries in the checkbook of the military attaché during the spring and summer of . of course, it didn't take the secret service and the men from the department of justice very long to get on to the fact that weimar was altogether too close to the german embassy for the safety and comfort of the united states government. but what were they to do about it? we weren't at war then and you couldn't arrest a man merely because he happened to know von papen and the rest of his precious companions. you had to have something on him--something that would stand up in court--and paul weimar was too almighty clever to let that happen. when you remember that it took precisely one year to land this austrian--one year of constant watching and unceasing espionage--you will see how well he conducted himself. and the government's sleuths weren't the only ones who were after him, either. captain kenney, of the new york police force, lent mighty efficient aid and actually invented a new system of trailing in order to find out just what he was up to. in the old days, you told a man to go out and follow a suspect and that was all there was to it. the "shadow" would trail along half a block or so in the rear, keeping his man always in view, and bring home a full account of what he had done all day. but you couldn't do that with weimar--he was too foxy. from what some of the boys have told me, i think he took a positive delight in throwing them off the scent, whether he had anything up his sleeve or not. one day, for example, you could have seen his big bulk swinging nonchalantly up broadway, as if he didn't have a care in the world. a hundred feet or more behind him was bob dugan, one of kenney's men. when weimar disappeared into the subway station at times square, dugan was right behind him, and when the austrian boarded the local for grand central station, dugan was on the same train--on the same car, in fact. but when they reached the station, things began to happen. weimar left the local and commenced to stroll up and down the platform, waiting until a local train and an express arrived at the same time. that was his opportunity. he made a step or two forward, as if to board the express, and dugan--not wishing to make himself too conspicuous--slipped on board just as the doors were closing, only to see weimar push back and jam his way on the local! variations of that stunt occurred time after time. even the detailing of two men to follow him failed in its purpose, for the austrian would enter a big office building, leap into an express elevator just as it was about to ascend, slip the operator a dollar to stop at one of the lower floors, and be lost for the day or until some one picked him up by accident. so cap kenney called in four of his best men and told them that it was essential that weimar be watched. "two of you," he directed, "stick with him all the time. suppose you locate him the first thing in the morning at his house on twenty-fourth street, for example. you, cottrell, station yourself two blocks up the street. gary, you go the same distance down. then, no matter which way he starts he'll have one of you in front of him and one behind. the man in front will have to use his wits to guess which way he intends to go and to beat him to it. if he boards a car, the man in front can pick him up with the certainty that the other will cover the trail in the rear. in that way you ought to be able to find out where he is going and, possibly, what he is doing there." the scheme, thanks to the quick thinking of the men assigned to the job, worked splendidly for months--at least it worked in so far as keeping a watch on weimar was concerned. but that was all. in the summer of the government knew precisely where weimar had been for the past six months, with whom he had talked, and so on--but the kernel of the nut was missing. there wasn't the least clue to what he had talked about and what deviltry he had planned! without that information, all the dope the government had was about as useful as a movie to a blind man. washington was so certain that weimar had the key to a number of very important developments--among them the first attempt to blow up the welland canal--that the chief of the secret service made a special trip to new york to talk to kenney. "isn't it possible," he suggested, "to plant your men close enough to weimar to find out, for example, what he talks about over the phone?" kenney smiled, grimly. "chief," he said, "that's been done. we've tapped every phone that weimar's likely to use in the neighborhood of his house and every time he talks from a public station one of our men cuts in from near-by--by an arrangement with central--and gets every word. but that bird is too wary to be caught with chaff of that kind. he's evidently worked out a verbal code of some kind that changes every day. he tells the man at the other end, for example, to be at the drug store on the corner of seventy-third and broadway at three o'clock to-morrow afternoon and wait for a phone call in the name of williams. our man is always at the place at the appointed hour, but no call ever arrives. 'seventy-third and broadway' very evidently means some other address, but it's useless to try and guess which one. you'd have to have a man at every pay station in town to follow that lead." "how about overhearing his directions to the men he meets in the open?" "not a chance in the world. his rendezvous are always public places--the pennsylvania or grand central station, a movie theater, a hotel lobby, or the like. there he can put his back against the wall and make sure that no one is listening in. he's on to all the tricks of the trade and it will take a mighty clever man--or a bunch of them--to nail him." "h-m-m!" mused the chief. "well, at that, i believe i've got the man." "anyone i know?" "yes, i think you do--morton maxwell. remember him? worked on the castleman diamond case here a couple of years ago for the customs people and was also responsible for uncovering the men behind the sugar-tax fraud. he isn't in the service, but he's working for the department of justice, and i'm certain they'll turn him loose on this if i ask them to. maxwell can get to the bottom of weimar's business, if anyone can. let me talk to washington--" and within an hour after the chief had hung up the receiver morton maxwell, better known as "mort," was headed toward new york with instructions to report at secret service headquarters in that city. once there, the chief and kenney went over the whole affair with him. cottrell and gary and the other men who had been engaged in shadowing the elusive weimar were called in to tell their part of the story, and every card was laid upon the table. when the conference concluded, sometime after midnight, the chief turned to maxwell and inquired: "well, what's your idea about it?" for a full minute mort smoked on in silence and gazed off into space. men who had just met him were apt to think this a pose, a play to the grand stand--but those who knew him best realized that maxwell's alert mind was working fastest in such moments and that he much preferred not to make any decision until he had turned things over in his head. "there's just one point which doesn't appear to have been covered," he replied. then, as kenney started to cut in, "no, chief, i said _appeared_ not to have been covered. very possibly you have all the information on it and forgot to hand it out. who does this weimar live with?" "he lives by himself in a house on twenty-fourth street, near seventh avenue--boards there, but has the entire second floor. so far as we've been able to find out he has never been married. no trace of any wife on this side, anyhow. never travels with women--probably afraid they'd talk too much." "has he any relatives?" "none that i know of--" "wait a minute," cottrell interrupted. "i dug back into weimar's record before the war ended his official connection with the steamship company, and one of the points i picked up was that he had a cousin--a man named george buch--formerly employed on one of the boats. "where is buch now?" asked maxwell. "we haven't been able to locate him," admitted the police detective. "not that we've tried very hard, because the trail didn't lead in his direction. i don't even know that he is in this country, but it's likely that he is because he was on one of the boats that was interned here when the war broke." again it was a full minute before maxwell spoke. "buch," he said, finally, "appears to be the only link between weimar and the outer world. it's barely possible that he knows something, and, as we can't afford to overlook any clue, suppose we start work along that line. i'll dig into it myself the first thing in the morning, and i certainly would appreciate any assistance that your men could give me, chief. tell them to make discreet inquiries about buch, his appearance, habits, etc., and to try and find out whether he is on this side. now i'm going to turn in, for something seems to tell me that the busy season has arrived." at that maxwell wasn't far wrong. the weeks that followed were well filled with work, but it was entirely unproductive of results. weimar was shadowed day and night, his telephones tapped and his mail examined. but, save for the fact that his connection with the german embassy became increasingly apparent, no further evidence was forthcoming. the search for buch was evidently futile, for that personage appeared to have disappeared from the face of the earth. all that maxwell and the other men who worked on the matter could discover was that buch--a young austrian whose description they secured--had formerly been an intimate of weimar. the latter had obtained his appointment to a minor office in the hamburg-american line and buch was commonly supposed to be a stool pigeon for the master plotter. but right there the trail stopped. no one appeared to know whether the austrian was in new york, or the united states, for that matter, though one informant did admit that it was quite probable. "buch and the big fellow had a row the last time over," was the information maxwell secured at the cost of a few drinks. "something about some money that weimar is supposed to have owed him--fifteen dollars or some such amount. i didn't hear about it until afterward, but it appears to have been a pretty lively scrap while it lasted. of course, buch didn't have a chance against the big fellow--he could handle a bull. but the young austrian threatened to tip his hand--said he knew a lot of stuff that would be worth a good deal more money than was coming to him, and all that sort of thing. but the ship docked the next day and i haven't seen or heard of him since." the idea of foul play at once leaped into maxwell's mind, but investigation of police records failed to disclose the discovery of anybody answering to the description of george buch and, as captain kenney pointed out, it is a decidedly difficult matter to dispose of a corpse in such a way as not to arouse at least the suspicions of the police. as a last resort, about the middle of september, maxwell had a reward posted on the bulletin board of every police station in new york and the surrounding country for the "apprehension of george buch, austrian, age about twenty-four. height, five feet eight inches. hair, blond. complexion, fair. eyes, blue. sandy mustache." as captain kenney pointed out, though, the description would apply to several thousand men of german parentage in the city, and to a good many more who didn't have a drop of teutonic blood in their veins. "true enough," maxwell was forced to admit, "but we can't afford to overlook a bet--even if it is a thousand-to-one shot." as luck would have it, the thousand-to-one shot won! on september , , detective gary returned to headquarters, distinctly crestfallen. weimar had given him the slip. in company with another man, whom the detective did not know, the austrian had been walking up sixth avenue that afternoon when a machine swung in from thirty-sixth street and the austrian had leaped aboard without waiting for it to come to a full stop. "of course, there wasn't a taxi in sight," said gary, ruefully, "and before i could convince the nearest chauffeur that my badge wasn't phony they'd gone!" "that's the first time in months," gary replied. "he knows that he's followed, all right, and he's cagy enough to keep in the open and pretend to be aboveboard." "right," commented the department of justice operative, "and this move would appear to indicate that something was doing. better phone all your stations to watch out for him, cap." but nothing more was seen or heard of herr weimar for five days. meanwhile events moved rapidly for maxwell. on september th, the day after the austrian disappeared, one of the policemen whose beat lay along fourteenth street, near third avenue, asked to see the government detective. "my name's riley," announced the copper, with a brogue as broad as the toes of his shoes. "does this austrian, this here buch feller ye're lookin' for, like music? is he nuts about it?" "music?" echoed maxwell. "i'm sure i don't know.... but wait a minute! yes, that's what that chap who used to know him on the boat told me. saying he was forever playing a fiddle when he was off duty and that weimar threw it overboard one day in a fit of rage. why? what's the connection?" "nothin' in particular, save that a little girl i'm rather sweet on wurruks in a music store on fourteenth street an' she an' i was talkin' things over last night an' i happened to mintion th' reward offered for this buch feller. 'why!' says she, 'that sounds just like the dutchy that used to come into th' shop a whole lot a year or so ago. he was crazy about music an' kep' himself pretty nigh broke a-buyin' those expensive new records. got me to save him every violin one that came out.'" "um, yes," muttered maxwell, "but has the young lady seen anything of this chap lately?" "that she has not," riley replied, "an' right there's th' big idear. once a week, regular, another dutchman comes in an' buys a record, an' he told katy--that's me gurrul's name--last winter that th' selections were for a man that used to be a stiddy customer of hers but who was now laid up in bed." "in bed for over a year!" exclaimed maxwell, his face lighting up. "held prisoner somewhere in the neighborhood of that shop on fourteenth street, because the big austrian hasn't the nerve to make away with him and yet fears that he knows too much! look here, riley--suppose you and miss katy take a few nights off--i'll substitute for her and make it all right with the man who owns the store. then i can get a line on this buyer of records for sick men." "wouldn't it be better, sir, if we hung around outside th' store an' let katy give us the high sign when he come in? then we could both trail him back to where he lives." "you're right, riley, it would! where'll i meet you to-night?" "at the corner of fourteenth street and thoid av'nue, at eight o'clock. katy says th' man never gets there before nine." "i'll be there," said maxwell--and he was. but nothing out of the ordinary rewarded their vigil the first night, nor the second. on the third night, however, just after the clock in the metropolitan tower had boomed nine times, a rather nondescript individual sauntered into the music store, and riley's quick eyes saw the girl behind the counter put her left hand to her chest. then she coughed. "that's th' signal, sir," warned the policeman in a whisper. "an' that's the guy we're after." had the man turned around as he made his way toward a dark and forbidding house on thirteenth street, not far from fourth avenue, he might have caught sight of two shadows skulking along not fifty feet behind him. but, at that, he would have to have been pretty quick--for maxwell was taking no chances on losing his prey and he had cautioned the policeman not to make a sound. when their quarry ascended the steps of no. riley started to move after him, but the department of justice operative halted him. "there's no hurry," stated maxwell. "he doesn't suspect we're here, and, besides, it doesn't make any difference if he does lock the door--i've got a skeleton key handy that's guaranteed to open anything." riley grunted, but stayed where he was until maxwell gave the signal to advance. once inside the door, which responded to a single turn to the key, the policeman and the government agent halted in the pitch-black darkness and listened. then from an upper floor came the sound for which maxwell had been waiting--the first golden notes of a violin played by a master hand. the distance and the closed doorway which intervened killed all the harsh mechanical tone of the phonograph and only the wonderful melody of "drigo's serenade" came down to them. on tiptoe, though they knew their movements would be masked by the sounds of the music, riley and maxwell crept up to the third floor and halted outside the door from which the sounds came. "wait until the record is over," directed maxwell, "and then break down that door. have your gun handy and don't hesitate to shoot anyone who tries to injure buch. i'm certain he's held prisoner here and it may be that the men who are guarding him have instructions not to let him escape at any cost. ready? let's go!" the final note of the kreisler record had not died away before riley's shoulder hit the flimsy door and the two detectives were in the room. maxwell barely had time to catch a glimpse of a pale, wan figure on the bed and to sense the fact that there were two other men in the room, when there was a shout from riley and a spurt of flame from his revolver. with a cry, the man nearest the bed dropped his arm and a pistol clattered to the floor--the barrel still singing from the impact of the policeman's bullet. the second man, realizing that time was precious, leaped straight toward maxwell, his fingers reaching for the agent's throat. with a half laugh mort clubbed his automatic and brought the butt down with sickening force on his assailant's head. then he swung around and covered the man whom riley had disarmed. "don't worry about him, sir," said the policeman. "his arm'll be numb half an hour from now. what do you want to do with th' lad in th' bed?" "get him out of here as quickly as we can. we won't bother with these swine. they have the law on their side, anyway, because we broke in here without a warrant. i only want buch." when he had propped the young austrian up in a comfortable chair in the federal building and had given him a glass of brandy to strengthen his nerves--the lord only knows that they'll have to do in the future--maxwell got the whole story and more than he had dared hoped for. buch, following his quarrel with weimar, had been held prisoner in the house on thirteenth street for over a year because, as maxwell had figured, the austrian didn't have the nerve to kill him and didn't dare let him loose. barely enough food was allowed to keep him alive, and the only weakness that his cousin had shown was in permitting the purchase of one phonograph record a week in order to cheer him up a little. "naturally," said buch, "i chose the kreisler records, because he's an austrian and a marvelous violinist." "did weimar ever come to see you?" inquired maxwell. "he came in every now and then to taunt me and to say that he was going to have me thrown in the river some day soon. that didn't frighten me, but there were other things that did. he came in last week, for example, and boasted that he was going to blow up a big canal and i was afraid he might be caught or killed. that would have meant no more money for the men who were guarding me and i was too weak to walk even to the window to call for help...." "a big canal!" maxwell repeated. "he couldn't mean the panama! no, that's impossible. i have it! the welland canal!" and in an instant he was calling the niagara police on the long-distance phone, giving a detailed description of weimar and his companions. * * * * * "as it turned out," concluded quinn, reaching for his empty glass, "weimar had already been looking over the ground. he was arrested, however, before the dynamite could be planted, and, thanks to buch's evidence, indicted for violation of section thirteen of the penal code. "thus did a phonograph record and thirty pieces of silver--the thirty half-dollars that weimar owed buch--lead directly to the arrest of one of the most dangerous spies in the german service. let's have mr. drigo's serenade once more and pledge mort maxwell's health in ginger ale--unless you have a still concealed around the house. and if you have i will be in duty bound to tell jimmy reynolds about it--he's the lad that holds the record for persistency and cleverness in discovering moonshiners." vii the secret still "july , ," said bill quinn, as he appropriately reached for a bottle containing a very soft drink, "by no means marked the beginning of the government's troubles in connection with the illicit manufacture of liquor. "of course, there's been a whole lot in the papers since the thirst of july about people having private stills in their cellars, making drinks with a kick out of grape juice and a piece of yeast, and all that sort of thing. one concern in pittsburgh, i understand, has also noted a tremendous and absolutely abnormal increase in the demand for its hot-water heating plants--the copper coils of which make an ideal substitute for a still--but i doubt very much if there's going to be a real movement in the direction of the private manufacture of alcoholic beverages. the internal revenue department is too infernally watchful and its agents too efficient for much of that to get by. "when you get right down to it, there's no section in the country where the art of making 'licker' flourishes to such an extent as it does in eastern tennessee and western north carolina. moonshine there is not only a recognized article of trade, but its manufacture is looked upon as an inalienable right. it's tough sledding for any revenue officer who isn't mighty quick on the trigger, and even then--as jimmy reynolds discovered a few years back--they're likely to get him unless he mixes brains with his shooting ability." * * * * * reynolds [continued quinn, easing his injured leg into a more comfortable position] was as valuable a man as any whose name ever appeared in the government blue book. he's left the bureau now and settled down to a life of comparative ease as assistant district attorney of some middle western city. i've forgotten which one, but there was a good reason for his not caring to remain in the east. the climate west of the mississippi is far more healthy for jimmy these days. at the time of the stiles case jim was about twenty-nine, straight as an arrow, and with a bulldog tenacity that just wouldn't permit of his letting go of a problem until the solution was filed in the official pigeonholes which answer to the names of archives. it was this trait which led chambers, then commissioner of internal revenue, to send for him, after receipt of a message that two of his best men--douglas and wood, i think their names were--had been brought back to maymead, tennessee, with bullet holes neatly drilled through their hearts. "jim," said the commissioner, "this case has gone just far enough. it's one thing for the mountaineers of tennessee to make moonshine whisky and defy the laws of the united states. but when they deliberately murder two of my best men and pin a rudely scribbled note to 'bewair of this country' on the front of their shirts, that's going entirely too far. i'm going to clean out that nest of illicit stills if it takes the rest of my natural life and every man in the bureau! "more than that, i'll demand help from the war department, if necessary! by gad! i'll teach 'em!" and the inkwell on the commissioner's desk leaped into the air as chambers's fist registered determination. reynolds reached for a fresh cigar from the supply that always reposed in the upper drawer of the commissioner's desk and waited until it was well lighted before he replied. "all well and good, chief," he commented, "but how would the army help you any? you could turn fifty thousand men in uniform loose in those mountains, and the odds are they wouldn't locate the bunch you're after. fire isn't the weapon to fight those mountaineers with. they're too wise. what you need is brains." "possibly you can supply that deficiency," retorted the commissioner, a little nettled. "oh, i didn't mean that you, personally, needed the brains," laughed reynolds. "the pronoun was used figuratively and collectively. at that, i would like to have a whirl at the case if you've nothing better for me to do--" "there isn't anything better for anyone to do at the present time," chambers interrupted. "that's why i sent for you. we know that whisky is being privately distilled in large quantities somewhere in the mountains not far from maymead. right there our information ends. our men have tried all sorts of dodges to land the crowd behind the stills, but the only thing they've been able to learn is that a man named stiles is one of the ruling spirits. his cabin is well up in the mountains and it was while they were prospecting round that part of the country that douglas and wood were shot. now what's your idea of handling the case?" "the first thing that i want, chief, is to be allowed to work on this absolutely alone, and that not a soul, in bureau or out of it is to know what i'm doing." "easy enough to arrange that," assented the commissioner, "but--" "there isn't any 'but,'" reynolds cut in. "you've tried putting a number of men to work on this and they've failed. now try letting one handle it. for the past two years i've had a plan in the back of my head that i've been waiting the right opportunity to use. so far as i can see it's foolproof and i'm willing to take all the responsibility in connection with it." "care to outline it?" inquired chambers. "not right at the moment," was reynolds's reply, "because it would seem too wild and scatterbrained. i don't mind telling you, though, that for the next six weeks my address will be in care of the warden of the penitentiary of morgantown, west virginia, if you wish to reach me." "morgantown?" echoed the commissioner. "what in heaven's name are you going to do there?" "lay the stage setting for the first act," smiled jimmy. "likewise collect what authors refer to as local color--material that's essential to what i trust will be the happy ending of this drama--happy, at least, from the government's point of view. but, while you know that i'm at morgantown, i don't want anyone else to know it and i'd much prefer that you didn't communicate with me there unless it's absolutely necessary." "all right, i won't. you're handling the case from now on." "alone?" "entirely--if you wish it." "yes, chief, i do wish it. i can promise you one of two things within the next three months: either you'll have all the evidence you want about the secret still and the men behind it or--well, you know where to ship my remains!" with that and a quick handshake he was gone. during the weeks that followed, people repeatedly asked the commissioner: "what's become of jimmy reynolds? haven't seen him round here for a month of sundays." but the commissioner would assume an air of blank ignorance, mutter something about, "he's out of town somewhere," and rapidly change the subject. about six weeks or so later a buzzard which was flapping its lazy way across the mountains which divide tennessee from north carolina saw, far below, a strange sight. a man, haggard and forlorn, his face covered with a half-inch of stubble, his cheeks sunken, his clothing torn by brambles and bleached by the sun and rain until it was almost impossible to tell its original texture, stumbled along with his eyes fixed always on the crest of a hill some distance off. it was as if he were making a last desperate effort to reach his goal before the sun went down. had the buzzard been so minded, his keen eyes might have noted the fact that the man's clothes were marked by horizontal stripes, while his head was covered with hair the same length all over, as if he had been shaved recently and the unkempt thatch had sprouted during the last ten days. painfully but persistently the man in convict's clothes pressed forward. when the sun was a little more than halfway across the heavens he glimpsed a cabin tucked away on the side of a mountain spur not far away. at the sight he pressed forward with renewed vigor, but distances are deceptive in that part of the country and it was not until nearly dark that he managed to reach his destination. in fact, the stiles family was just sitting down to what passes for supper in that part of the world--fat bacon and corn bread, mostly--when there was the sound of a man's footstep some fifty feet away. instantly the houn' dog rose from his accustomed place under the table and crouched, ready to repel invaders. old man stiles--his wife called him joe, but to the entire countryside he was just "old man stiles"--reached for his rifle with a muttered imprecation about "rev'nue officers who never let a body be." but the mountaineer had hardly risen from his seat when there was a sound as of a heavy body falling against the door--and then silence. stiles looked inquiringly at his wife and then at ruth, their adopted daughter. none of them spoke for an appreciable time, but the hound continued to whine and finally backed off into a corner. "guess i'll have to see what et is," drawled the master of the cabin, holding his rifle ready for action. slowly he moved toward the door and cautiously, very cautiously, he lifted the bolt that secured it. even if it were a revenue officer, he argued to himself, his conscience was clear and his premises could stand the formality of a search because, save for a certain spot known to himself alone, there was nothing that could be considered incriminating. as the door swung back the body of a man fell into the room--a man whose clothing was tattered and whose features were concealed under a week's growth of stubbly beard. right into the cabin he fell, for the door had supported his body, and, once that support was removed, he lay as one dead. in fact, it wasn't until at least five minutes had elapsed that stiles came to the conclusion that the intruder was really alive, after all. during that time he had worked over him in the rough mountain fashion, punching and pulling and manhandling him in an effort to secure some sign of life. finally the newcomer's eyes opened and he made an effort to sit up. "wait a minute, stranger," directed stiles, motioning his wife toward a closet in the corner of the room. mrs. stiles--or 'ma,' as she was known in that part of the country--understood the movement. without a word she opened the cupboard and took down a flask filled with a clear golden-yellow liquid. some of this she poured into a cracked cup on the table and handed it to her husband. "here," directed the mountaineer, "throw yo' haid back an' drink this. et's good fur what ails yer." the moment after he had followed instructions the stranger gulped, gurgled, and gasped as the moonshine whisky burnt its way down his throat. the man-sized drink, taken on a totally empty stomach, almost nauseated him. then it put new life in his veins and he tried to struggle to his feet. ruth stiles was beside him in an instant and, with her father's help, assisted him to a chair at the table. "stranger," said stiles, stepping aside and eying the intruder critically, "i don't know who or what you are, but i do know that yo' look plumb tuckered out. nobody's goin' hungry in my house, so fall to an' we'll discuss other matters later." whereupon he laid his rifle in its accustomed place, motioned to his wife and daughter to resume their places at the table, and dragged up another chair for himself. beyond a word or two of encouragement to eat all he wanted of the very plain fare, none of the trio addressed the newcomer during the remainder of the meal. all three of them had noted the almost-obliterated stripes that encircled his clothing and their significance was unmistakable. but stiles himself was far from being convinced. he had heard too much of the tricks of government agents to be misled by what might prove, after all, only a clever disguise. therefore, when the womenfolk had cleared away the supper things and the two men had the room to themselves, the mountaineer offered his guest a pipeful of tobacco and saw to it that he took a seat before the fire where the light would play directly upon his features. then he opened fire. "stranger," he inquired, "what might yo' name be?" "patterson," said the other. "jim patterson." "whar you come from?" "charlestown first an' morgantown second. up for twelve years for manslaughter--railroaded at that," was patterson's laconic reply. "how'd you get away?" at that the convict laughed, but there was more of a snarl than humor in his tone as he answered: "climbed th' wall when th' guards weren't lookin'. they took a coupla pot shots at me, but none of them came within a mile. then i beat it south, travelin' by night an' hidin' by day. stole what i could to eat, but this country ain't overly well filled with farms. hadn't had a bite for two days, 'cept some berries, when i saw your cabin an' came up here." stiles puffed away in silence for a moment. then he rose, as if to fetch something from the other side of the room. once behind patterson, however, he reached forward and, seizing the stubble that covered his face, yanked it as hard as he could. "what th'----?" yelled the convict, springing to his feet and involuntarily raising his clenched hand. "ca'm yo'self, stranger, ca'm yo'self," directed the mountaineer, with a half smile. "jes' wanted to see for myself ef that beard was real, that's all. thought you might be a rev'nue agent in disguise." "a rev'nue agent?" queried patterson, and then as if the thought had just struck him that he was in the heart of the moonshining district, he added: "that's rich! me, just out of th' pen an' you think i'm a bull. that's great. here"--reaching into the recesses of his frayed shirt--"here's something that may convince you." and he handed over a tattered newspaper, more than a week old, and pointed to an article on the first page. "there, read that!" "ruth does all th' reading for this fam'ly," was stiles's muttered rejoinder. "ruth! oh, ruth! come here a minute an' read somethin' to yo' pappy!" patterson had not failed to note, during supper, that ruth stiles came close to being a perfect specimen of a mountain flower, rough and undeveloped, but with more than a trace of real beauty, both in her face and figure. standing in front of the fire, with its flickering light casting a sort of halo around her, she was almost beautiful--despite her homespun dress and shapeless shoes. without a word the convict handed her the paper and indicated the article he had pointed out a moment before. "reward offered for convict's arrest," she read. "james patterson, doing time for murder, breaks out of morgantown. five hundred dollars for capture. prisoner scaled wall and escaped in face of guards' fire." then followed an account of the escape, the first of its kind in several years. "even if you can't read," said patterson, "there's my picture under the headline--the picture they took for the rogues' gallery," and he pointed to a fairly distinct photograph which adorned the page. stiles took the paper closer to the fire to secure a better look, glanced keenly at the convict, and extended his hand. "guess that's right, stranger," he admitted. "you're no rev'nue agent." later in the evening, as she lay awake, thinking about the man who had shattered the monotony of their mountain life, ruth stiles wondered if patterson had not given vent to what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief at that moment. but she was too sleepy to give much thought to it, and, besides, what if he had?... in the other half of the cabin, divided from the women's room only by a curtain of discolored calico, slept patterson and stiles--the former utterly exhausted by his travels, the latter resting with keen hair trigger consciousness of danger always only a short distance away. nothing happened, however, to disturb the peace of the stiles domicile. even the hound slept quietly until the rosy tint of the eastern sky announced another day. after breakfast, at which the fat-back and corn bread were augmented by a brownish liquid which passed for coffee, stiles informed his guest that he "reckoned he'd better stick close to th' house fer a few days," as there was no telling whether somebody might not be on his trail. patterson agreed that this was the proper course and put in his time helping with the various chores, incidentally becoming a little better acquainted with ruth stiles. that night he lay awake for several hours, but nothing broke the stillness save a few indications of animal life outside the cabin and the labored breathing of the mountaineer in the bunk below him. for three nights nothing occurred. but on the fourth night, saturday, supper was served a little earlier than usual and patterson noted just a suspicion of something almost electrical in the air. he gave no indication of what he had observed, however, and retired to his bunk in the usual manner. after an hour or more had elapsed he heard stiles slip quietly off his mattress and a moment later there was the guarded scratch of a match as a lantern was lighted. suspecting what would follow, patterson closed his eyes and continued his deep, regular breathing. but he could sense the fact that the lantern had been swung up to a level with his bunk and he could almost feel the mountaineer's eyes as stiles made certain that he was asleep. stifling an impulse to snore or do something to convince his host that he wasn't awake, patterson lay perfectly still until he heard the door close. then he raised himself guardedly on one elbow and attempted to look through the window beside the bunk. but a freshly applied coat of whitewash prevented that, so he had to content himself with listening. late in the night--so late that it was almost morning--he heard the sounds of men conversing in whispers outside the cabin, but he could catch nothing beyond his own name. soon stiles re-entered the room, slipped into bed, and was asleep instantly. so things went for nearly three weeks. the man who had escaped from prison made himself very useful around the cabin, and, almost against his will, found that he was falling a victim to the beauty and charm of the mountain girl. "i mustn't do it," he told himself over and over again. "i can't let myself! it's bad enough to come here and accept the old man's hospitality, but the girl's a different proposition." it was ruth herself who solved the riddle some three weeks after patterson's arrival. they were wandering through the woods together, looking for sassafras roots, when she happened to mention that stiles was not her own father. "he's only my pappy," she said, "my adopted father. my real father was killed when i was a little girl. shot through the head because he had threatened to tell where a still was hidden. he never did believe in moonshining. said it was as bad as stealin' from the government. so somebody shot him and ma stiles took me in, 'cause she said she was sorry for me even if my pa was crazy." "do you believe that moonshining is right?" asked her companion. "anything my pa believed was the truth," replied the girl, her eyes flashing. "everybody round these parts knows that pappy stiles helps run the big still the rev'nue officers been lookin' for the past three years. two of 'em were shot not long ago, too--but that don't make it right. 'specially when my pa said it was wrong. what you smilin' at?" patterson resisted an inclination to tell her that the smile was one of relief and replied that he was just watching the antics of a chipmunk a little way off. but that night he felt a thrill of joy as he lay, listening as always, in his bunk. things had been breaking rather fast of late. the midnight gatherings had become more frequent and, convinced that he had nothing to fear from his guest, stiles was not as cautious as formerly. he seldom took the trouble to see that the escaped prisoner was asleep and he had even been known to leave the door unlatched as he went out into the night. that night, for example, was one of the nights that he was careless--and, as usually happens, he paid dearly for it. waiting until stiles was well out of the house, patterson slipped silently out of his bunk in his stocking feet and, inch by inch, reopened the door. outside, the moon was shining rather brightly, but, save for the retreating figure of the mountaineer--outlined by the lantern he carried--there was nothing else to be seen. very carefully patterson followed, treading softly so as to avoid even the chance cracking of a twig. up the mountainside went stiles and, some fifty feet behind him, crouched the convict, his faded garments blending perfectly with the underbrush. after half a mile or so of following a rude path, stiles suddenly disappeared from view--not as if he had turned a corner, but suddenly, as if the earth had swallowed him. after a moment patterson determined to investigate. when he reached the spot where he had last seen stiles he looked around and almost stumbled against the key to the entire mystery. there in the side of the mountain was an opening, the entrance to a natural cave, and propped against it was a large wooden door, completely covered with vines. "not a chance of finding it in the daytime unless you knew where it was," thought the convict as he slipped silently into the cave. less than thirty feet farther was an abrupt turn, and, glancing round this, patterson saw what he had been hoping for--a crowd of at least a dozen mountaineers gathered about a collection of small but extremely efficient stills. ranged in rows along the sides of the cave were scores of kegs, the contents of which were obvious from the surroundings. pausing only long enough to make certain of his bearings, the convict returned to the cabin and, long before stiles came back, was sound asleep. it was precisely four weeks from the day when the buzzard noted the man on the side of the mountain, when a sheriff's posse from another county, accompanied by half a dozen revenue officers, rode clattering through maymead and on in the direction of the stiles cabin. before the mountaineers had time to gather, the posse had surrounded the hill, rifles ready for action. stiles himself met them in front of his rude home and, in response to his challenge as to what they wanted, the sheriff replied that he had come for a prisoner who had escaped from morgantown a month or so before. stiles was on the verge of declaring that he had never heard of the man when, to his amazement, patterson appeared from the woods and surrendered. the instant the convict had gained the shelter of the government guns, however, a startling change took place. he held a moment's whispered conversation with one of the revenue officials and the latter slipped him a spare revolver from his holster. then--"hands up!" ordered the sheriff, and stiles's hands shot above his head. leaving three men to guard the cabin and keep watch over old man stiles, whose language was searing the shrubbery, the remainder of the posse pushed up the mountain, directed by the pseudoconvict. it took them some time to locate the door to the cave, but, once inside, they found all the evidence they wanted--evidence not only directly indicative of moonshining, but the two badges which had belonged to douglas and wood and which the mountaineers had kept as souvenirs of the shooting, thus unwittingly providing a firm foundation for the government's case in court. the next morning, when commissioner chambers reached his office, he found upon his desk a wire which read: stiles gang rounded up without the firing of a single shot. direct evidence of complicity in woods-douglas murders. secret still is a secret no longer. the signature to the telegram was "james reynolds, alias jim patterson." "jim patterson," mused the commissioner. "where have i heard that name.... of course. he's the prisoner that broke out of morgantown a couple of months ago! jimmy sure did lay the local color on thick!" * * * * * "but," i inquired, as quinn paused, "don't you consider that rather a dirty trick on reynolds's part--worming himself into the confidence of the mountaineers and then betraying them? besides, what about the girl?" "dirty trick!" snorted the former secret service agent. "would you think about ethics if some one had murdered two of the men you work next to in the office? it was the same thing in this case. jimmy knew that if he didn't turn up that gang they'd probably account for a dozen of his pals--to say nothing of violating the law every day they lived! what else was there for him to do? "the girl? oh, reynolds married her. they sometimes do that, even in real life, you know. as i said, they're living out in the middle west, for ruth declared she never wanted to see a mountain again, and both of them admitted that it wouldn't be healthy to stick around within walking distance of tennessee. that mountain crowd is a bad bunch to get r'iled, and it must be 'most time for stiles and his friends to get out of jail. "it's a funny thing the way these government cases work out. here was one that took nearly three months to solve, and the answer was the direct result of hard work and careful planning--while the trenton taxicab tangle, for example, was just the opposite!" viii the taxicab tangle we'd been sitting on the front porch--bill quinn and i--discussing things in general for about half an hour when the subject of transportation cropped up and, as a collateral idea, my mind jumped to taxicabs, for the reason that the former secret service operative had promised to give me the details of a case which he referred to as "the trenton taxicab tangle." "yes," he replied, reminiscently, when i reminded him of the alliterative title and inquired to what it might refer, "that was one of the branch cases which grew out of the von ewald chase--you remember mary mcnilless and the clue of shelf forty-five? well, dick walters, the man who landed von ewald, wasn't the only government detective working on that case in new york--not by some forty-five or fifty--and mary wasn't the only pretty woman mixed up in it, either. there was that girl at the rennoc switchboard.... "that's another story, though. what you want is the taxicab clue." * * * * * if you remember the incidents which led up to the von ewald affair [continued quinn, as he settled comfortably back in his chair] you will recall that the german was the slipperiest of slippery customers. when walters stumbled on his trail, through the quick wit of mary mcnilless, there wasn't the slightest indication that there was such a man. he was a myth, a bugaboo--elusive as the buzz of a mosquito around your ear. during the months they scoured new york in search for him, a number of other cases developed. some of these led to very interesting conclusions, but the majority, as usual, flivvered into thin air. the men at headquarters, the very cream of the government services, gathered from all parts of the country, were naturally unable to separate the wheat from the chaff in advance. night after night they went out on wild-goose chases and sometimes they spent weeks in following a promising lead--to find only blue sky and peaceful scenery at the end of it. alan whitney, who had put in two or three years rounding up counterfeiters for the service, and who had been transferred to the postal inspection service at the time of those registered mail robberies in the middle west--only to be detailed to secret service work in connection with the von ewald case--was one of the bitterest opponents of this forced inaction. "i don't mind trouble," whitney would growl, "but i do hate this eternal strain of racing around every time the bell goes off and then finding that some bonehead pulled the alarm for the sheer joy of seeing the engines come down the street. there ought to be a law against irresponsible people sending in groundless 'tips'--just as there's a law against scandal or libel or any other information that's not founded on fact." but, just the same, al would dig into every new clue with as much interest and energy as the rest of the boys--for there's always the thrill of thinking that the tip you're working on may be the right one after all. whitney was in the office one morning when the phone rang and the chief answered it. "yes," he heard the chief say, "this is the right place--but if your information is really important i would suggest that you come down and give it in person. telephones are not the most reliable instruments in the world." a pause followed and the chief's voice again: "well, of course we are always very glad to receive information that tends to throw any light on those matters, but i must confess that yours sounds a little vague and far-fetched. maybe the people in the taxi merely wanted to find a quiet place to talk.... they got out and were away for nearly two hours? hum! thanks very much. i'll send one of our men over to talk to you about it, if you don't mind. what's the address?" a moment or two later, after the chief had replaced the receiver, he called out to whitney and with a smile that he could barely conceal told him to catch the next train to trenton, where, at a certain address, he would find a miss vera norton, who possessed--or thought she possessed--information which would be of value to the government in running down the people responsible for recent bomb outrages and munition-plant explosions. "what's the idea, chief?" inquired al. "this young lady--at least her voice sounded young over the phone--says that she got home late from a party last night. she couldn't sleep because she was all jazzed up from dancing or something, so she sat near her window, which looks out upon a vacant lot on the corner. along about two o'clock a taxicab came putt-putting up the street, stopped at the corner, and two men carrying black bags hopped out. the taxicab remained there until nearly four o'clock--three-forty-eight, miss norton's watch said--and then the two men came back, without the bags, jumped in, and rolled off. that's all she knows, or, at least, all she told. "when she picked up the paper round eleven o'clock this mornin' the first thing that caught her eye was the attempt to blow up the powder plant 'bout two miles from the norton home. one paragraph of the story stated that fragments of a black bag had been picked up near the scene of the explosion, which only wrecked one of the outhouses, and the young lady leaped to the conclusion that her two night-owls were mixed up in the affair. so she called up to tip us off and get her name in history. better run over and talk to her. there might be something to the information, after all." "yes, there _might_," muttered whitney, "but it's getting so nowadays that if you walk down the street with a purple tie on, when some one thinks you ought to be wearing a green one, they want you arrested as a spy. confound these amateurs, anyhow! i'm a married man, chief. why don't you send giles or one of the bachelors on this?" "for just that reason," was the reply. "giles or one of the others would probably be impressed by the norton's girl's blond hair--it must be blond from the way she talked--and spend entirely too much time running the whole thing to earth. go on over and get back as soon as you can. we can't afford to overlook anything these days--neither can we afford to waste too much time on harvesting crops of goat feathers. beat it!" and whitney, still protesting, made his way to the tube and was lucky enough to catch a trenton train just about to pull out of the station. miss vera norton, he found, was a blond--and an extremely pretty one, at that. moreover, she appeared to have more sense than the chief had given her credit for. after whitney had talked to her for a few minutes he admitted to himself that it was just as well that giles hadn't tackled the case--he might never have come back to new york, and trenton isn't a big enough place for a secret service man to hide in safety, even when lured by a pair of extremely attractive gray-blue eyes. apart from her physical charms, however, whitney was forced to the conclusion that what she had seen was too sketchy to form anything that could be termed a real clue. "no," she stated, in reply to a question as to whether she could identify the men in the taxi, "it was too dark and too far off for me to do that. the arc light on the corner, however, gave me the impression that they were of medium height and rather thick set. both of them were dressed in dark suits of some kind and each carried a black leather bag. that's what made me think that maybe they were mixed up in that explosion last night." "what kind of bags were they?" "gladstones, i believe you call them. those bags that are flat on the bottom and then slant upward and lock at the top." "how long was the taxi there?" "i don't know just when it did arrive, for i didn't look at my watch then, but it left at twelve minutes to four. i was getting mighty sleepy, but i determined to see how long it would stay in one place, for it costs money to hire a car by the hour--even one of those green-and-white taxis." "oh, it was a green-and-white, eh?" "yes, and i got the number, too," miss norton's voice fairly thrilled with the enthusiasm of her detective ability. "after the men had gotten out of the car i remembered that my opera glasses were on the bureau and i used them to get a look at the machine. i couldn't see anything of the chauffeur beyond the fact that he was hunched down on the front seat, apparently asleep, and the men came back in such a hurry that i didn't have time to get a good look at them through the glasses." "but the number," whitney reminded her. "i've got it right here," was the reply, as the young lady dug down into her handbag and drew out a card. "n. y. four, three, three, five, six, eight," she read. "i got that when the taxi turned around and headed back--to new york, i suppose. but what on earth would two men want to take a taxi from new york all the way to trenton for? why didn't they come on the train?" "that, miss norton," explained whitney, "is the point of your story that makes the whole thing look rather suspicious. i will confess that when the chief told me what you had said over the phone i didn't place much faith in it. there might have been a thousand good reasons for men allowing a local taxi to wait at the corner, but the very fact of its bearing a new york number makes it a distinctly interesting incident." "then you think that it may be a clue, after all?" "it's a clue, all right," replied the operative, "but what it's a clue to i can't say until we dig farther into the matter. it is probable that these two men had a date for a poker party or some kind of celebration, missed the train in new york, and took a taxi over rather than be left out of the party. but at the same time it's distinctly within the realms of possibility that the men you saw were implicated in last night's explosion. it'll take some time to get at the truth of the matter and, meanwhile, might i ask you to keep this information to yourself?" "indeed i shall!" was the reply. "i won't tell a soul, honestly." after that promise, al left the norton house and made his way across town to where the munitions factory reared its hastily constructed head against the sky. row after row of flimsy buildings, roofed with tar paper and giving no outward evidence of their sinister mission in life--save for the high barbed-wire fence that inclosed them--formed the entire plant, for there shells were not made, but loaded, and the majority of the operations were by hand. when halted at the gate, whitney found that even his badge was of no use in securing entrance. evidently made cautious by the events of the preceding night, the guard refused to admit anyone, and even hesitated about taking al's card to the superintendent. the initials "u. s. s. s." finally secured him admittance and such information as was available. this, however, consisted only of the fact that some one had cut the barbed wire at an unguarded point and had placed a charge of explosive close to one of the large buildings. the one selected was used principally as a storehouse. otherwise, as the superintendent indicated by an expressive wave of his hand, "it would have been good night to the whole place." "evidently they didn't use a very heavy charge," he continued, "relying upon the subsequent explosions from the shells inside to do the damage. if they'd hit upon any other building there'd be nothing but a hole in the ground now. as it is, the damage won't run over a few thousand dollars." "were the papers right in reporting that you picked some fragments of a black bag not far from the scene of the explosion?" whitney asked. "yes, here they are," and the superintendent produced three pieces of leather from a drawer in his desk. "two pieces of the top and what is evidently a piece of the side." whitney laid them on the desk and examined them carefully for a few moments. then: "notice anything funny about these?" he inquired. "no. what's the matter?" "not a thing in the world, except that the bag must have had a very peculiar lock." "what's that?" "here--i'll show you," and whitney tried to put the two pieces of metal which formed the lock together. but, inasmuch as both of them were slotted, they wouldn't join. "damnation!" exclaimed the superintendent. "what do you make of that?" "that there were two bags instead of one," stated whitney, calmly. "coupled with a little information which i ran into before i came over here, it begins to look as if we might land the men responsible for this job before they're many hours older." ten minutes later he was on his way back to new york, not to report at headquarters, but to conduct a few investigations at the headquarters of the green-and-white taxicab company. "can you tell me," he inquired of the manager in charge, "just where your taxi bearing the license number four, three, three, five, six, eight was last night?" "i can't," said the manager, "but we'll get the chauffeur up here and find out in short order. "hello!" he called over an office phone. "who has charge of our cab bearing license number four, three, three, five, six, eight?... murphy? is he in?... send him up--i'd like to talk to him." a few moments later a beetle-jawed and none too cleanly specimen of the genus taxi driver swaggered in and didn't even bother to remove his cap before sitting down. "murphy," said the green-and-white manager, "where was your cab last night?" "well, let's see," commenced the chauffeur. "i took a couple to the amsterdam the-ayter in time for th' show an' then picked up a fare on broadway an' took him in the hunnerd-an'-forties some place. then i cruised around till the after-theater crowd began to come up an'--an' i got one more fare for yonkers. another long trip later on made it a pretty good night." "murphy," cut in whitney, edging forward into the conversation, "where and at just what hour of the night did those two germans offer you a hundred dollars for the use of your car all evening?" "they didn't offer me no hunnerd dollars," growled the chauffeur, "they gave me...." then he checked himself suddenly and added, in an undertone, "i don't know nothin' 'bout no goimans." "the hell you don't!" snarled whitney, edging toward the door. "back up against that desk and keep your hands on top of it, or i'll pump holes clean through you!" his right hand was in his coat pocket, the fingers closed around what was very palpably the butt of an automatic. murphy could see the outline of the weapon and obeyed instructions, while whitney slammed the door with his left hand. "now look here," he snapped, taking a step nearer to the taxi driver, "i want the truth and i want it quick! also, it's none of your business why i want it! but you better come clean if you know what's good for you. out with it! where did you meet 'em and where did you drive 'em?" realizing that escape was cut off and thoroughly cowed by the display of force, murphy told the whole story--or as much of it as he knew. "i was drivin' down broadway round twenty-eig't street last night, 'bout ten o'clock," he confessed. "i'd taken that couple to the the-ayter, just as i told you, an' that man up to harlem. then one of these t'ree guys hailed me...." "three?" interrupted whitney. "that's what i said--t'ree! they said they wanted to borrow my machine until six o'clock in th' mornin' an' would give me two hunnerd dollars for it. i told 'em there was nothin' doin' an' they offered me two-fifty, swearin' that they'd have it back at th' same corner at six o'clock sharp. two hunnerd an' fifty bones being a whole lot more than i could make in a night, i gambled with 'em an' let 'em have th' machine, makin' sure that i got the coin foist. they drove off, two of 'em inside, an' i put in th' rest of th' night shootin' pool. when i got to th' corner of twenty-eig't at six o'clock this mornin', there wasn't any sign of 'em--but th' car was there, still hot from the hard ride they give her. that's all i know--'shelp me gawd!" "did the men have any bags with them?" "bags? no, not one." "what did they look like?" "the one that talked with me was 'bout my heig't an' dressed in a dark suit. he an' th' others had their hats pulled down over their eyes, so's i couldn't see their faces." "did he talk with a german accent?" "he sure did. i couldn't hardly make out what he was sayin'. but his money talked plain enough." "yes, and it's very likely to talk loud enough to send you to the pen if you're not careful!" was whitney's reply. "if you don't want to land there, keep your mouth shut about this. d'you get me?" "i do, boss, i do." "and you've told me all the truth--every bit of it?" "every little bit." "all right. clear out!" when murphy left the room, whitney turned to the manager and, with a wry smile, remarked: "well, we've discovered where the car came from and how they got it. but that's all. we're really as much in the dark as before." "no," replied the manager, musingly. "not quite as much. possibly you don't know it, but we have a device on every car that leaves this garage to take care of just such cases as this--to prevent drivers from running their machines all over town without pulling down the lever and then holding out the fares on us. just a minute and i'll show you. "joe," he called, "bring me the record tape of murphy's machine for last night and hold his car till you hear from me." "this tape," he explained, a few minutes later, "is operated something along the lines of a seismograph or any other instrument for detecting change in direction. an inked needle marks these straight lines and curves all the time the machine is moving, and when it is standing still it oscillates slightly. by glancing at these tapes we can tell when any chauffeur is holding out on us, for it forms a clear record--not only of the distance the machine has traveled, but of the route it followed." "doesn't the speedometer give you the distance?" asked whitney. "theoretically, yes. but it's a very simple matter to disconnect a speedometer, while this record is kept in a locked box and not one driver in ten even knows it's there. now, let's see what murphy's record tape tells us.... "yes, here's the trip to the theater around eight-thirty. see the sharp turn from fifth avenue into forty-second street, the momentary stop in front of the amsterdam, and the complete sweep as he turned around to get back to broadway. then there's the journey up to the bronx or harlem or wherever he went, another complete turn and an uninterrupted trip back down on broadway." "then this," cut in whitney, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, "is where he stopped to speak to the germans?" "precisely," agreed the other, "and, as you'll note, that stop was evidently longer than either of the other two. they paid their fares, while murphy's friends had to be relieved of two hundred and fifty dollars." "from there on is what i'm interested in," announced whitney. "what does the tape say?" "it doesn't _say_ anything," admitted the manager, with a smile. "but it _indicates_ a whole lot. in fact, it blazes a blood-red trail that you ought to be able to follow with very little difficulty. see, when the machine started it kept on down broadway--in fact, there's no sign of a turn for several blocks." "how many?" "that we can't tell--now. but we can figure it up very accurately later. the machine then turned to the right and went west for a short distance only--stopped for a few moments--and then went on, evidently toward the ferry, for here's a delay to get on board, here's a wavy line evidently made by the motion of the boat when the hand ought to have been practically at rest, and here's where they picked up the trip to trenton. evidently they didn't have to stop until they got there, because we have yards of tape before we reach a stop point, and then the paper is worn completely through by the action of the needle in oscillating, indicative of a long period of inaction. the return trip is just as plain." "but," whitney objected, "the whole thing hinges on where they went before going to trenton. murphy said they didn't have any bags, so they must have gone home or to some rendezvous to collect them. how are we going to find the corner where the machine turned?" "by taking murphy's car and driving it very carefully south on broadway until the tape indicates precisely the distance marked on this one--the place where the turn was made. then, driving down that street, the second distance shown on the tape will give you approximately the house you're looking for!" "good lord," exclaimed whitney, "that's applying science to it! sherlock holmes wasn't so smart, after all!" al and the manager agreed that there was too much traffic on broadway in the daytime or early evening to attempt the experiment, but shortly after midnight, belated pedestrians might have wondered why a green-and-white taxicab containing two men proceeded down broadway at a snail's pace, while every now and then it stopped and one of the men got out to examine something inside. "i think this is the corner," whispered the garage manager to whitney, when they reached eighth street, "but to be sure, we'll go back and try it over again, driving at a normal pace. it's lucky that this is a new instrument and therefore very accurate." the second trial produced the same result as the first--the place they sought lay a few blocks west of broadway, on eighth. before they tried to find out the precise location of the house, whitney phoned to headquarters and requested loan of a score of men to assist him in the contemplated raid. "tell 'em to have their guns handy," he ordered, "because we may have to surround the block and search every house." but the taxi tape rendered that unnecessary. it indicated any one of three adjoining houses on the north side of the street, because, as the manager pointed out, the machine had not turned round again until it struck a north-and-south thoroughfare, hence the houses must be on the north side. by this time the reserves were on hand and, upon instructions from whitney, spread out in a fan-shaped formation, completely surrounding the houses, front and rear. at a blast from a police whistle they mounted the steps and, not waiting for the doors to be opened, went through them shoulders first. it was whitney, who had elected to assist in the search of the center house, who captured his prey in a third-floor bedroom. before the germans knew what was happening al was in the room, his flashlight playing over the floor and table in a hasty search for incriminating evidence. it didn't take long to find it, either. in one corner, only partly concealed by a newspaper whose flaring headlines referred to the explosion of the night before, was a collection of bombs which, according to later expert testimony was sufficient to blow a good-sized hole in the city of new york. that was all they discovered at the time, but a judicious use of the third degree--coupled with promises of leniency--induced one of the prisoners to loosen up the next day and he told the whole story--precisely as the taxi tape and vera norton had told it. the only missing ingredient was the power behind the plot--the mysterious "no. "--whom dick walters later captured because of the clue on shelf forty-five. * * * * * "so you see," commented quinn as he finished, "the younger pitt wasn't so far wrong when he cynically remarked that 'there is a providence that watches over children, imbeciles, and the united states.' in this case the principal clues were a book from the public library, the chance observations of a girl who couldn't sleep and a piece of white paper with some red markings on it. "at that, though, it's not the first time that german agents have gotten into trouble over a scrap of paper." "what happened to vera norton?" i inquired. "beyond a little personal glory, not a thing in the world," replied quinn. "didn't i tell you that al was married? you're always looking for romance, even in everyday life. besides, if he had been a bachelor, whitney was too busy trying to round up the other loose ends of the ewald case. 'number eight fifty-nine' hadn't been captured then, you remember. "give me a match--my pipe's gone out. no, i can't smoke it here; it's too late. but speaking of small clues that lead to big things, some day soon i'll tell you the story of how a match--one just like this, for all i know--led to the uncovering of one of the most difficult smuggling cases that the customs service ever tried to solve." ix a match for the government "i wonder how long it will take," mused bill quinn, as he tossed aside a copy of his favorite fictional monthly, "to remove the ethical restrictions which the war placed upon novels and short stories? did you ever notice the changing style in villains, for example? a decade or so ago it was all the rage to have a japanese do the dirty work--for then we were taking the 'yellow peril' rather seriously and it was reflected in our reading matter. the tall, well-dressed russian, with a sinister glitter in his black eyes, next stepped upon the scene, to be followed by the villain whose swarthy complexion gave a hint of his latin ancestry. "for the past few years, of course, every real villain has had to have at least a touch of teutonic blood to account for the various treacheries which he tackles. i don't recall a single novel--or a short story, either--that has had an english or french villain who is foiled in the last few pages. i suppose you'd call it the _entente cordiale_ of the novelists, a sort of concerted attempt by the writing clan to do their bit against the hun. and mighty good propaganda it was, too.... "but, unfortunately, the detective of real life can't always tell by determining a man's nationality whether he's going to turn out to be a crook or a hero. when you come right down to it, every country has about the same proportion of each and it's only by the closest observation that one can arrive at a definite and fact-supported conclusion. "details--trifles unnoticed in themselves--play a far larger part in the final dénouement than any preconceived ideas or fanciful theories. there was the case of ezra marks and the dillingham diamonds, for example...." * * * * * ezra [continued the former secret service operative, when he had eased his game leg into a position where it no longer gave him active trouble] was all that the name implied. born in vermont, of a highly puritanical family, he had been named for his paternal grandfather and probably also for some character from the old testament. i'm not awfully strong on that biblical stuff myself. it wasn't long after he grew up, however, that life on the farm began to pall. he found a copy of the life of alan pinkerton somewhere and read it through until he knew it from cover to cover. as was only natural in a boy of his age, he determined to become a great detective, and drifted down to boston with that object in view. but, once in the city, he found that "detecting" was a little more difficult than he had imagined, and finally agreed to compromise by accepting a very minor position in the police department. luckily, his beat lay along the water front and he got tangled up in two or three smuggling cases which he managed to unravel in fine shape, and, in this way, attracted the attention of the customs branch of the treasury department, which is always on the lookout for new timber. it's a hard life, you know, and one which doesn't constitute a good risk for an insurance company. so there are always gaps to be filled--and ezra plugged up one of them very nicely. as might have been expected, the new englander was hardly ever addressed by his full name. "e. z." was the title they coined for him, and "e. z." he was from that time on--at least to everyone in the service. the people on the other side of the fence, however, the men and women who look upon the united states government as a joke and its laws as hurdles over which they can jump whenever they wish--found that this mark was far from an easy one. he it was who handled the wang foo opium case in san diego in nineteen eleven. he nailed the gun runners at el paso when half a dozen other men had fallen down on the assignment, and there were at least three canadian cases which bore the imprint of his latent genius on the finished reports. his particular kind of genius was distinctly out of the ordinary, too. he wasn't flashy and he was far from a hard worker. he just stuck around and watched everything worth watching until he located the tip he wanted. then he went to it--and the case was finished! the chap who stated that "genius is the capacity for infinite attention to details" had ezra sized up to a t. and it was one of these details--probably the most trifling one of all--that led to his most startling success. back in the spring of nineteen twelve the european agents of the treasury department reported to washington that a collection of uncut diamonds, most of them rather large, had been sold to the german representative of a firm in rotterdam. from certain tips which they picked up, however, the men abroad were of the opinion that the stones were destined for the united states and advised that all german boats be carefully watched, because the dillingham diamonds--as the collection was known--had been last heard of en route to hamburg and it was to be expected that they would clear from there. the cablegram didn't cause any wild excitement in the treasury department. european agents have a habit of trying to stir up trouble in order to make it appear that they are earning their money and then they claim that the people over here are not always alert enough to follow their tips. it's the old game of passing the buck. you have to expect it in any business. but, as events turned out, the men on the other side were dead right. almost before washington had time officially to digest the cable and to mail out the stereotyped warnings based upon it, a report filtered in from wheeling, west virginia, that one of the newly made coal millionaires in that section had invested in some uncut diamonds as large as the end of your thumb. the report came in merely as a routine statement, but it set the customs authorities to thinking. uncut stones, you know, are hard to locate, either when they are being brought in or after they actually arrive. their color is dull and slatelike and there is little to distinguish them from other and far less valuable pebbles. of course, there might not be the slightest connection in the world between the wheeling diamonds and those of the dillingham collection--but then, on the other hand, there might.... hence, it behooved the customs people to put on a little more speed and to watch the incoming steamers just as carefully as they knew how. some weeks passed and the department had sunk back into a state of comfortable ease--broken only occasionally by a minor case or two--when a wire arrived one morning stating that two uncut diamonds had appeared in new york under conditions which appeared distinctly suspicious. the owner had offered them at a price 'way under the market figure, and then, rather than reply to one or two questions relative to the history of the stones, had disappeared. there was no record of the theft of any diamonds answering to the description of those seen in maiden lane, and the police force inquired if washington thought they could have been smuggled. "of course they could," snorted the chief. "but there's nothing to prove it. until we get our hands upon them and a detailed description of the dillingham stones, it's impossible to tell." so he cabled abroad for an accurate list of the diamonds which had been sold a couple of months earlier, with special instructions to include any identifying marks, as it was essential to spot the stones before a case could be built up in court. the following tuesday a long dispatch from rotterdam reached the department, stating, among other things, that one of the dillingham diamonds could be distinguished by a heart-shaped flaw located just below the surface. that same afternoon came another wire from new york to the effect that two rough stones, answering to the description of the ones alluded to in a previous message, had turned up in the jewelry district after passing through half a dozen underground channels. "has one of the diamonds a heart-shaped flaw in it?" the chief inquired by wire. "it has," came back the response. "how did you know it?" "i didn't," muttered the head of the customs service, "but i took a chance. the odds were twenty to one against me, but i've seen these long shots win before. now," ringing for mahoney, his assistant, "we'll see what can be done to keep the rest of that collection from drifting in--if it hasn't already arrived." "where's marks located now?" the chief inquired when mahoney entered. "somewhere in the vicinity of buffalo, i believe. he's working on that chesbro case, the one in connection with--" "i know," cut in the chief. "but that's pin money compared with this matter of the dillingham diamonds. thousands of dollars are at stake here, against hundreds there. besides, if this thing ever leaks out to the papers we'll never hear the last of it. the new york office isn't in any too strong as it is. wire marks to drop the trail of those silk hounds and beat it to new york as fast as he can. he'll find real work awaiting him there--something that ought to prove a test of the reputation he's built up on the other three borders. hurry it up!" "e. z." found the message awaiting him when he returned to his hotel that night, and without the slightest symptom of a grouch grabbed the next train for new york. as he told me later, he didn't mind in the least dropping the silk matter, because he had put in the better part of a month on it and didn't seem any closer than when he started. it took ezra less than five minutes to get all the dope the new york office had on the case--and it took him nearly six months to solve it. "the two diamonds in wheeling and the two that turned up here are the only ones we know about," said the man in charge of the new york office. "the original dillingham collection contained twenty-one rough stones--but whether the other seventeen have already been brought in or whether the people who are handling them have shipped them elsewhere is wholly problematical. the chief learned about the heart-shaped flaw from our man at rotterdam, so that identifies one of the stones. but at the same time it doesn't help us in the least--for we can't handle the case from this end." "same rules as on the coast, eh?" inquired marks. "precisely. you've got to tackle the other end of the game. no rummaging around here, trying to pick up the trail that ends with the stone in maiden lane. as you know, this bunch is pretty well organized, wheels within wheels and fences on fences. you get something on one of them and the rest of the crowd will perjure themselves black in the face to get him off, with the result that your case will be laughed out of court and the man you're really after--the chap who's running the stones under your nose--is a thousand miles away with a grin on his face. you've got to land him first and the others later, if the chief wants them. the chances are, though, that he'll be well satisfied to have the goods on the crook that's doing the main part of the work." "well," drawled marks, "i trust he gets his satisfaction. got any ideas on the matter?" "nary an idea. the stones were sold abroad and presumably they were headed for hamburg--which would appear to point to a german boat. four of them, supposedly--one of them, certainly--turned up here without passing through the office or paying the customary duty. now go to it!" when marks got back to his hotel and started to think the problem over, he had to admit that there wasn't very much to "go to." it was the thinnest case he had ever tackled--a perfect circle of a problem, without the slightest sign of a beginning, save the one which was barred. anxious as he was to make good, he had to concede that the department's policy of working from the other end of the case was the right course to follow. he had heard of too many arrests that fell flat, too many weary weeks of work that went for nothing--because the evidence was insufficient--not to realize the justice of the regulations that appeared to hamper him. "no," he thought, as he half dreamed over a pipe-load of tobacco, "the case seems to be impregnable. but there must be some way to jimmy into it if you try long enough." his first move was the fairly obvious one of searching the newspaper files to discover just what ships had docked during the ten days previous to the appearance of the stones in wheeling. but this led nowhere, because that week had been a very busy one in maritime circles. the _celtic_, the _mauretania_, the _kaiser wilhelm der grosse_, the _kronprinzessin cecelie_, the _deutschland_ and a host of other smaller vessels had landed within that time. just as a check upon his observations, he examined the records for the week preceding the first appearance of the diamonds in new york. here again he ran into a snag, but one which enabled him to eliminate at least half of the vessels he had considered before. however, there still remained a sufficient number to make it impossible to watch all of them or even to fix upon two or three which appeared more suspicious than the others. the information from abroad pointed to the fact that a german boat was carrying the diamonds, but, marks figured, there was nothing in the world to prevent the stones from being taken into england or france or italy and reshipped from there. they had turned up in the united states, so why couldn't they have been slipped through the customs of other countries just as easily? the one point about the whole matter that appeared significant to him was that two stones had been reported in each case--a pair in wheeling and another pair in new york. this evidence would be translated either to mean that the smugglers preferred to offer the diamonds in small lots, so as not to center suspicion too sharply in their movements, or that the space which they used to conceal the stones was extremely limited. marks inclined to the latter theory, because two stones, rather than one, had been offered in each instance. if the whole lot had been run in, he argued, the men responsible would market them singly, rather than in pairs. this would not detract in the slightest from the value of the stones, as it isn't easy to match rough diamonds and thus increase their market value. having settled this matter to his own satisfaction and being convinced that, as not more than two stones were being run in at one time, it would take at least eight more trips to import the entire shipment, "e. z." settled down to a part of the government detective's work which is the hardest and the most necessary in his life--that which can best be characterized by the phrase "watchful waiting." for weeks at a time he haunted the docks and wharves along the new york water front. his tall, angular figure became a familiar sight at every landing place and his eyes roamed restlessly over the crowds that came down the gangplank. in a number of instances he personally directed the searching of bags and baggage which appeared to be suspicious. save for locating a few bolts of valuable lace and an oil painting concealed in the handle of a walking stick which was patently hollow, he failed to turn up a thing. the only ray of hope that he could glimpse was the fact that, since he had been assigned to the case, four more stones had been reported--again in pairs. this proved that his former reasoning had been correct and also that the smugglers evidently intended to bring in all of the twenty-one stones, two at a time. but when he came to catalog the hiding places which might be used to conceal two articles of the size of the stones already spotted, he was stumped. the list included a walking stick, the heels of a pair of women's shoes, two dummy pieces of candy concealed in a box of real confections, a box of talcum, a bag of marbles, the handle of an umbrella, or any one of a number of other trinkets which travelers carry as a matter of course or bring home as curios or gifts. finally, after two solid months of unproductive work, he boarded the midnight train for washington and strolled into the chief's office the following morning, to lay his cards on the table. "frankly," he admitted, "i haven't accomplished a thing. i'm as far from breaking into the circle as i was at the beginning, and, so far as i can see, there isn't any hope of doing it for some time to come." "well," inquired the chief, "do you want to be relieved of the case or do you want me to drop the matter entirely--to confess that the customs service has been licked by a single clever smuggler?" "not at all!" and marks's tone indicated that such a thought had never entered his head. "i want the service to stick with the case and i want to continue to handle it. but i do want a definite assurance of time." "how much time?" "that i can't say. the only lead i've located--and that isn't sufficient to be dignified by the term 'clue'--will take weeks and probably months to run to earth. i don't see another earthly trail to follow, but i would like to have time to see whether this one leads anywhere." "all right," agreed the chief, fully realizing what "e. z." was up against and not being hurried by any pressure from the outside--for the case had been carefully kept out of the newspapers--"this is september. suppose we say the first of the year? how does that suit you?" "fair enough, if that's the best you can do." "i'm afraid it is," was the comment from across the desk, "because that's all the case is worth to us. your time is valuable and we can't afford to spend a year on any case--unless it's something as big as the sugar frauds. stick with it until new year's, and if nothing new develops before then we'll have to admit we're licked and turn you loose on something else." "thanks, chief," said marks, getting up from his chair. "you can depend upon my doing everything possible in the next three months to locate the leak and i surely appreciate your kindness in not delivering an ultimatum that you want the smuggler or my job. but then i guess you know that i couldn't work any harder than i'm going to, anyhow." "possibly," agreed the head of the service, "and then, again, it may be because i have confidence that you'll turn the trick within the year. want any help from this end?" "no, thanks. this looks like a one-man game and it ought not to take more than one man to finish it. a whole bunch of people always clutter up the place and get you tangled in their pet theories and personal ideas. what i would like, though, is to be kept in close touch with any further developments concerning stones that appear later on--where they are located--their exact weight and diameter, and any other facts that might indicate a possible hiding place." "you'll get that, all right," promised the chief. "and i trust that you'll develop a red-hot trail of your own before january first." with that marks shook hands and started back to new york, fairly well pleased with the results of his trip, but totally disgusted with the lack of progress which he had made since leaving buffalo. early in october a message from washington informed him that a couple of uncut diamonds had turned up in cincinnati, stones which answered to the description of a pair in the dillingham collection. around the th of november another pair was heard from in boston, and anyone who was familiar with marks and his methods would have noted a tightening of the muscles around his mouth and a narrowing of his eyes which always indicated that he was nearing the solution of a difficulty. after receiving the november message he stopped haunting the wharves and commenced to frequent the steamship offices of the hamburg-american, north german lloyd and llanarch lines. the latter, as you probably know, is operated by welsh and british capital and runs a few small boats carrying passengers who would ordinarily travel second class, together with a considerable amount of freight. when the first day of december dawned, marks drew a deep-red circle around the name of the month on his calendar and emitted a prayerful oath, to the effect he'd "be good and eternally damned if that month didn't contain an unexpected christmas present for a certain person." he made no pretense of knowing who the person was--but he did feel that he was considerably closer to his prey than he had been five months before. fate, as some one has already remarked, only deals a man a certain number of poor hands before his luck changes. sometimes it gets worse, but, on the average, it improves. in ezra marks's case fate took the form of a storm at sea, one of those winter hurricanes that sweep across the atlantic and play havoc with shipping. ezra was patiently waiting for one of three boats. which one, he didn't know--but by the process of elimination he had figured to a mathematical certainty that one of them ought to carry two uncut diamonds which were destined never to visit the customs office. little by little, through the months that had passed, he had weeded out the ships which failed to make port at the time the diamonds arrived--calculating the time by the dates on which the stones appeared elsewhere--and there were only three ships left. one of them was a north german lloyder, the second belonged to the hamburg-american fleet, and the third possessed an unpronounceable welsh name and flew the pennant of the llanarch line. as it happened, the two german ships ran into the teeth of the gale and were delayed three days in their trip, while the welsh boat missed the storm entirely and docked on time. two days later came a message from washington to the effect that two diamonds, uncut, had been offered for sale in philadelphia. "have to have one more month," replied marks. "imperative! can practically guarantee success by fifteenth of january"--for that was the date on which the welsh ship was due to return. "extension granted," came the word from washington. "rely on you to make good. can't follow case any longer than a month under any circumstances." marks grinned when he got that message. the trap was set, and, unless something unforeseen occurred, "e. z." felt that the man and the method would both be in the open before long. when the welsh ship was reported off quarantine in january, marks bundled himself into a big fur coat and went down the bay in one of the government boats, leaving instructions that, the moment the ship docked, she was to be searched from stem to stern. "don't overlook as much as a pill box or a rat hole," he warned his assistants, and more than a score of men saw to it that his instructions were carried out to the letter. beyond exhibiting his credentials, marks made no effort to explain why the ship was under suspicion. he watched the deck closely to prevent the crew from throwing packages overboard, and as soon as they reached dock he requested all officers to join him in one of the big rooms belonging to the customs service. there he explained his reasons for believing that some one on board was guilty of defrauding the government out of duty on a number of uncut diamonds. "what's more," he concluded, at the end of an address which was purposely lengthy in order to give his men time to search the ship, "i am willing to stake my position against the fact that two more diamonds are on board the ship at this moment!" luckily, no one took him up--for he was wrong. the captain, pompous and self-assertive, preferred to rise and rant against the "infernal injustice of this high-handed method." marks settled back to listen in silence and his fingers strayed to the side pocket of his coat where his pet pipe reposed. his mind strayed to the thought of how his men were getting along on the ship, and he absent-mindedly packed the pipe and struck a match to light it. it was then that his eye fell upon the man seated beside him--halley, the british first mate of the steamer. he had seen him sitting there before, but had paid little attention to him. now he became aware of the fact that the mate was smoking a huge, deep-bowled meerschaum pipe. at least, it had been in his mouth ever since he entered, ready to be smoked, but unlighted. almost without thinking about it, marks leaned forward and presented the lighted match, holding it above the mate's pipe. "light?" he inquired, in a matter-of-fact tone. to his amazement, the other started back as if he had been struck, and then, recovering himself, muttered: "no, thanks. i'm not smoking." "not smoking?" was the thought that flashed through marks's head, "then why--" but the solution of the matter flashed upon him almost instantly. before the mate had time to move, marks's hand snapped forward and seized the pipe. with the same movement he turned it upside down and rapped the bowl upon the table. out fell a fair amount of tobacco, followed by two slate-colored pebbles which rolled across the table under the very eyes of the captain! "i guess that's all the evidence we need!" marks declared, with a laugh of relief. "you needn't worry about informing your consul and entering a protest, captain williams. i'll take charge of your mate and these stones and you can clear when you wish." x the girl at the switchboard "when you come right down to it," mused bill quinn, "women came as near to winning the late but unlamented war as did any other single factor. "the food administration placarded their statement that 'food will win the war' broadcast throughout the country, and that was followed by a whole flock of other claimants, particularly after the armistice was signed. but there were really only two elements that played a leading role in the final victory--men and guns. and women backed these to the limit of their powerful ability--saving food, buying bonds, doing extra work, wearing a smile when their hearts were torn, and going 'way out of their usual sphere in hundreds of cases--and making good in practically every one of them. "so far as we know, the allied side presented no analogy to mollie pitcher or the other heroines of past conflicts, for war has made such forward steps that personal heroism on the part of women is almost impossible. of course, we had botchkareva and her 'regiment of death,' not to mention edith cavell, but the list is not a long one. "when it is finally completed, however, there are a few names which the public hasn't yet heard which will stand well toward the front. for example, there was virginia lang--" "was she the girl at the switchboard that you mentioned in connection with the von ewald case?" i interrupted. "that's the one," said quinn, "and, what's more, she played a leading role in that melodrama, a play in which they didn't use property guns or cartridges." * * * * * miss lang [continued quinn] was one of the few women i ever heard of that practically solved a secret service case "on her own." of course, in the past, the different governmental detective services have found it to their advantage to go outside the male sex for assistance. there have been instances where women in the employ of the treasury department rendered valuable service in trailing smugglers--the matter of the deauville diamonds is a case in point--and even the secret service hasn't been above using women to assist in running counterfeiters to earth, while the archives of the state department would reveal more than one interesting record of feminine co-operation in connection with underground diplomacy. but in all these cases the women were employed to handle the work and they were only doing what they were paid for, while virginia lang-- well, in the first place, she was one of the girls in charge of the switchboard at the rennoc in new york. you know the place--that big apartment hotel on riverside drive where the lobby is only a shade less imposing than the bell-boys and it costs you a month's salary to speak to the superintendent. they never have janitors in a place like that. virginia herself--i came to know her fairly well in the winter of nineteen seventeen, after dave carroll had gone to the front--was well qualified by nature to be the heroine of any story. rather above the average in size, she had luckily taken advantage of her physique to round out her strength with a gymnasium course. but in spite of being a big woman, she had the charm and personality which are more often found in those less tall. when you couple this with a head of wonderful hair, a practically perfect figure, eyes into which a man could look and, looking, lose himself, lips which would have caused a lip stick to blush and--oh, what's the use? words only caricature a beautiful woman, and, besides, if you haven't gotten the effect already, there's nothing that i could tell you that would help any. in the spring of nineteen sixteen, when the von ewald chase was at its height, miss lang was employed at the rennoc switchboard and it speaks well for her character when i can tell you that not one of the bachelor tenants ever tried a second time to put anything over. virginia's eyes could snap when they wanted to and virginia's lips could frame a cutting retort as readily as a pleasant phrase. in a place like the rennoc, run as an apartment hotel, the guests change quite frequently, and it was some task to keep track of all of them, particularly when there were three girls working in the daytime, though only one was on at night. they took it by turns--each one working one week in four at night and the other three holding down the job from eight to six. so, as it happened, virginia did not see dave carroll until he had been there nearly a month. he blew in from washington early one evening and straightway absented himself from the hotel until sometime around seven the following morning, following the schedule right through, every night. did you ever know carroll? he and i worked together on the farron case out in st. louis, the one where a bookmaker at the races tipped us off to the biggest counterfeiting scheme ever attempted in this country, and after that he took part in a number of other affairs, including the one which prevented the haitian revolution in nineteen thirteen. dave wasn't what you would call good-looking, though he did have a way with women. the first night that he came downstairs--after a good day's sleep--and spotted virginia lang on the switchboard, he could have been pardoned for wandering over and trying to engage her in a conversation. but the only rise he got was from her eyebrows. they went up in that "i-am-sure-i-have-never-met-you" manner which is guaranteed to be cold water to the most ardent male, and the only reply she vouchsafed was "what number did you wish?" "you appear to have mine," dave laughed, and then asked for rector , the private branch which connected with the service headquarters. when he came out of the booth he was careful to confine himself to "thank you" and the payment of his toll. but there was something about him that made virginia lang feel he was "different"--a word which, with women, may mean anything--or nothing. then she returned to the reading of her detective story, a type of literature to which she was much addicted. carroll, as you have probably surmised, was one of the more than twoscore government operatives sent to new york to work on the von ewald case. his was a night shift, with roving orders to wander round the section in the neighborhood of columbus circle and stand ready to get anywhere in the upper section of the city in a hurry in case anything broke. but, beyond reporting to headquarters regularly every hour, the assignment was not exactly eventful. the only thing that was known about von ewald at that time was that a person using such a name--or alias--was in charge of the german intrigues against american neutrality. already nearly a score of bomb outrages, attempts to destroy shipping, plots against munition plants, and the like had been laid at his door, but the elusive hun had yet to be spotted. indeed, there were many men in the service who doubted the existence of such a person, and of these carroll was one. but he shrugged his shoulders and stoically determined to bear the monotony of strolling along broadway and up, past the plaza, to fifth avenue and back again every night--a program which was varied only by an occasional séance at reisenweber's or pabst's, for that was in the days before the one-half of one per cent represented the apotheosis of liquid refreshment. it was while he was walking silently along fifty-ninth street, on the north side, close to the park, a few nights after his brush with virginia lang, that carroll caught the first definite information about the case that anyone had obtained. he hadn't noted the men until he was almost upon them, for the night was dark and the operative's rubber heels made no sound upon the pavement. possibly he wouldn't have noticed them then if it hadn't been for a phrase or two of whispered german that floated out through the shrubbery. "he will stay at conner's" was what reached carroll's ears. "that will be our chance--a rare opportunity to strike two blows at once, one at our enemy and the other at this smug, self-satisfied nation which is content to make money out of the slaughter of germany's sons. once he is in the hotel, the rest will be easy." "how?" inquired a second voice. "a bomb, so arranged to explode with the slightest additional pressure, in a--" "careful," growled a third man. "eight fifty-nine would hardly care to have his plans spread all over new york. this cursed shrubbery is so dense that there is no telling who may be near. come!" and carroll, crouched on the outside of the fence which separates the street from the park, knew that seconds were precious if he was to get any further information. a quick glance down the street showed him that the nearest gate was too far away to permit of entrance in that manner. so, slipping his automatic into the side pocket of his coat he leaped upward and grasped the top of the iron fence. on the other side he could hear the quick scuffle of feet as the germans, alarmed, began to retreat rapidly. a quick upward heave, a purchase with his feet, and he was over, his revolver in his hand the instant he lighted on the other side. "halt!" he called, more from force of habit than from anything else, for he had no idea that any of the trio would stop. but evidently one of them did, for from behind the shelter of a near-by bush came the quick spat of a revolver and a tongue of flame shot toward him. the bullet, however, sung harmlessly past and he replied with a fusillade of shots that ripped through the bush and brought a shower of german curses from the other side. then another of the conspirators opened fire from a point at right angles to the first, and the ruse was successful, for it diverted carroll's attention long enough to permit the escape of the first man, and the operative was still flat on the ground, edging his way cautiously forward when the park police arrived, the vanguard of a curious crowd attracted by the shots. "what's the trouble?" demanded the "sparrow cop." "none at all," replied dave, as he slipped the still warm revolver into his pocket and brushed some dirt from his sleeve. "guy tried to hold me up, that's all, and i took a pot shot at him. cut it! secret service!" and he cautiously flashed his badge in the light of the electric torch which the park policeman held. "huh!" grunted the guard, as he made his way to the bush from behind which carroll had been attacked. "you evidently winged him. there's blood on the grass here, but no sign of the bird himself. want any report to headquarters?" he added, in an undertone. "not a word," said carroll. "i'm working this end of the game and i want to finish it without assistance. it's the only thing that's happened in a month to break the monotony and there's no use declaring anyone else in on it. by the way, do you know of any place in town known as conner's?" "conner's? never heard of it. sounds as though it might be a dive in the bowery. plenty of queer places down there." "no, it's hardly likely to be in that section of the city," dave stated. "farther uptown, i think. but it's a new one on me." "on me, too," agreed the guard, "and i thought i knew the town like a book." when he reported to headquarters a few moments later, carroll told the chief over the wire of his brush with the trio of germans, as well as what he had heard. there was more than a quiver of excitement in the voice from the other end of the wire, for this was the first actual proof of the existence of the mysterious "no. ." "still believe von ewald is a myth?" inquired the chief. "well, i wouldn't go so far as to say that," was the answer, "because the bullet that just missed me was pretty material. evidently some one is planning these bomb outrages and it's up to us to nab him--if only for the sake of the service." "did you catch the name of the man to whom your friends were alluding?" asked the chief. "no, they just referred to him as 'he.'" "that might mean any one of a number of people," mused the chief. "sir cecil spring-rice is in town, you know. stopping at the waldorf. then there's the head of the french mission at the vanderbilt with a bunch of people, and lord wimbledon, who's spent five million dollars for horses in the west, stopping at the same place you are. you might keep an eye on him and i'll send kramer and fleming up to trail the other two." "did you ever hear of the place they called conner's, chief?" "no, but that doesn't mean anything. it may be a code word--a prearranged name to camouflage the hotel in the event anyone were listening in." "possibly," replied carroll, just before he hung up, "but somehow i have a hunch that it wasn't. i'll get back on the job and let you know if anything further develops." his adventure for the night appeared to have ended, for he climbed into bed the following morning without having been disturbed, but lay awake for an hour or more--obsessed with the idea that he really held the clue to the whole affair, but unable to figure out just what it was. where was it that they intended to place the bomb? why would they arrange it so as to explode upon pressure, rather than concussion or by a time fuse? where was conner's? who was the man they were plotting against? these were some of the questions which raced through his brain, and he awoke in the late afternoon still haunted by the thought that he really ought to know more than he did. that night at dinner he noted, almost subconsciously, that he was served by a new waiter, a fact that rather annoyed him because he had been particularly pleased at the service rendered by the other man. "where's felix?" he inquired, as the new attendant brought his soup. "he isn't on to-night, sir," was the reply. "he had an accident and won't be here for a couple of days." "an accident?" "yes, sir," was the laconic answer. "anything serious?" "no, sir. he--he hurt his hand," and the waiter disappeared without another word. carroll thought nothing more of it at the time, but later, over his coffee and a good cigar, a sudden idea struck him. could it be that felix was one of the men whom he had surprised the night before, the one he had fired at and hit? no, that was too much of a coincidence. but then felix was manifestly of foreign origin, and, while he claimed to be swiss, there was a distinct teutonic rasp to his words upon occasion. signaling to his waiter, dave inquired whether he knew where felix lived. "i'd like to know if there is anything that i can do for him," he gave as his reason for asking. "i haven't the slightest idea," came the answer, and carroll was aware that the man was lying, for his demeanor was sullen rather than subservient and the customary "sir" was noticeable by its absence. once in the lobby, dave noticed that the pretty telephone operator was again at the switchboard, and the idea occurred to him that he might find out felix's address from the hotel manager or head waiter. "i understand that my waiter has been hurt in an accident," the operative explained to the goddess of the wires, "and i'd like to find out where he lives. who would be likely to know?" "the head waiter ought to be able to tell you," was the reply, accompanied by the flash of what carroll swore to be the whitest teeth he had ever seen. "just a moment and i will get him on the wire for you." then, after a pause, "booth number five, please." but carroll got no satisfaction from that source, either. the head waiter maintained that he knew nothing of felix's whereabouts and hung up the receiver in a manner which was distinctly final, not to say impolite. the very air of mystery that surrounded the missing man was sufficient to incline him to the belief that, after all, there might be something to the idea that felix was the man he had shot at the night before. in that event, it was practically certain that lord wimbledon was the object of the germans' attention--but that didn't solve the question of where the bomb was to be placed, nor the location of "conner's." "just the same," he muttered, half aloud, "i'm going to stick around here to-night." "why that momentous decision?" came a voice almost at his elbow, a voice which startled and charmed him with its inflection. looking up, he caught the eyes of the pretty telephone girl, laughing at him. "talking to yourself is a bad habit," she warned him with a smile which seemed to hold an apology for her brusqueness of the night before, "particularly in your business." "my business?" echoed dave. "what do you know about that?" "not a thing in the world--except," and here her voice dropped to a whisper--"except that you are a government detective and that you've discovered something about lord wimbledon, probably some plot against his lordship." "where--how--what in the world made you think that?" stammered carroll, almost gasping for breath. "very simple," replied the girl. "quite elementary, as sherlock holmes used to say. you called the headquarters number every night when you came down--the other girls tipped me off to that, for they know that i'm fond of detective stories. then everybody around here knows that felix, the waiter that you inquired about, is really german, though he pretends to be swiss, and that he, the head waiter, and the pastry cook are thick as thieves." "you'd hardly expect me to say 'yes,' would you? particularly as i am supposed to be a government operative." "now i know you are," smiled the girl. "very few people use the word 'operative.' they'd say 'detective' or 'agent.' but don't worry, i won't give you away." "please don't," laughed carroll, half banteringly, half in earnest, for it would never do to have it leak out that a girl had not only discovered his identity, but his mission. then, as an after-thought, "do you happen to know of any hotel or place here in town known as 'conner's'?" he asked. "why, of course," was the reply, amazing in its directness. "the manager's name--" but then she halted abruptly, picked up a plug, and said, "what number, please?" into the receiver. carroll sensed that there was a reason for her stopping in the middle of her sentence and, looking around, found the pussy-footed head waiter beside him, apparently waiting for a call. silently damning the custom that made it obligatory for waiters to move without making a sound, carroll wandered off across the lobby, determined to take a stroll around the block before settling down to his night's vigil. a stop at the information desk, however, rewarded him with the news that lord wimbledon was giving a dinner in his apartments the following evening to the british ambassador--that being all the hotel knew officially about his grace's movements. "i'll take care to have half a dozen extra men on the job," carroll assured himself, "for that's undoubtedly the time they would pick if they could get away with it. a single bomb then would do a pretty bit of damage." the evening brought no further developments, but shortly after midnight he determined to call the rennoc, in the hope that the pretty telephone girl was still on duty and that she might finish telling him what she knew of conner's. "hotel rennoc," came a voice which he recognized instantly. "this is dave carroll speaking," said the operative. "can you tell me now what it was you started to say about conner's?" "not now," came the whispered reply. then, in a louder voice, "just a moment, please, and i'll see if he's registered." during the pause which followed dave realized that the girl must be aware that she was watched by some one. was it the silent-moving head waiter? "no, he hasn't arrived yet," was the next phrase that came over the wires, clearly and distinctly, followed by instructions, couched in a much lower tone, "meet me, drive entrance, one-five sure," and then a click as the plug was withdrawn. it was precisely five minutes past one when carroll paused in front of the riverside drive doorway to the rennoc, considering it the part of discretion to keep on the opposite side of the driveway. a moment later a woman, alone, left the hotel, glanced around quickly, and then crossed to where he was standing. "follow me up the street," she directed in an undertone as she passed. "michel has been watching like a hawk." dave knew that michel was the head waiter, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadow slip out of another of the hotel doorways, farther down the drive, and start toward them. but when he looked around a couple of blocks farther up the drive, there was no one behind them. "why all the mystery?" he inquired, as he stepped alongside the girl. "something's afoot in the rennoc," she replied, "and they think i suspect what it is and have told you about it. michel hasn't taken his eyes off me all evening. i heard him boast one night that he could read lips, so i didn't dare tell you anything when you called up, even though he was across the lobby. conner's, the place you asked about, is the rennoc. spell it backward. conner is the manager--hence the name of the hotel." "then," said carroll, "that means that they've got a plan under way to bomb lord wimbledon and probably the british ambassador at that dinner to-morrow evening. i overheard one of them say last night that a bomb, arranged to explode at the slightest pressure, would be placed in the--" and then he stopped. "in the cake!" gasped the girl, as if by intuition. but her next words showed that her deduction had a more solid foundation. "this is to be a birthday dinner, in honor of lord percy somebody who's in lord wimbledon's party, as well as in honor of lord cecil. the pastry cook, who's almost certainly mixed up in the plot, has plenty of opportunity to put the bomb there, where it would never be suspected. the instant they cut the cake--" but her voice trailed off in midair as something solid came down on her head with a crash. at the same moment dave was sent reeling by a blow from a blackjack, a blow which sent him spinning across the curb and into the street. he was dimly aware that two men were leaping toward him and that a third was attacking the telephone girl. panting, gasping, fighting for time in which to clear his head of the effects of the first blow, carroll fought cautiously, but desperately, realizing that his opponents desired to avoid gun-play for fear of attracting the police. a straight left to the jaw caught one of the men coming in and knocked him sprawling, but the second, whom carroll recognized as michel, was more wary. he dodged and feinted with the skill of a professional boxer, and then launched an uppercut which went home on the point of dave's jaw. it was at that moment that the operative became aware of another participant in the fray--a figure in white with what appeared to be a halo of gold around her head. the thought flashed through his mind that he must be dreaming, but he had sense enough left to leap aside when a feminine voice called "look out!" and the arc light glinted off the blade of a knife as it passed perilously close to his ribs. then the figure in white brought something down on michel's head and, wheeling, seized the wrist of the third man in a grip of iron. ten seconds later the entire trio was helpless and carroll was blowing a police whistle for assistance. "there was really nothing to it at all," protested the telephone girl, during the ride in the patrol. "they made the mistake of trying to let felix, with his wounded hand, take care of me. i didn't have two years of gym work and a complete course in jiu jitsu for nothing, and that blackjack came in mighty handy a moment or two later. all felix succeeded in doing was to knock my hat off, and i shed my coat the instant i had attended to him." "that's why i thought you were a goddess in white," murmured dave. "no goddess at all, just a girl from the switchboard who was glad to have a chance at the brutes. anyhow, that few minutes beats any book i ever read for action!" dave's hand stole out in the darkness as they jolted forward, and when it found what it was seeking, "girl," he said, "do you realize that i don't even know your name?" "lang," said a voice in the dark. "my friends call me virginia." "after what you just did for me, i think we ought to be at least good friends," laughed carroll, and the thrill of the fight which has just passed was as nothing when she answered: "at least that ... dave!" * * * * * quinn paused for a moment to repack his pipe and i took advantage of the interruption to ask what happened at the wimbledon dinner the following night. "not a thing in the world," replied quinn. "everything went off like clockwork--everything but the bomb. as the podunk _gazette_ would say, 'a very pleasant time was had by all.' but you may be sure that they were careful to examine the cake and the other dishes before they were sampled by the guests. michel, felix, and the cook were treated to a good dose of the third degree at headquarters, but without results. they wouldn't even admit that they knew any such person as 'number eight-fifty-nine' or von ewald. two of them got off with light sentences for assault and battery. the pastry cook, however, went to the pen when they found a quantity of high explosives in his room." "and miss lang?" "if you care to look up the marriage licenses for october, nineteen sixteen, you'll find that one was issued in the names of david carroll and virginia lang. she's the wife of a captain now, for dave left the service the following year and went to france to finish his fight with the hun. i saw him not long ago and the only thing that's worrying him is where he is going to find his quota of excitement, for he says that there is nothing left in the service but chasing counterfeiters and guarding the resident, and he can't stand the idea of staying in the army and drawing his pay for wearing a uniform." xi "lost--$ , !" "i stopped on my way here to-night and laid in a supply of something that i don't often use--chewing gum," said bill quinn, formerly of the secret service, as he settled back comfortably to enjoy an evening's chat. "there are some professional reformers who maintain that the great american habit of silently working the jaws over a wad of chewing gum is harmful in the extreme, but if you'll look into the matter you'll find that agitators of that type want you to cut out all habits except those which they are addicted to. "personally, i'm not a habitual worshiper at the shrine of the great god goom, but there's no use denying the fact that it does soothe one's nerves occasionally. incidentally, it has other uses--as elmer allison discovered not very long ago." "yes?" i inquired, sensing the fact that quinn had a story up his sleeve and was only awaiting the opportunity to spring it. "didn't you mention a post-office case in which a wad of gum played a prominent role?" "that's the one," said the former government operative, easing his wounded leg into a less cramped position. "here, have a couple of sticks just to get the proper atmosphere and i'll see if i can recall the details." * * * * * for some reason that's hard to define [quinn went on, after he had peeled two of the dun-colored sticks and commenced work on them] crooks in general and amateur crooks in particular seem to regard the united states mails as particularly easy prey. possibly they figure that, as millions of dollars are handled by the post-office department every year, a little here and there won't be missed. but if they knew the high percentage of mail robberies that are solved they wouldn't be so keen to tackle the game. lifting valuables, once they have passed into the hands of uncle sam's postman, is a comparatively easy crime to commit. there are dozens of ways of doing it--methods which range all the way from fishing letters out of a post-box with a piece of string and a hairpin, to holding up the mail car in a deserted portion of a railroad track. but getting away with it is, as our yiddish friends say, something else again. the annals of the postal inspection service are filled with incidents which indicate that the high cost of living is down around zero compared to the high cost of crime, when said crime is aimed at the mails. there are scores of men in atlanta, leavenworth, and other federal prisons whose advice would be to try murder, forgery, or arson rather than attempt to earn a dishonest living by stealing valuable letters. the majority of persons realize that it pays to register their money and insure their packages because, once this precaution has been attended to, the government exercises special care in the handling of these and makes it extremely difficult for crooks to get anywhere near them. if a registered letter disappears there is a clean-cut trail of signed receipts to follow and somebody has to bear the burden of the loss. but even with these precautions, the registered section is looted every now and then. one of the biggest cases of this kind on record was that which occurred in columbus when letters with an aggregate value of one hundred thousand dollars just vanished into thin air. of course, they didn't all disappear at one time, but that made it all the more mysterious--because the thefts were spread out over a period of some five or six weeks and they went on, just as regularly as clockwork, in spite of the precautions to the contrary. the first of the losses, as i recall it, was a shipment of ten thousand dollars in large bills sent by a chicago bank to a financial concern in columbus. when working on that single case, of course, the officials of the department were more or less in the dark as to the precise place that the disappearance had taken place, in spite of the fact that there were the usual signed slips indicating that the package had been received at the columbus post office. but clerks who are in a hurry sometimes sign receipts without being any too careful to check up the letters or packages to which they refer--a highly reprehensible practice, but one which is the outgrowth of the shortage of help. it was quite within the bounds of possibility, for example, for the package to have been abstracted from the chicago office without the loss being discovered until columbus checked up on the mail which was due there. but a week or ten days later came the second of the mysterious disappearances--another envelope containing bills of large denomination, this time en route from pittsburgh to columbus. when a third loss occurred the following fortnight, the headquarters of the postal inspection service in washington became distinctly excited and every man who could be spared was turned loose in an effort to solve the problem. orders were given to shadow all the employees who had access to the registered mail with a view to discovering whether they had made any change in their personal habits, whether they had displayed an unusual amount of money within the past month, or whether their family had shown signs of exceptional prosperity. it was while the chief was waiting for these reports that elmer allison blew into washington unexpectedly and strolled into the room in the big gray-stone tower of what was then the post-office department building, with the news that he had solved the "poison-pen case" in kansas city and was ready to tackle something else. the chief, to put it mildly, was surprised and inquired why in the name of the seven hinges of hades allison hadn't made his report directly to the office by mail. "that was a pretty important case, chief," elmer replied, "and i didn't want to take any chances of the findings being lost in the registered mail." then, grinning, he continued, "understand you've been having a bit of trouble out in columbus?" "who told you about that?" growled the chief. "oh, you can't keep things like that under your hat even if you do succeed in keeping them out of the papers," retorted allison. "a little bird tipped me off to it three weeks ago and--" "and you determined to leap back here as soon as you could so that you would be assigned to the case, eh?" "you guessed it, chief. i wanted a try at the columbus affair and i was afraid i wouldn't get it unless i put the matter personally up to you. how 'bout it?" "as it happens, you lost about two days of valuable time in coming here, instead of wiring for further instructions from kansas city," the chief told him. "i had intended taking you off that anonymous letter case by noon to-morrow, whether you'd finished it or not, for this is a far more important detail. somebody's gotten away with fifty thousand dollars so far, and there's no--" "pardon me, sir, but here's a wire which has just arrived from rogers, in columbus. thought you'd like to see it at once," and the chief's secretary laid a yellow slip face upward on his desk. allison, who was watching closely, saw a demonstration of the reason why official washington maintained that the chief of the postal inspection service had the best "poker face" in the capital. not a muscle in his countenance changed as he read the telegram and then glanced up at allison, continuing his sentence precisely where he had been interrupted: "reason to suppose that the thief is going to stop there. this wire from rogers, the postmaster at columbus, announces the loss of a fourth package of bills. fifty thousand this time. that's the biggest yet and it brings the total deficit up to one hundred thousand dollars. rogers says that the banks are demanding instant action and threatening to take the case to headquarters, which means that it'll spread all over the papers. congress will start an investigation, some of us will lose our official heads, and, in the mix-up, the man who's responsible for the losses will probably make a clean getaway." then, with a glance at the clock which faced his desk, "there's a train for columbus in twenty minutes, allison. can you make it?" "it's less than ten minutes to the station," replied the operative. "that gives me plenty of leeway." "well, move and move fast," snapped the chief. "i'll wire columbus that you've been given complete charge of the case; but try to keep it away from the papers as long as you can. the department has come in for enough criticism lately without complicating the issue from the outside. good luck." and allison was out of the door almost before he had finished speaking. allison reached columbus that night, but purposely delayed reporting for work until the following morning. in the first place there was no telling how long the case would run and he felt that it was the part of wisdom to get all the rest he could in order to start fresh. the "poison-pen" puzzle hadn't been exactly easy to solve, and his visit to washington, though brief, had been sufficiently long for him to absorb some of the nervous excitement which permeated the department. then, too, he figured that postmaster rogers would be worn out by another day of worry and that both of them would be the better for a night's undisturbed sleep. nine o'clock the next morning, however, saw him seated in one of the comfortable chairs which adorned the postmaster's private office. rogers, who did not put in an appearance until ten, showed plainly the results of the strain under which he was laboring, for he was a political appointee who had been in office only a comparatively short time, a man whose temperament resented the attacks launched by the opposition and who felt that publication of the facts connected with the lost one hundred thousand dollars would spell ruin, both to his own hopes and those of the local organization. allison found that the chief had wired an announcement of his coming the day before and that rogers was almost pitifully relieved to know that the case was in the hands of the man who had solved nearly a score of the problems which had arisen in the service during the past few years. "how much do you know about the case?" inquired the postmaster. "only what i learned indirectly and from what the chief told me," was allison's reply. "i understand that approximately one hundred thousand dollars is missing from this post office" (here rogers instinctively winced as he thought of the criticism which this announcement would cause if it were made outside the office), "but i haven't any of the details." "neither have we, unfortunately," was the answer. "if we had had a few more we might have been able to prevent the last theft. you know about that, of course." "the fifty thousand dollars? yes. the chief told me that you had wired." "well, that incident is typical of the other three. banks in various parts of the country have been sending rather large sums of money through the mails to their correspondents here. there's nothing unusual in that at this time of the year. but within the past five or six weeks there have been four packages--or, rather, large envelopes--of money which have failed to be accounted for. they ranged all the way from ten thousand dollars, the first loss, to the fifty thousand dollars which disappeared within the past few days. i purposely delayed wiring washington until we could make a thorough search of the whole place, going over the registry room with a fine-tooth comb--" "thus warning every man in it that he was under suspicion," muttered allison. "what was that?" rogers inquired. "nothing--nothing at all. just talking to myself. far from a good habit, but don't mind it. i've got some queer ones. you didn't find anything, of course?" "in the building? no, not a thing. but i thought it best to make a thorough clean-up here before i bothered washington with a report." "what about the men who've been working on the case up to this time?" "not one of them has been able to turn up anything that could be dignified by the term clue, as i believe you detectives call it." "yes, that's the right word," agreed the operative. "at least all members of the detective-story-writers' union employ it frequently enough to make it fit the case. what lines have boyd and the other men here been following?" "at my suggestion they made a careful examination into the private lives of all employees of the post-office, including myself," rogers answered, a bit pompously. "i did not intend to evade the slightest responsibility in the matter, so i turned over my bankbook, the key to my safe-deposit vault and even allowed them to search my house from cellar to garret." "was this procedure followed with respect to all the other employees in the building?" "no, only one or two of the highest--personal friends of mine whom i could trust to keep silent. i didn't care to swear out search warrants for the residences of all the people who work here, and that's what it would have meant if they had raised any objection. in their cases the investigation was confined to inquiries concerning their expenditures in the neighborhood, unexpected prosperity, and the like." "with what result?" "none at all. from all appearances there isn't a soul in this building who has had ten cents more during the past six weeks than he possessed in any like period for two years back." "did boyd or any of the other department operatives ask to see the plans of the post office?" inquired allison, taking another tack. "the what?" "the plans of the post-office--the blue print prepared at the time that the building was erected." "no. why should they?" "i thought they might have been interested in it, that's all," was allison's answer, but anyone who knew him would have noted that his tone was just a trifle too nonchalant to be entirely truthful. "by the way," added the operative, "might i see it?" "the blue print?" "yes. you will probably find it in the safe. if you'll have some one look it up, i'll be back in half an hour to examine it," said allison. "meanwhile, i'll talk to boyd and the other men already on the ground and see if i can dig anything out of what they've discovered." but boyd and his associates were just as relieved as rogers had been to find that the case had been placed in allison's hands. four weeks and more of steady work had left them precisely where they had commenced--"several miles back of that point," as one of them admitted, "for three more stunts have been pulled off right under our eyes." the personal as well as the official record of every man and woman in the columbus post office had been gone over with a microscope, without the slightest result. if the germ of dishonesty was present, it was certainly well hidden. "we'll try another and more powerful lens," allison stated, as he turned back to the postmaster's private office. "by the way, boyd, have you or any of your men been in the service more than four years?" "no, i don't think any of us has. what has that got to do with it?" "not a thing in the world, as far as your ability is concerned, but there is one point that every one of you overlooked--because you never heard of it. i'm going to try it out myself now and i'll let you know what develops." with that allison turned and sauntered back into rogers's office. there, spread upon the desk, was the missing blue print, creased and dusty from disuse. "first time you ever saw this, eh?" allison inquired of the postmaster. "the first time i even knew it was there," admitted that official. "how'd you know where to find it?" "i didn't--but there's an ironclad rule of the department that plans of this nature are to be kept under lock and key for just such emergencies as this. but i guess your predecessor was too busy to worry you with details." rogers grunted. it was an open secret that the postmaster who had preceded him had not been any too friendly to his successor. allison did not pursue the subject but spread the plan upon an unoccupied table so that he could examine it with care. "if you'll be good enough to lock that door, postmaster," he directed, "i'll show you something else about your building that you didn't know. but i don't want anybody else coming in while we're discussing it." puzzled, but feeling that the government detective ought to be allowed to handle things in his own way, rogers turned the key in the lock and came over to the table where allison stood. "do you see that little square marked with a white star and the letter 'l'?" asked elmer. "yes, what is it?" "what is this large room next to it?" countered the operative. "that's the--why, that's the registry room!" "precisely. and concealed in the wall in a spot known only to persons familiar with this blue print, is a tiny closet, or 'lookout.' that's what the 'l' means and that's the reason that there's a strict rule about guarding plans of this nature very carefully." "you mean to say that a place has been provided for supervision of the registry division--a room from which the clerks can be watched without their knowledge?" "exactly--and such a precaution has been taken in practically every post office of any size in the country. only the older men in the service know about it, which is the reason that neither boyd nor any of his men asked to see this set of plans. the next step is to find the key to the lookout and start in on a very monotonous spell of watchful waiting. you have the bunch of master keys, of course?" "yes, they're in the safe where the plans were kept. just a moment and i'll get them." when rogers produced the collection of keys, allison ran hurriedly over them and selected one which bore, on the handle, a small six-pointed star corresponding to the mark on the blue print. "want to go up with me and investigate the secret chamber?" he inquired. "i certainly do," agreed rogers. "but there's one point where this room won't help us in the slightest. how did the thief get the mail containing the money out of the building? you know the system that maintains in the registry room? it's practically impossible for a sheet of paper to be taken out of there, particularly when we are on guard, as we are now." "that's true," allison admitted, "but it's been my experience that problems which appear the most puzzling are, after all, the simplest of explanation. you remember the philadelphia mint robbery--the one that drummond solved in less than six hours? this may prove to be just as easy." there allison was wrong, dead wrong--as he had to admit some ten days later, when, worn with the strain of sitting for hours at a time with his eyes glued to the ventilator which masked the opening to the lookout, he finally came to the conclusion that something would have to be done to speed things up. it was true that no new robberies had occurred in the meantime, but neither had any of the old ones been punished. the lost one hundred thousand dollars was still lost; though the department, with the aid of the treasury officials, had seen that the banks were reimbursed. "the decoy letter," thought allison, "is probably the oldest dodge in the world. but, who knows, it may work again in this case--provided we stage-manage it sufficiently carefully." with the assistance of the cashier of one of the local banks elmer arranged to have a dummy package of money forwarded by mail from new york. it was supposed to contain thirty-five thousand dollars in cash, and all the formalities were complied with precisely as if thirty-five thousand-dollar bills were really inside the envelope, instead of as many sheets of blank paper carefully arranged. on the morning of the day the envelope was due to reach columbus, allison took up his position close to the grille in the lookout, his eyes strained to catch the slightest suspicious movement below. hour after hour passed uneventfully until, almost immediately below him, he saw a man drop something on the floor. two envelopes had slipped from his hands and he stooped to pick them up--that was all. but what carried a thrill to the operative in the lookout was the fact that one of the envelopes was the dummy sent from new york and that, when the man straightened up, he had only _one_ of the two in his hands. the dummy had disappeared! allison rubbed his eyes and looked again. no, he was right. the postal clerk had, in some manner, disposed of the envelope supposed to contain thirty-five thousand dollars and he was going about his work in precisely the same way as before. "wait a minute," allison argued to himself. "there's something missing besides the envelope! what is it?" a moment later he had the clue to the whole affair--the jaws of the clerk, which allison had previously and subconsciously noted were always hard at work on a wad of gum, now were at rest for the first time since the operative had entered the lookout! the chewing gum and the dummy packet had disappeared at the same time! it didn't take elmer more than thirty seconds to reach rogers's office, and he entered with the startling announcement that "an envelope containing thirty-five thousand dollars had just disappeared from the registry room." "what?" demanded the postmaster. "how do you know? i haven't received any report of it." "no, and you probably wouldn't for some time," elmer retorted. "but it happens that i saw it disappear." "then you know where it is?" "i can lay my hands on it--and probably the rest of the missing money--inside of one minute. let's pay a visit to the registry room." before entering the section, however, allison took the precaution of posting men at both of the doors. "after i'm inside," he directed, "don't allow anyone to leave on any pretext whatever. and stand ready for trouble in case it develops. come on, mr. rogers." once in the room devoted to the handling of registered mail, allison made directly for the desk under the lookout. the occupant regarded their approach with interest but, apparently, without a trace of anxiety. "i'd like to have that letter supposed to contain thirty-five thousand dollars which you dropped on the floor a few moments ago," elmer remarked in a quiet, almost conversational tone. except for a sudden start, the clerk appeared the picture of innocence. "what letter?" he parried. "you know what one!" snapped allison, dropping his suave manner and moving his hand significantly toward his coat pocket. "will you produce it--or shall i?" "i--i don't know what you are talking about," stammered the clerk. "no? well, i'll show you!" and the operative's hands flashed forward and there was a slight click as a pair of handcuffs snapped into place. "now, mr. rogers, you'll be good enough to watch me carefully, as your evidence will probably be needed in court. i'll show you as simple and clever a scheme as i've ever run across." with that allison dropped to the floor, wormed his way under the table-desk, tugged at something for a moment and then rose, holding five large envelopes in his hands! "there's your lost one hundred thousand dollars," he explained, "and a dummy packet of thirty-five thousand dollars to boot. thought you could get away with it indefinitely, eh?" he inquired of the handcuffed clerk. "if you'd stopped with the one hundred thousand dollars, as you'd probably intended to do, you might have. but that extra letter turned the trick. too bad it contained only blank paper"--and he ripped the envelope open to prove his assertion. "but--but--i don't understand," faltered rogers. "how did this man work it right under our eyes?" "he didn't," declared allison. "he tried to work it right under mine, but he couldn't get away with it. the plan was simplicity itself. he'd slip an envelope which he knew contained a large sum of money out of the pile as it passed him--he hadn't signed for them, so he wasn't taking any special risk--drop it on the floor, stoop over, and, if he wasn't being watched, attach it to the _bottom_ of his desk with a wad of chewing gum. you boasted that you went over the room with a fine-tooth comb, but who would think of looking on the under side of this table. the idea, of course, was that he'd wait for the storm to blow over--because the letters could remain in their hiding places for months, if necessary--and then start on a lifelong vacation with his spoils as capital. but he made the error of overcapitalization and i very much fear that he'll put in at least ten years at leavenworth or morgantown. but i'd like to bet he never chews another piece of gum!" * * * * * "that," continued quinn, as he tossed another pink wrapper into the wastebasket, "i consider the simplest and cleverest scheme to beat the government that i ever heard of--better even than cochrane's plan in connection with the robbery of the philadelphia mint, because it didn't necessitate any outside preparation at all. the right job, a piece of gum, and there you are. but you may be sure that whenever an important letter disappears nowadays, one of the first places searched by the postal inspection operatives is the lower side of the desks and tables. you can't get away with a trick twice in the same place." xii "the double code" it was one night in early fall that bill quinn and i were browsing around the library in the house that he had called "home" ever since a counterfeiter's bullet incapacitated him from further active work in the secret service. prior to that time he had lived, as he put it, "wherever he hung his hat," but now there was a comfortable little house with a den where quinn kept the more unusual, and often gruesome, relics which brought back memories of the past. there, hanging on the wall with a dark-brown stain still adorning the razorlike edge, was a chinese hatchet which had doubtless figured in some tong war on the coast. below was an ordinary twenty-five-cent piece, attached to the wall paper with chewing gum--"just as it once aided in robbing the treasury of nearly a million dollars," quinn assured me. in another part of the room was a frame containing what appeared to be a bit torn from the wrapping of a package, with the canceled stamp and a half-obliterated postmark as the only clues to the murder of the man who had received it, and, beside the bookcases, which contained a wide range of detective literature, hung a larger frame in which were the finger prints of more than a score of criminals, men bearing names practically unknown to the public, but whose exploits were bywords in the various governmental detective services. it was while glancing over the contents of the bookcase that i noted one volume which appeared strangely out of place in this collection of the fictional romances of crime. "what's this doing here?" i inquired, taking down a volume of _the giant raft_, by jules verne. "verne didn't write detective stories, did he?" "no," replied quinn, "and it's really out of place in the bookcase. if possible, i'd like to have it framed and put on the wall with the rest of the relics--for it's really more important than any of them, from the standpoint of value to the nation. that quarter on the wall over there--the one which figured in the sugar fraud case--cost the government in the neighborhood of a million dollars, but this book probably saved a score of millions and hundreds of lives as well. if it hadn't been for the fact that thurber of the navy department knew his jules vernes even better than he did his bible, it's quite possible that-- "well, there's no use telling the end of the story before the beginning. make yourself comfortable and i'll see if i can recall the details of the case." * * * * * remember dr. heinrich albert? [quinn inquired, after we had both stretched out in front of the open fire]. theoretically, the herr doktor was attached to the german embassy in washington merely in an advisory and financial capacity. he and haniel von heimhausen--the same counselor that the present german government wanted to send over here as ambassador after the signing of the peace treaty--were charged with the solution of many of the legal difficulties which arose in connection with the business of the big red brick dwelling on massachusetts avenue. but while von heimhausen was occupied with the legal end of the game, doctor albert attended to many of the underground details which went unsuspected for many years. it was he, for example, who managed the bidding for the wireless station in the philippines--the plan which permitted the german government to dictate the location of the station and to see to it that the towers were so placed where they would be most useful to berlin. he undoubtedly worked with von papen and boy-ed during the early years of the war--years in which this precious trio, either with or without the knowledge of count von bernstorff, sought by every means to cripple american shipping, violate american neutrality, and make a laughingstock of american diplomatic methods. what's more, they got away with it for months, not because the secret service and the department of justice weren't hot on their trail, but because the germans were too cagy to be caught and you can't arrest a diplomat just on suspicion. during the months which followed the first of august, nineteen fourteen, practically every one of the government's detective services was called upon in some way to pry into the affairs of the embassy staff. but the brunt of the work naturally devolved upon the two organizations directly concerned with preventing flagrant breaches of neutrality--the secret service and the department of justice. every time that doctor albert, or any other official of the german government, left washington he was trailed by anywhere from one to five men. every move he made was noted and reported to headquarters, with the result that the state department had a very good idea of the names of the men who were being used to forward germany's ends, even though it knew comparatively little about what was actually planned. the attachés were entirely too clever to carry on compromising conversations in the open, and their appointments were made in such a manner as effectually to prevent the planting of a dictaphone or any other device by which they might be overheard. the directions to the men who were responsible for the working of the two services were: every attaché of the german embassy is to be guarded with extreme care, day and night. reports are to be made through the usual channels and, in the event that something unusual is observed, divisional headquarters is to be notified instantly, the information being transmitted to washington before any final action is taken. this last clause, of course, was inserted to prevent some hot-headed operative from going off half-cocked and thus spoiling the state department's plans. as long as albert and his associates were merely "guarded" they couldn't enter any formal complaint. but, given half a chance, they would have gotten on their official dignity and demanded that the espionage cease. from the state department's point of view it was an excellent rule, but gene barlow and the other service men assigned to follow albert couldn't see it in that light. "what's the idea, anyhow?" gene growled one night as his pet taxicab dashed down massachusetts avenue in the wake of the big touring car that was carrying the german attaché to the union station. "here we have to be on the job at all hours, just to watch this dutchman and see what he does. and," with a note of contempt, "he never does anything worth reporting. sees half a dozen people, lunches at the german-american club, drops in at two or three offices downtown, and then back here again. if they'd only let us waylay him and get hold of that black bag that he always carts around there'd be nothing to it. some day i'm going to do that little thing, just to see what happens." but barlow took it out in threats. secret service men find pleasure in stating what they are going to do "some day"--but the quality of implicit obedience has been drilled into them too thoroughly for them to forget it, which is possibly the reason why they take such a sheer and genuine delight in going ahead when the restrictions are finally lifted. it was in new york, more than two years after the war had commenced, that barlow got his first opportunity to "see what would happen." in the meantime, he had been assigned to half a dozen other cases, but always returned to the shadowing of doctor albert because he was the one man who had been eminently successful in that work. the german had an almost uncanny habit of throwing his pursuers off the trail whenever he wanted to and in spite of the efforts of the cleverest men in the service had disappeared from time to time. the resumption of unrestricted submarine warfare and the delicacy of the diplomatic situation which ensued made it imperative that the "man with the saber scar," as doctor albert was known, be kept constantly under surveillance. "stick to him, gene, and don't bother about reporting until you are certain that he will stay put long enough for you to phone," were the instructions that barlow received. "the doctor must be watched every moment that he's away from the embassy and it's up to you to do it." "anything else beside watching him?" inquired the operative, hopefully. "no," smiled the chief, "there isn't to be any rough stuff. we're on the verge of an explosion as it is, and anyone who pulls the hair trigger will not only find himself out of a job, but will have the doubtful satisfaction of knowing that he's responsible for wrecking some very carefully laid plans. where albert goes, who he talks with and, if possible, a few details of what they discuss, is all that's wanted." "wouldn't like to have a piece of the kaiser's mustache or anything of that kind, would you, chief?" barlow retorted. "i could get that for you a whole lot easier than i could find out what the man with the saber scar talks about. he's the original george b. careful. never was known to take a chance. wouldn't bet a nickel against a hundred dollars that the sun would come up to-morrow and always sees to it that his conferences are held behind bolted doors. they even pull down the shades so that no lip reader with a pair of field glasses can get a tip as to what they're talking about." "that's the reason you were picked for this case," was the chief's reply. "any strong-arm man could whale albert over the head and throw him in the river. that wouldn't help any. what we need is information concerning what his plans are, and it takes a clever man to get that." "all bull and a yard wide!" laughed gene, but the compliment pleased him, nevertheless. "i'll watch him, but let me know when the lid comes off and i can use other methods." the chief promised that he would--and it was not more than three weeks later that he had an opportunity to make good. "barlow," he directed, speaking over the long-distance phone to the operative in new york, "the department of justice has just reported that doctor albert is in receipt of a document of some kind--probably a letter of instruction from berlin--which it is vital that we have at once. our information is that the message is written on a slip of oiled paper carried inside a dummy lead pencil. it's possible that the doctor has destroyed it, but it isn't probable. can you get it?" "how far am i allowed to go?" inquired gene, hoping for permission to stage a kidnaping of the german attaché, but fully expecting these instructions which followed--orders that he was to do nothing that would cause an open breach, nothing for which doctor albert could demand reparation or even an apology. "in other words," barlow said to himself, as he hung up the phone, "i'm to accomplish the impossible, blindfolded and with my hands tied. wonder whether paula would have a hunch--" paula was barlow's sweetheart, a pretty little brunette who earned a very good salary as private secretary to one of the leading lights of wall street--which accounted for the fact that the operative had learned to rely upon her quick flashes of intuitive judgment for help in a number of situations which had required tact as well as action. they were to be married whenever gene's professional activities subsided sufficiently to allow him to remain home at least one night a month, but, meanwhile, paula maintained that she would as soon be the wife of an african explorer--"because at least i would know that he wouldn't be back for six months, while i haven't any idea whether you'll be out of town two days or two years." after they had talked the albert matter over from all angles, paula inquired, "where would your friend with the saber scar be likely to carry the paper?" "either in his pocket or in the black bag that he invariably has with him." "hum!" she mused, "if it's in his pocket i don't see that there is anything you can do, short of knocking him down and taking it away from him, and that's barred by the rules of the game. but if it is in the mysterious black bag.... is the doctor in town now?" "yes, he's at the astor, probably for two or three days. i left dwyer and french on guard there while i, presumably, snatched a little sleep. but i'd rather have your advice than any amount of rest." "thanks," was the girl's only comment, for her mind was busy with the problem. "there's apparently no time to lose, so i'll inform the office the first thing in the morning that i won't be down, meet you in front of the astor, and we'll see what happens. just let me stick with you, inconspicuously, and i think that i can guarantee at least an opportunity to lift the bag without giving the german a chance to raise a row." thus it was that, early the next day, gene barlow was joined by a distinctly personable young woman who, after a moment's conversation, strolled up and down broadway in front of the hotel. some twenty minutes later a man whose face had been disfigured by a saber slash received at heidelberg came down the steps and asked for a taxi. but barlow, acting under directions from paula, had seen that there were no taxis to be had. a flash of his badge and some coin of the realm had fixed that. so dr. heinrich albert, of the german embassy, was forced to take a plebeian surface car--as paula had intended that he should. the secret service operative and his pretty companion boarded the same car a block farther down, two other government agents having held it sufficiently long at forty-fourth street to permit of this move. worming their way through the crowd when their prey changed to the sixth avenue elevated, gene and paula soon reached points of vantage on either side of the german, who carried his black bag tightly grasped in his right hand, and the trio kept this formation until they reached fiftieth street, when the girl apparently started to make her way toward the door. something caused her to stumble, however, and she pitched forward right into the arms of the german, who by that time had secured a seat and had placed his bag beside him, still guarding it with a protecting arm. before the foreigner had time to gather his wits, he found himself with a pretty girl literally in his lap--a girl who was manifestly a lady and who blushed to the tips of her ears as she apologized for her awkwardness. even if the german had been a woman-hater there would have been nothing for him to do but to assist her to her feet, and that, necessarily, required the use of both hands. as it happened, doctor albert was distinctly susceptible to feminine charms, and there was something about this girl's smile which was friendly, though embarrassed. so he spent longer than was strictly essential in helping her to the door--she appeared to have turned her ankle--and then returned to his seat only to find that his portfolio was missing! recriminations and threats were useless. a score of people had left the car and, as the guard heartlessly refused to stop the train before the next station, there was naturally not a trace of the girl or the man who had accompanied her. by that time, in fact, barlow and paula had slipped into the shelter of a neighboring hotel lobby and were busy inspecting the contents of doctor albert's precious brief case. "even if there's nothing in it," laughed the girl, "we've had the satisfaction of scaring him to death." gene said nothing, but pawed through the papers in frantic haste. "a slip of oiled paper," he muttered. "by the lord harry! here it is!" and he produced a pencil which his trained fingers told him was lighter than it should be. with a wrench he broke off the metal tip that held the eraser, and from within the wooden spindle removed a tightly wrapped roll of very thin, almost transparent paper, covered with unintelligible lettering. "what's on it?" demanded paula. "i'll never tell you," was barlow's reply. "it would take a better man than i am to decipher this," and he read off: "i i i t f b b t t x o...." "code?" interrupted the girl. "sure it is--and apparently a peach." the next moment he had slipped the paper carefully into an inside pocket, crammed the rest of the papers back into the brief case, and was disappearing into a phone booth. "better get down to work, dear," he called over his shoulder. "i'm going to report to the office here and then take this stuff down to washington!" and that was the last that paula saw of him for a week. six hours later barlow entered the chief's office in the treasury department and reported that he had secured the code message. "so new york phoned," was the only comment from the man who directed the destinies of the secret service. "take it right up to the navy department and turn it over to thurber, the librarian. he'll be able to read it, if anybody can." thurber, gene knew, was the man who was recognizedly the leading authority on military codes and ciphers in the united states, the man who had made a hobby as well as a business of decoding mysterious messages and who had finally deciphered the famous "square letter" code, though it took him months to do it. "he'll have to work faster than that this time," thought barlow, as he made his way toward the librarian's office on the fourth floor of the big gray-stone building. "time's at a premium and germany moves too fast to waste any of it." but thurber was fully cognizant of the necessity for quick action. he had been warned that barlow was bringing the dispatch and the entire office was cleared for work. spreading the oiled paper on a table top made of clear glass, the librarian turned on a battery of strong electric lights underneath so that any watermark or secret writing would have been at once apparent. but there was nothing on the sheet except line after line of meaningless letters. "it's possible, of course, that there may be some writing in invisible ink on the sheet," admitted the cipher expert. "but the fact that oiled paper is used would seem to preclude that. the code itself may be any one of several varieties and it's a matter of trying 'em all until you hit upon the right one." "i thought that poe's story of 'the gold bug' claimed that any cipher could be read if you selected the letter that appeared most frequently and substituted for it the letter 'e,' which is used most often in english, and so on down the list," stated barlow. "so it did. but there are lots of things that poe didn't know about codes." thurber retorted, his eyes riveted to the sheet before him. "besides, that was fiction and the author knew just how the code was constructed, while this is fact and we have to depend upon hard work and blind luck. "there are any number of arbitrary systems which might have been used in writing this message," he continued. "the army clock code is one of them--the one in which a number is added to every letter figure, dependent upon the hour at which the message is written. but i don't think that applies in this case. the cipher doesn't look like it--though i'll have to admit that it doesn't look like any that i've come across before. let's put it on the blackboard and study it from across the room. that often helps in concentrating." "you're not going to write the whole thing on the board?" queried the operative. "no, only the first fifteen letters or so," and thurber put down this line: i i i t f b b t t x o r q w s b b "translated into what we call 'letter figures,'" he went on, "that would be --the system where 'a' is denoted by , 'b' by , and so on. no, that's still meaningless. that repetition of the letter 'i' at the beginning of the message is what makes it particularly puzzling. "if you don't mind, i'll lock the door and get to work on this in earnest. where can i reach you by phone?" barlow smiled at this polite dismissal and, stating that he would be at headquarters for the rest of the evening and that they would know where to reach him after that, left the office--decidedly doubtful as to thurber's ability to read the message. long after midnight gene answered a ring from the phone beside his bed and through a haze of sleep heard the voice of the navy librarian inquiring if he still had the other papers which had been in doctor albert's bag. "no," replied the operative, "but i can get them. they are on top of the chief's desk. nothing in them, though. went over them with a microscope." "just the same," directed thurber, "i'd like to have them right away. i think i'm on the trail, but the message is impossible to decipher unless we get the code word. it may be in some of the other papers." barlow found the librarian red-eyed from his lack of sleep and the strain of the concentration over the code letter. but when they had gone over the papers found in the black bag, even thurber had to admit that he was checkmated. "somewhere," he maintained, "is the one word which will solve the whole thing. i know the type of cipher. it's one that is very seldom used; in fact, the only reference to it that i know of is in jules verne's novel _the giant raft_. it's a question of taking a key word, using the letter figures which denote this, and adding these to the letter figures of the original letter. that will give you a series of numbers which it is impossible to decipher unless you know the key word. i feel certain that this is a variation of that system, for the fact that two letters appear together so frequently would seem to indicate that the numbers which they represent are higher than twenty-six, the number of the letters in the alphabet." "one word!" muttered barlow. then, seizing what was apparently a memorandum sheet from the pile of albert's papers, he exclaimed: "here's a list that neither the chief nor i could make anything of. see? it has twelve numbers, which might be the months of the year, with a name or word behind each one!" "yes," replied thurber, disconsolately, "i saw that the first thing. but this is october and the word corresponding to the number ten is 'wilhelmstrasse'--and that doesn't help at all. i tried it." "then try 'hohenzollern,' the september word!" snapped barlow. "this message was presumably written in berlin and therefore took some time to get over here." "by george! that's so! a variation of the 'clock code' as well as verne's idea. here, read off the letters and i'll put them on the board with the figures representing hohenzollern underneath. take the first fifteen as before." when they had finished, the blackboard bore the following, the first line being the original code letters, the second the letter figures of these, and the third the figures of the word "hohenzollern" with the first "h" repeated for the fifteenth letter: i i i t f b b t t x o r q w s b b i ii t f bb tt x o r q w s bb "why thirty-five for that double 'i' and twenty-eight for the double 'b's'?" asked barlow. "add twenty-six--the total number of letters in the alphabet--to the letter figure for the letter itself," said thurber. "that's the one beauty of this code, one of the things which helps to throw you off the scent. now subtracting the two lines we have: " "we've got it!" he cried an instant later, as he stepped back to look at the figures and read off: "a t l a n t i c f l e e t "it was a double code, after all," thurber stated when he had deciphered the entire message by the same procedure and had reported his discovery to the secretary of the navy over the phone. "practically infallible, too, save for the fact that i, as well as doctor albert, happened to be familiar with jules verne. that, plus the doctor's inability to rely on his memory and therefore leaving his key words in his brief case, rendered the whole thing pretty easy." "yes," thought gene, "plus my suggestion of the september word, rather than the october one, and plus paula's quick wit--that's really all there was to it!" but he kept his thoughts to himself, preferring to allow thurber to reap all the rewards that were coming to him for the solution of the "double code." * * * * * "do you know what the whole message was?" i inquired, as quinn stopped his narrative. "you'll find it pasted on the back of that copy of _the giant raft_," replied the former operative. "that's why i claim that the book ought to be preserved as a souvenir of an incident that saved millions of dollars and hundreds of lives." turning to the back of the verne book i saw pasted there the following significant lines: atlantic fleet sails (from) hampton roads (at) six (o'clock) morning of seventeenth. eight u-boats will be waiting. advise necessary parties and be ready (to) seek safety. success (of) attack inevitable. "that means that if thurber hadn't been able to decipher that code the greater part of our fleet would have been sunk by an unexpected submarine attack, launched by a nation with whom we weren't even at war?" i demanded, when i had finished the message. "precisely," agreed quinn. "but if you'll look up the records you'll find that the fleet did not sail on schedule, while dr. heinrich albert and the entire staff from the house on massachusetts avenue were deported before many more weeks had passed. there was no sense in raising a fuss about the incident at the time, for von bernstorff would have denied any knowledge of the message and probably would have charged that the whole thing was a plant, designed to embroil the united states in the war. so it was allowed to rest for the time being and merely jotted down as another score to be wiped off the slate later on. "but you have to admit that a knowledge of jules verne came in very handy--quite as much so, in fact, as did a knowledge of the habits and disposition of white mice in another case." "which one was that?" quinn merely pointed to the top of his bookcase, where there reposed a stuffed white mouse, apparently asleep. "that's a memento of the case," replied the former operative. "i'll tell you of it the next time you drop in." xiii the trail of the white mice "the united states secret service," announced bill quinn, "is by long odds the best known branch of the governmental detective bureaus. the terror which the continental crook feels at the sound of the name 'scotland yard' finds its echo on this side of the atlantic whenever a criminal knows that he has run afoul of the u. s. s. s. for uncle sam never forgives an injury or forgets a wrong. sooner or later he's going to get his man--no matter how long it takes nor how much money it costs. "but the secret service, strictly speaking, is only one branch of the organization. there are others which work just as quietly and just as effectively. the department of justice, which had charge of the violation of neutrality laws, banking, and the like; the treasury department, which, through the customs service and the bureau of internal revenue, wages constant war on the men and women who think they can evade the import regulations and the laws against illicit manufacture of alcohol; the pension bureau of the interior department, which is called upon to handle hundreds of frauds every year; and the post office department, which guards the millions of dollars intrusted to the mails. "each of these has its own province. each works along its own line in conjunction with the others, and each of them is, in reality, a secret organization which performs a vastly important service to the nation as a whole. when you speak of the secret service, the treasury department's organization comes immediately to mind--coupled with a panorama of counterfeiters, anarchists, revolutionaries, and the like. but the field of the secret service is really limited when compared to the scope of the other organizations. "look around this room"--and he made a gesture which included the four walls of the library den in which we were seated, a room in which the usual decorations had been replaced by a strange collection of unusual and, in a number of instances, gruesome relics. "every one of those objects is a memento of some exploit of the men engaged in secret service," quinn went on. "that chinese hatchet up there came very close to being buried in the skull of a man in san diego, but its principal mission in life was the solution of the mystery surrounding the smuggling of thousands of pounds of opium. that water-stained cap was fished out of the missouri after its owner had apparently committed suicide--but the pension bureau located him seven years later, with the aid of a fortune teller in seattle. at the side of the bookcase there you will find several of the original poison-pen letters which created so much consternation in kansas city a few years ago, letters which allison of the postal inspection service finally traced to their source after the local authorities had given up the case as impossible of solution. "the woman whose picture appears on the other wall was known as mrs. armitage--and that was about all that they did know about her, save that she was connected with one of the foreign organizations and that in some mysterious way she knew everything that was going on in the state department almost as soon as it was started. and there, under that piece of silk which figured in one of the boldest smuggling cases that the treasury department ever tackled, is the blurred postmark which eventually led to the discovery of the man who murdered montgomery marshall--a case in which our old friend sherlock holmes would have reveled. but it's doubtful if he could have solved it any more skillfully than did one of the post office operatives." "what's the significance of that white mouse on the mantelpiece?" i inquired, sensing the fact that quinn was in one of his story-telling moods. "it hasn't any significance," replied the former government agent, "but it has a story--one which illustrates my point that all the nation's detective work isn't handled by the secret service, by a long shot. did you ever hear of h. gordon fowler, alias w. c. evans?" "no," i replied, "i don't think i ever did." "well, a lot of people have--to their sorrow," laughed quinn, reaching for his pipe. * * * * * no one appears to know what fowler's real name is [continued the former operative]. he traveled under a whole flock of aliases which ran the gamut of the alphabet from andrews to zachary, but, to save mixing things up, suppose that we assume that his right name was fowler. he used it for six months at one time, out in minneapolis, and got away with twenty thousand dollars' worth of stuff. for some time previous to fowler's entrance upon the scene various wholesale houses throughout the country had been made the victims of what appeared to be a ring of bankruptcy experts--men who would secure credit for goods, open a store, and then "fail." meanwhile the merchandise would have mysteriously vanished and the proprietor would be away on a "vacation" from which, of course, he would never return. on the face of it this was a matter to be settled solely by the wholesalers' credit association, but the postal inspection service got into it through the fact that the mails were palpably being used with intent to defraud and therefore uncle sam came to the aid of the business men. on the day that the matter was reported to washington the chief of the postal inspection service pushed the button which operated a buzzer in the outer office and summoned hal preston, the chap who later on was responsible for the solution of the marshall murder mystery. "hal," said the chief, with a smile, "here's a case i know you'll like. it's right in the line of routine and it ought to mean a lot of traveling around the country--quick jumps at night and all that sort of stuff." preston grunted, but said nothing. you couldn't expect to draw the big cases every time, and, besides, there was no telling when something might break even in the most prosaic of assignments. "grant, wilcox & company, in boston, report that they've been stung twice in the same place by a gang of bankruptcy sharks," the chief went on. "and they're not the only ones who have suffered. here's a list of the concerns and the men that they've sold to. you'll see that it covers the country from hoquiam, washington, to montclair, new jersey--so they appear to have their organization pretty well in hand. ordinarily we wouldn't figure in this thing at all--but the gang made the mistake of placing their orders through the mail and now it's up to us to land 'em. here's the dope. hop to it!" that night, while en route to mount clemens, michigan, where the latest of the frauds had been perpetrated, preston examined the envelope full of evidence and came to a number of interesting conclusions. in the first place the failures had been staged in a number of different localities--erie, pennsylvania, had had one of them under the name of "cole & hill"; there had been another in sioux city, where immerling brothers had failed; metcalf and newman, illinois, had likewise contributed their share, as had minneapolis, newark, columbus, white plains, and newburg, new york; san diego, california; hoquiam, washington, and several other points. but the point that brought hal up with a jerk was the dates attached to each of these affairs. no two of them had occurred within six months of the other and several were separated by as much as a year. "who said this was a gang?" he muttered. "looks a lot more like the work of a single man with plenty of nerve and, from the amount of stuff he got away with, he ought to be pretty nearly in the millionaire class by now. there's over two hundred thousand dollars' worth of goods covered by this report alone and there's no certainty that it is complete. well, here's hoping--it's always easier to trail one man than a whole bunch of 'em." in mount clemens preston found further evidence which tended to prove that the bankruptcy game was being worked by a single nervy individual, posing under the name of "henry gerard." gerard, it appeared, had entered the local field about a year before, apparently with plenty of capital, and had opened two prosperous stores on the principal street. in august, about two months before preston's arrival, the proprietor of the gerard stores had left on what was apparently scheduled for a two weeks' vacation. that was the last that had been heard of him, in spite of the fact that a number of urgent creditors had camped upon his trail very solicitously. the stores had been looted, only enough merchandise being left to keep up the fiction of a complete stock, and gerard had vanished with the proceeds. after making a few guarded inquiries in the neighborhood of the store, preston sought out the house where gerard had boarded during his stay in mount clemens. there he found that the missing merchant, in order to allay suspicion, had paid the rental of his apartment for three months in advance, and that the place had not been touched since, save by the local authorities who had been working on the case. "you won't find a thing there," the chief of police informed hal, in response to a request for information. "gerard's skipped and that's all there is to it. we've been over the place with a fine-tooth comb and there ain't a scrap of evidence. we did find some telegrams torn up in his waste basket, but if you can make anything out of 'em it's more than i can," and he handed over an envelope filled with scraps of finely torn yellow paper. "not the slightest indication of where gerard went?" inquired preston as he tucked the envelope in an inside pocket. "not a bit," echoed the chief. "he may be in china now, so far as we know." "was he married?" "nobody here knows nothin' about him," the chief persisted. "they do say as how he was right sweet on a girl named anna something-or-other who lived in the same block. but she left town before he did, and she 'ain't come back, neither." "what did you say her name was?" "anna vaughan, i b'lieve she called herself. you might ask mrs. morris about her. she had a room at her place, only a few doors away from where gerard stayed." the apartment of the man who had vanished, preston found, was furnished in the manner typical of a thousand other places. every stick of furniture appeared to have seen better days and no two pieces could be said to match. evidently gerard had been practicing economy in his domestic arrangements in order to save all the money possible for a quick getaway. what was more, he had carefully removed everything of a personal nature, save a row of books which decorated the mantel piece in one of the rooms. it was toward these that preston finally turned in desperation. all but one of them were the cheaper grade of fiction, none of which bore any distinguishing marks, but the exception was a new copy of the latest railroad guide. just as preston pounced upon this he heard a chuckle from behind him and, whirling, saw the chief of police just entering the door. "needn't worry with that, young man," he urged. "i've been all through it and there ain't nothin' in it. just thought i'd drop up to see if you'd found anything," he added, in explanation of his sudden appearance. "have you?" "no," admitted the postal operative. "can't say that i have. this is the first piece of personal property that i've been able to locate and you say there is nothing in this?" "nary a clue," persisted the chief, but preston, as if loath to drop the only tangible reminder of gerard, idly flipped the pages of the guide, and then stood it on edge on the table, the covers slightly opened. then, as the chief watched him curiously, he closed the book, opened it again and repeated the operation. "what's the idea? tryin' to make it do tricks?" the chief asked as hal stood the book on edge for the third time. "hardly that. just working on a little theory of my own," was the response, as the post-office man made a careful note of the page at which the guide had fallen open--the same one which had presented itself to view on the two other occasions. "here, would you like to try it?" and he handed the volume to the chief. but that functionary only shrugged his shoulders and replaced the guide upon the mantelpiece. "some more of your highfalutin' detective work, eh?" he muttered. "soon you'll be claimin' that books can talk." "possibly not out loud," smiled hal. "but they can be made to tell very interesting stories now and then, if you know how to handle 'em. there doesn't seem to be much here, chief, so i think i'll go back to the hotel. let me know if anything comes up, will you?" and with that he left. but before returning to the hotel he stopped at the house where anna vaughan had resided and found out from the rather garrulous landlady that gerard had appeared to be rather smitten with the beautiful stranger. "she certainly was dressed to kill," said the woman who ran the establishment. "a big woman and strong as all outdoors. mr. gerard came here three or four nights a week while she was with us and he didn't seem to mind the mice at all." "mind the what?" snapped preston. "the mice--the white mice that she used to keep as pets," explained the landlady. "had half a dozen or more of them running over her shoulders, but i told her that i couldn't stand for that. she could keep 'em in her room if she wanted to, but i had to draw the line somewhere. guess it was on their account that she didn't have any other visitors. s'far as i know mr. gerard was the only one who called on her." "when did miss vaughan leave?" hal inquired. "mrs. vaughan," corrected the woman. "she was a widow--though she was young and pretty enough to have been married any time she wanted to be. guess the men wouldn't stand for them mice, though. she didn't stay very long--just about six weeks. left somewheres about the middle of july." "about two weeks before gerard did?" "about that--though i don't just remember the date." a few more inquiries elicited the fact that mrs. vaughan's room had been rented since her departure, so preston gave up the idea of looking through it for possible connecting links with the expert in bankruptcy. returning to the hotel, the operative settled down to an examination of the scraps of torn telegrams which the chief had handed him. evidently they had been significant, he argued, for gerard had been careful to tear them into small bits, and it was long past midnight before he had succeeded in piecing the messages together, pasting the scraps on glass in case there had been any notations on the reverse of the blank. but when he had finished he found that he had only added one more puzzling aspect to the case. there were three telegrams, filed within a week and all dated just before gerard had left town. "geraldine, anna, may, and florence are in chicago," read the message from evanston, illinois. "george, william, katherine, ray, and stephen still in st. louis," was the wire filed from detroit. the third message, from minneapolis, detailed the fact that "frank, vera, marguerite, joe, and walter are ready to leave st. paul." none of the telegrams was signed, but, merely as a precaution, preston wired evanston, detroit, and minneapolis to find out if there was any record of who had sent them. "agent here recalls message," came the answer from detroit the next day. "filed by woman who refused to give her name. agent says sender was quite large, good-looking, and very well dressed." "anna vaughan!" muttered preston, as he tucked the telegram in his pocket and asked to be shown a copy of the latest railway guide. referring to a note which he had made on the previous evening, hal turned to pages - , the part of the book which had fallen open three times in succession when he had examined it in gerard's rooms, and noted that it was the atchinson, topeka & santa fé time-table, westbound. evidently the missing merchant had invested in a copy of the guide rather than run the risk of leaving telltale time-tables around his apartment, but he had overstepped himself by referring to only one portion of the book. "not the first time that a crook has been just a little too clever," mused preston, with a smile. "if it had been an old copy, there wouldn't have been any evidence--but a new book, opened several times at the same place, can be made to tell tales--his honor, the chief of police, to the contrary." it was clear, therefore, that preston had three leads to work on: anna vaughan, a large, beautiful woman, well-dressed and with an affection for white mice; the clue that gerard was somewhere in the southwest and at least the first names of fourteen men and women connected with the gang. but right there he paused. was there any gang? the dates of the various disappearances tended to prove that there wasn't, but the messages received by gerard certainly appeared to point to the fact that others were connected with the conspiracy to defraud. possibly one of the clerks who had been connected with the gerard stores would be able to throw a little light upon the situation.... it wasn't until hal interviewed the woman who had acted as cashier and manager for the second store that he found the lead he was after. in response to his inquiry as to whether she had ever heard the missing proprietor speak of any of the persons mentioned in the wires, the cashier at first stated definitely that she hadn't, but added, a moment later: "come to think of it, he did. not as people, but as trunks." "what's that?" exclaimed the operative. "trunks?" "yes. i remember sometime last spring, when we were figuring on how much summer goods we ought to carry, i mentioned the matter to mr. gerard, and almost automatically he replied, 'i'll wire for edna and grace.' thinking he meant saleswomen, i reminded him that we had plenty, particularly for the slack season. he colored up a bit, caught his breath, and turned the subject by stating that he always referred to trunks of goods in terms of people's first names--girls for the feminine stuff and men's for the masculine. but edna and grace weren't on your list, were they?" "no," replied preston. "but that doesn't matter. besides, didn't the two trunks of goods arrive?" "yes, they came in a couple of weeks later." "before mrs. vaughan came to town?" "oh yes, some time before she arrived." "i thought so," was preston's reply, and, thanking the girl, he wandered back to the hotel--convinced that he had solved at least one of the mysteries, the question of what gerard did with his surplus "bankrupt stock." it was evidently packed in trunks and shipped to distant points, to be forwarded by the vaughan woman upon instructions from gerard himself. the wires he had torn up were merely confirmatory messages, sent so that he would have the necessary information before making a getaway. "clever scheme, all right," was hal's mental comment. "now the next point is to find some town in the southwest where a new store has been opened within the past two months." that night the telegraph office at mount clemens did more business than it had had for the past year. wires, under the government frank, went out to every town on the atchinson, topeka & santa fé and to a number of adjacent cities. in each case the message was the same: wire name of any new clothing store opened within past two months. also description of proprietor. urgent. preston, u. s. p. i. s. fourteen chiefs of police replied within the next forty-eight hours, but of these only two--leavenworth and fort worth--contained descriptions which tallied with that of henry gerard. so, to facilitate matters, preston sent another wire: has proprietor mentioned in yesterday's wire a wife or woman friend who keeps white mice as pets? fort worth replied facetiously that the owner of the new store there was married, but that his wife had a cat--which might account for the absence of the mice. leavenworth, however, came back with: yes, mrs. noble, wife of owner of outlet store, has white mice for pets. why? never mind reason [preston replied]. watch noble and wife until i arrive. leaving to-day. ten minutes after reaching leavenworth preston was ensconced in the office of the chief of police, outlining the reason for his visit. "i'm certain that noble is the man you want," said the chief, when hal had finished. "he came here some six weeks or more ago and at once leased a store, which he opened a few days later. the description fits him to a t, except for the fact that he's evidently dispensed with the mustache. the vaughan woman is posing as his wife and they've rented a house on the outskirts of town. what do you want me to do? nab 'em right away?" "no," directed the operative. "i'd rather attend to that myself, if you don't object. after trailing them this far, i'd like to go through with it. you might have some men handy, though, in case there's any fuss." just as mr. and mrs. c. k. noble were sitting down to dinner there was a ring at their front-door bell and noble went to see who it was. "i'd like to speak to mr. h. gordon fowler," said preston, his hand resting carelessly in the side pocket of his coat. "no mr. fowler lives here," was the growling reply from the inside. "then mr. w. c. evans or mr. henry gerard will do!" snapped the operative, throwing his shoulder against the partly opened door. noble--or fowler, as he was afterward known--stepped aside as hal plunged through, and then slammed the door behind him. "get him, anna!" he called, throwing the safety bolt into position. the next thing that preston knew, a pair of arms, bare and feminine but strong as iron, had seized him around the waist and he was in imminent danger of being bested by a woman. with a heave and a wriggling twist he broke the hold and turned, just in time to see fowler snatch a revolver from a desk on the opposite side of the room and raise it into position. without an instant's hesitation he leaped to one side, dropped his hand into his coat pocket, and fired. evidently the bullet took effect, for the man across the room dropped his gun, spun clean around and then sank to the floor. as he did so, however, the woman hurled a heavy vase directly at preston's head and the operative sank unconscious. * * * * * "well, go on!" i snapped, when quinn paused. "you sound like a serial story--to be continued in our next. what happened then?" "nothing--beyond the fact that three policemen broke in some ten seconds after hal fired, grabbed mrs. vaughan or whatever her name was, and kept her from beating hal to death, as she certainly would have done in another minute. fowler wasn't badly hurt. in fact, both of them stood trial the next spring--fowler drawing six years and anna vaughan one. incidentally, they sent 'em back to leavenworth to do time and, as a great concession, allowed the woman to take two of her white mice with her. i managed to get one of the other four, and, when it died, had it stuffed as a memento of a puzzling case well solved. "it's a hobby of mine--keeping these relics. that hatchet, for example.... remind me to tell you about it some time. the mice were responsible for finding one man in fifty million--which is something of a job in itself--but the hatchet figured in an even more exciting affair...." xiv wah lee and the flower of heaven "yes, there's quite a story attached to that," remarked bill quinn one evening as the conversation first lagged and then drifted away into silence. we were seated in his den at the time--the "library" which he had ornamented with relics of a score or more of cases in which the various governmental detective services had distinguished themselves--and i came to with a start. "what?" i exclaimed. "story in what?" "in that hatchet--the one on the wall there that you were speculating about. it didn't take a psychological sleuth to follow your eyes and read the look of speculation in them. that's a trick that a 'sparrow cop' could pull!" "well, then, suppose you pay the penalty for your wisdom--and spin the yarn," i retorted, none the less glad of the opportunity to hear the facts behind the sinister red stain which appeared on the blade of the chinese weapon, for i knew that quinn could give them to me if he wished. "frankly, i don't know the full history of the hatchet," came the answer from the other side of the fireplace. "possibly it goes back to the ming dynasty--whenever that was--or possibly it was purchased from a mail-order house in chicago. chop suey isn't the only chinese article made in this country, you know. but my interest in it commenced with the night when ezra marks-- "however, let's start at the beginning." * * * * * marks [continued the former operative] was, as you probably recall, one of the best men ever connected with the customs service. it was he who solved the biggest diamond-smuggling case on record, and he was also responsible for the discovery of the manner in which thirty thousand yards of very valuable silk was being run into the country every year without visiting the custom office. that's a piece of the silk up there, over the picture of mrs. armitage.... it wasn't many months before the affair of the dillingham diamonds that official washington in general and the offices of the customs service in particular grew quite excited over the fact that a lot of opium was finding its way into california. of course, there's always a fair amount of "hop" on the market, provided you know where to look for it, and the government has about as much chance of keeping it out altogether as it has of breaking up the trade in moonshine whisky. the mountaineer is going to have his "licker" and the chink is going to have his dope--no matter what you do. but it's up to the internal revenue bureau and the customs service to see that neither one arrives in wholesale quantities. and that was just what was happening on the coast. in fact, it was coming in so fast that the price was dropping every day and the california authorities fairly burned up the wires 'cross continent with their howls for help. at that time marks--ezra by name and "e. z." by nickname--was comparatively a new member of the force. he had rendered valuable service in boston, however, and the chief sent for him and put the whole thing in his hands. "get out to san diego as quickly as you know how," snapped the chief, tossing over a sheaf of yellow telegraph slips. "there's all the information we have, and apparently you won't get much more out there--unless you dig it up for yourself. all they seem to know is that the stuff is coming in by the carload and is being peddled in all the hop joints at a lower price than ever before. it's up to you to get the details. any help you need will be supplied from the san francisco office, but my advice is to play a lone hand--you're likely to get further than if you have a gang with you all the time." "that's my idear, chief," drawled ezra, who hailed from vermont and had all the new englander's affection for single-handed effort, not because he had the least objection to sharing the glory, but simply because he considered it the most efficient way to work. "i'll get right out there and see how the land lays." "needn't bother to report until you discover something worth while," added the chief. "i'll know that you're on the job and the farther you keep away from headquarters the less suspicion you're likely to arouse." this was the reason that, beyond the fact they knew that an operative named marks had been sent from washington to look into the opium matter, the government agents on the coast were completely in the dark as to the way in which the affair was being handled. in fact, the chief himself was pretty well worried when two months slipped by without a word from ezra.... but the big, raw-boned yankee was having troubles of his own. likewise, he took his instructions very seriously and didn't see the least reason for informing washington of the very patent fact that he had gotten nowhere and found out nothing. "they know where they can reach me," he argued to himself one night, about the time that the chief began to wonder if his man were floating around the bay with a piece of chinese rope about his neck. "unless i get a wire they won't hear anything until i have at least a line on this gang." then, on going over the evidence which he had collected during the weeks that he had been in san diego, he found that there was extremely little of it. discreet questioning had developed the fact, which he already knew, that opium was plentiful all along the coast, and that, presumably, it was supplied from a point in the south of the state. but all his efforts to locate the source of the drug brought him up against a blank wall. in order to conduct his investigations with a minimum of suspicion, marks had elected to enter san diego in the guise of a derelict--a character which he had played to such perfection that two weeks after he arrived he found himself in court on the charge of vagrancy. only the fact that the presiding magistrate did not believe in sentencing first offenders saved him from ten days in the workhouse, an opportunity which he was rather sorry to miss because he figured that he might pick up some valuable leads from the opium addicts among his fellow prisoners. the only new point which he had developed during his stay in the underworld was that some one named sprague, presumably an american, was the brains of the opium ring and had perfected the entire plan. but who sprague was or where he might be found were matters which were kept in very watchful secrecy. "i give it up," muttered the operative, shrugging his arms into a threadbare coat and shambling out of the disreputable rooming house which passed for home. "work doesn't seem to get me anywhere. guess i'll have to trust to luck," and he wandered out for his nightly stroll through the chinese quarter, hoping against hope that something would happen. it did--in bunches! possibly it was luck, possibly it was fate--which, after all, is only another name for luck--that brought him into an especially unsavory portion of the city shortly after midnight. he had wandered along for three hours or more, with no objective in view save occasional visits to dives where he was known, when he heard something which caused him to whirl and automatically reach for his hip pocket. it was the cry of a woman, shrill and clear--the cry of a woman in mortal danger! it had only sounded once, but there was a peculiar muffled quality at the end of the note, suggestive of a hand or a gag having been placed over the woman's mouth. then--silence, so still as to be almost oppressive. puzzled, marks stood stock still and waited. so far as he could remember that was the first time that he had heard anything of the kind in chinatown. he knew that there were women there, but they were kept well in the background and, apparently, were content with their lot. the woman who had screamed, however, was in danger of her life. behind one of those flimsy walls some drama was being enacted in defiance of the law--something was being done which meant danger of the most deadly kind to him who dared to interfere. for a full minute marks weighed the importance of his official mission against his sense of humanity. should he take a chance on losing his prey merely to try to save a woman's life? should he attempt to find the house from which the scream had come and force the door? should he.... but the question was solved for him in a manner even more startling than the cry in the night. while he was still debating the door of a house directly in front of him opened wide and a blinding glare of light spread fanwise into the street. across this there shot the figure of what marks at first took to be a man--a figure attired in a long, heavily embroidered jacket and silken trousers. as it neared him, however, the operative sensed that it was a woman, and an instant later he knew that it was the woman whose stifled scream had halted him only a moment before. straight toward marks she came and, close behind her--their faces set in a look of deadly implacable rage--raced two large chinamen. probably realizing that she stood no chance of escape in the open street, the woman darted behind marks and prepared to dodge her pursuers. as she did so the operative caught her panting appeal: "save me! for the sake of the god, save me!" that was all that was necessary. ezra sensed in an instant the fact that he had become embroiled in what bade fair to be a tragedy and braced himself for action. he knew that he had no chance for holding off both men, particularly as he did not care to precipitate gun play, but there was the hope that he might divert them until the girl escaped. as the first of the two men leaped toward him, marks swung straight for his jaw, but his assailant ducked with what was almost professional rapidity and the blow was only a glancing one. before the operative had time to get set the other man was upon him and, in utter silence save for their labored breathing and dull thuds as blows went home, they fought their way back to the far side of the street. as he retreated, marks became conscious that instead of making her escape, the girl was still behind him. the reason for this became apparent when the larger of the chinamen suddenly raised his arm and the light from the open doorway glinted on the blade of a murderous short-handled axe--the favorite weapon of tong warfare. straight for his head the blade descended, but the girl's arm, thrust out of the darkness behind him, diverted the blow and the hatchet fairly whistled as it passed within an inch of his body. realizing that his only hope of safety lay in reaching the opposite side of the sidewalk, where he would be able to fight with his back against the wall, marks resumed his retreat, his arms moving like flails, his fists crashing home blows that lost much of their power by reason of the heavily padded jackets of his opponents. finally, after seconds that seemed like hours, one of his blows found the jaw of the man nearest him, and marks wheeled to set himself for the onrush of the other--the man with the hatchet. but just at that moment his foot struck the uneven curbing and threw him off his balance. he was conscious of an arc of light as the blade sang through the air; he heard a high, half-muffled cry from the girl beside him; and he remembered trying to throw himself out of the way of the hatchet. then there was a stinging, smarting pain in the side of his head and in his left shoulder--followed by the blackness of oblivion. from somewhere, apparently a long distance off, there came a voice which brought back at least a part of the operative's fast failing consciousness, a voice which called a name vaguely familiar to him: "sprague! sprague!" "sprague?" muttered marks, trying to collect himself. "who--is--sprague?" then, as he put it later, he "went off." how much time elapsed before he came to he was unable to say, but subsequent developments indicated that it was at least a day and a night. he hadn't the slightest idea what had occurred meanwhile--he only knew that he seemed to drift back to consciousness and a realization that his head was splitting as if it would burst. mechanically he stretched his legs and tried to rise, only to find that what appeared to be a wooden wall closed him in on all sides, leaving an opening only directly above him. for an appreciable time he lay still, trying to collect his thoughts. he recalled the fight in the open street, the intervention of the girl, the fall over the curb and then--there was something that he couldn't remember, something vital that had occurred just after he had tried to dodge the hatchet blade. "yes," he murmured, as memory returned, "it was some one calling for 'sprague--sprague!'" "hush!" came a whispered command out of the darkness which surrounded him, and a hand, soft and very evidently feminine, covered his mouth. "you must not mention that name here. it means the death, instant and terrible! they are discussing your fate in there now, but if they had thought that you knew wah lee your life would not be worth a yen." "wah lee? who is he?" marks replied, his voice pitched in an undertone. "i don't remember any wah lee. and who are you?" "who i am does not matter," came out of the darkness, "but wah lee--he is the master of life and death--the high priest of the flower of heaven. had it not been for him you would have been dead before this." "but i thought--" "that he desired your life? so he did--and does. but they have to plan the way in which it is to be taken and the disposition which is to be made of your body. that was what gave me my opportunity for binding up your wound and watching for you to wake." in spite of himself marks could not repress a slight shudder. so they were saving him for the sacrifice, eh? they were going to keep him here until their arrangements were complete and then make away with him, were they? moving cautiously, so as to avoid attracting attention, the operative slipped his right hand toward his hip pocket, only to find that his automatic was missing. as he settled back with a half moan, he felt something cold slipped into the box beside him, and the girl's voice whispered: "your revolver. i secured it when they brought you in here. i thought you might need it later. but be very careful. they must not suspect that you have wakened." "i will," promised marks, "but who are you? why should you take such an interest in me?" "you tried to save me from something that is worse than death," replied the girl. "you failed, but it was not your fault. could i do less than to help you?" "but what was it you feared?" "marriage! marriage to the man i loathe above all others--the man who is responsible for the opium that is drugging my people--the man who is known as wah lee, but who is really an american." here she hesitated for a moment and then hissed: "sprague!" "sprague?" marks echoed, sitting bolt upright. but the girl had gone, swallowed up somewhere in the impenetrable darkness which filled the room. his brain cleared by the realization that he had blundered into the heart of the opium-runners' den, it took ezra only a few seconds to formulate a plan of action. the first thing, of course, was to get away. but how could that be accomplished when he did not even know where he was or anything about the house? the girl had said something about the fact that "they were considering his fate." who were "they" and where were they? obviously, the only way to find this out was to do a little scouting on his own account, so, slowly and carefully, he raised himself clear of the boxlike arrangement in which he had been placed and tried to figure out his surroundings. his hand, groping over the side, came into almost instant contact with the floor and he found it a simple matter to step out into what appeared to be a cleared space in the center of a comparatively large room. then, curious as to the place where he had been concealed, he felt the box from one end to the other. the sides were about two feet high and slightly sloping, with an angle near the head. in fact, both ends of the affair were narrower than the portion which had been occupied by his shoulders. piled up at either end of this box were others, of the same shape and size. what could their purpose be? why the odd shape? suddenly the solution of the mystery flashed across the operative's mind--coffins! coffins which appeared to be piled up on all sides of the storeroom. was this the warehouse for a chinese undertaker or was it-- one coffin over which he nearly tripped gave him the answer. it was partly filled with cans, unlabeled and quite heavy--containers which marks felt certain were packed full of opium and smuggled in some manner inside the coffins. just as he arrived at this conclusion marks' eye was caught by a tiny streak of light filtering through the wall on the opposite side of the room. making his way carefully toward this, he found that the crack presented a fairly complete view of an adjoining apartment in which three chinese, evidently of high degree, were sorting money and entering accounts in large books. as he looked, a fourth figure entered the room--a man who caused him to catch his breath and flatten himself against the wall, for he recognized the larger of the two chinamen who had attacked him the night before--or whenever it was. this was the man to whom the girl had alluded as "wah lee, high priest of the flower of heaven"--which was merely another way of saying that he had charge of the opium shipments. as he entered the others rose and remained standing until he had seated himself. then one of them commenced to speak in rapid, undistinguishable chinese. before he had had time to pronounce more than a few words, however, wah lee interrupted him with a command couched in english to: "cut that out! you know i don't understand that gibberish well enough to follow you." "beg pardon," replied the other. "i always forget. you are so like one of us that, even in private, i find it hard to remember." wah lee said nothing, but, slipping off his silken jacket, settled back at his ease. a moment later marks was amazed to see him remove his mandarin's cap, and with it came a wig of coal-black hair! for the first time the government agent realized what the girl had meant when she intimated that wah lee and sprague were one and the same--an american who was masquerading as chinese in order to further his smuggling plans! "word has just arrived," continued the man who had first spoken, "that the boat will be off point banda to-night. that will allow us to pick up the coffins before daybreak and bury them until such time as the american hounds are off their guard." "yes," grunted sprague, "and let's hope that that's soon. we must have fifty thousand dollars' worth of the stuff cached on the other side of the border and orders are coming in faster than we can fill them. i think it would be best to run this cargo right in. we can stage a funeral, if necessary, and avoid suspicion in that way. wait a minute! i've got a hunch! what about the bum we carried in here last night--the one that tried to help anita in her getaway?" "anita?" "yes, my girl. i can't remember that rigmarole you people call her. anita's her name from now on." "he is in the next room, unconscious. two of the men dumped him in one of the empty coffins and let him stay there." "good," chuckled sprague. "we'll just let him remain--run him across the border, and bring his body back in a big hearse. the coffin and the body will be real, but there'll be enough cans of dope packed in and around him and in the carriages of the 'mourners' to make us all rich. it's the chance of a lifetime for a big play, because no one will ever suspect us or even inquire into his identity." behind the thin wall which separated him from the next room marks stiffened and his fingers wound themselves even more tightly around the butt of his automatic. it is not given to many men to hear their death sentence pronounced in a manner as dramatic and cold-blooded as were the words which came from the outer apartment. by listening intently, ezra learned that the coup would be sprung sometime within the next few hours, the conspirators feeling that it would not be safe to delay, as the opium shipment was due before dawn. moving silently and aided somewhat by the fact that his eyes had become a little accustomed to the inky blackness, marks made his way back to the place where he had awakened. he knew that that was where they would expect to find him and he also knew that this was the one place to avoid. so he located the door and, finding it bolted from the outside, placed himself where he would be at least partly sheltered when the party entered. after what seemed to be an interminable time he finally heard a sound from the hallway--the soft slip-slip of felt shoes approaching. then the bolt was withdrawn and the door opened, admitting the four men whom he had seen in the other room, and behind them, carrying a lantern, came the girl. nerving himself for a supreme leap, marks waited until all five visitors were inside the room, and then started to slip through the open doorway. but his movement attracted the attention of the man called sprague and, with a cry of warning, he wheeled and fired before the operative could gain the safety of the hall. knowing that his body, outlined against the light from outside, would make an ideal target, ezra dropped to the floor and swung his automatic into action. as he did so the girl extinguished the lantern with a single swift blow, leaving the room in total blackness, save for the path made by the light in the hallway. for probably twenty seconds there wasn't a sound. then marks caught a glimpse of a moving figure and fired, leaping to one side as he did so in order to avoid the fusillade directed at the flash of his revolver. by a cry from the other side of the room he knew that his shot had gone home, and a moment later he had an opportunity to wing another of his assailants, again drawing a volley of shots. the last shot in his clip was fired with a prayer--but it evidently went home, for only silence, punctuated by moans from the opposite side of the room, ensued. * * * * * "that night," concluded quinn, "a big sailing vessel was met off point banda and they found a full month's supply of opium aboard of her. a search of lower california, near the border, also disclosed a burying ground with many of the graves packed with cans of the drug. the raid, of course, was a violation of mexican neutrality--but they got away with it." "the girl?" i cut in. "what became of her?" "when the police reached the house a few moments after marks had fired the last shot, they found that sprague was dead with one of ezra's bullets through his brain. the three chinamen were wounded, but not fatally. the girl, however, was huddled in a corner, dead. no one ever discovered whether she stopped one of the bullets from marks's revolver or whether she was killed by sprague's men as a penalty for putting out the lantern. undoubtedly, that saved ezra's life--which was the reason that he saw that she was given a decent funeral and an adequate memorial erected over her grave. "he also kept her jacket as a memento of the affair, turning the hatchet over to me for my collection. under it you will find a copy of the wire he sent the chief." curious, i went over and read the yellow slip framed beneath the weapon: opium smuggled in coffins. american, at head of ring, dead. gang broken up. opium seized. what next? marks. "didn't wait long for another assignment, did he?" i inquired. "no," was the response. "when you're working for uncle sam you come to find that excitement is about the only thing that keeps your nerves quiet. sometimes, as in marks's case, it's the thrill of the actual combat. but more often it's the search for a tangible clue--the groping in the dark for something you know exists but which you can't lay your hands on. that was the trouble with the cheney case...." xv the man with three wives one of the first things to strike the eye of the visitor who enters the library-den of william j. quinn--known to his friends and former associates in the united states secret service as "bill"--is a frame which stands upon the mantel and contains the photographs of three exceptionally pretty women. anyone who doesn't know that this room is consecrated to relics of the exploits of the various governmental detective services might be pardoned for supposing that the three pictures in the single frame are photographs of relatives. only closer inspection will reveal the fact that beneath them appears a transcript from several pages of a certain book of records--the original of which is kept at the new york city hall. these pages state that.... but suppose we let quinn tell the story, just as he told it one cold november night while the wind was whistling outside and the cheery warmth of the fire made things extremely snug within. * * * * * secret service men [said quinn] divide all of their cases into two classes--those which call for quick action and plenty of it and those which demand a great deal of thought and only an hour or so of actual physical work. your typical operative--allison, who was responsible for solving the poison-pen puzzle, for example, or hal preston, who penetrated the mystery surrounding the murder of montgomery marshall--is essentially a man of action. he likes to tackle a job and get it over with. it doesn't make any difference if he has to round up a half dozen counterfeiters at the point of a single revolver--as tommy callahan once did--or break up a gang of train robbers who have sworn never to be taken alive. as long as he has plenty of thrills and excitement, as long as he is able to get some joy out of life, he doesn't give a hang for the risk. that's his business and he loves it. but it's the long-drawn-out cases which he has to ponder over and consider from a score of angles that, in the vernacular of vaudeville, capture his angora. give him an assignment where he can trail his man for a day or two, get the lay of the land, and then drop on the bunch like a ton o' brick and everything's fine. give him one of the other kind and--well, he's just about as happy as guy randall was when they turned him loose with instructions to get something on carl cheney. remember during the early days of the war when the papers were full of stories from new york, philadelphia, boston, milwaukee and points west about gatherings of pro-german sympathizers who were determined to aid the fatherland? theoretically, we were neutral at that time and these people had all the scope they wanted. they did not confine themselves to talk, however, but laid several plans which were destined to annoy the government and to keep several hundred operatives busy defeating them--for they were aimed directly at our policy of neutrality. as a campaign fund to assure the success of these operations, the german sympathizers raised not less than sixteen million dollars--a sum which naturally excited the cupidity not only of certain individuals within their own ranks, but also of persons on the outside--men who were accustomed to live by their wits and who saw in this gigantic collection the opportunity of a lifetime. when you consider that you can hire a new york gangster to commit murder for a couple of hundred dollars--and the "union scale" has been known to be even lower--it's no wonder that the mere mention of sixteen million dollars caused many a crook of international reputation to figure how he could divert at least a part of this to his own bank account. that's the way, as it afterward turned out, that carl cheney looked at it. cheney had rubbed elbows with the police on several occasions prior to nineteen fourteen. it was suspected that he had been mixed up in a number of exceptionally clever smuggling schemes and that he had had a finger in one or two operations which came perilously close to blackmail. but no one had ever been able to get anything on him. he was the original finnigin--"in agin, gone agin." by the time the plan came to a successful conclusion all that remained of "count carl's" connection with it was a vague and distinctly nebulous shadow--and you simply can't arrest shadows, no matter how hard you try. the new york police were the first to tip washington off to the fact that cheney, who had dropped his aristocratic alias for the time being, was back in this country and had been seen in the company of a number of prominent members of a certain german-american club which wasn't in any too good repute with the department of justice by reason of the efforts of some of its members to destroy the neutral stand of the nation. have no indications of what cheney is doing [the report admitted], but it will be well to trail him. apparently he has some connection, officially or unofficially, with berlin. advise what action you wish us to take. whereupon the chief wired back: operative assigned to cheney case leaves to-night. meanwhile please watch. it wasn't until after the wire had been sent that guy randall was summoned to the inner sanctum of the secret service and informed that he had been elected to trail the elusive suspect and find out what he was up to. "so far as our records show," stated the chief, "no one has ever been able to catch this cheney person in the act of departing from the straight and narrow path. however, that's a matter of the past. what we've got to find out is what he is planning now--why he is in new york and why he has attached himself to the pro-german element which has all kinds of wild schemes up its sleeve." "and i'm the one who's got to handle it?" inquired guy, with a grimace. "precisely," grinned the chief. "oh, i know it doesn't look like much of a job and i grant you that the thrill element will probably be lacking. but you can't draw a snap every time. all that's asked is that you get something on cheney--something which will withstand the assaults of the lawyers he will undoubtedly hire the minute we lay hands on him. therefore you've got to be mighty careful to have the right dope. if you're satisfied that he's doing nothing out of the way, don't hesitate to say so. but i don't expect that your report will clear him, for, from what we already know of the gentleman, he's more likely to be implicated in some plan aimed directly at a violation of neutrality, and it's essential that we find out what that is before we take any radical step." "what do you know about cheney?" was randall's next question, followed by an explanation from the chief that the "count" had been suspected in a number of cases and had barely been able to escape in time. "but," added the head of the secret service, "he did escape. and that's what we have to prevent this time. he's a fast worker and a clever one--which means that you've got to keep continually after him. call in all the help you need, but if you take my advice you'll handle the case alone. you're apt to get a lot further that way." agreeing that this was the best method to pursue, randall caught the midnight train for new york and went at once to police headquarters, where he requested a full description of cheney's previous activities. "you're asking for something what ain't," he was informed, ungrammatically, but truthfully. "we've never been able to get a thing on the count, though we're dead certain that he had a finger in several crooked plays. the latimer letters were never directly traced to him, but it's a cinch that he had something to do with their preparation, just as he had with the blackmailing of old man branchfield and the smuggling of the van husen emeralds. you remember that case, don't you? the one where the stones were concealed in a life preserver and they staged a 'man overboard' stunt just as the ship came into the harbor. nobody ever got the stones or proved that they were actually smuggled--but the count happened to be on the ship at the time, just as he 'happened' to be in paris when they were sold. we didn't even dare arrest him, which accounts for the fact that his photograph doesn't ornament the rogues' gallery." "well, what's the idea of trailing him, then?" "just to find out what he is doing. what d'ye call those birds that fly around at sea just before a gale breaks--stormy petrels? that's the count! he's a stormy petrel of crookedness. something goes wrong every time he hits a town--or, rather, just after he leaves, for he's too clever to stick around too long. the question now is, what's this particular storm and when is it goin' to break?" "fine job to turn me loose on," grumbled randall. "it is that," laughed the captain who was dispensing information. "but you can never tell what you'll run into, me boy. why i remember once--" randall, however, was out of the office before the official had gotten well started on his reminiscences. he figured that he had already had too much of a grouch to listen patiently to some long-winded story dug out of the musty archives of police history and he made his way at once to the hotel where carl cheney was registered, flaunting his own name in front of the police whom he must have known were watching him. neither the house detective nor the plain-clothes man who had been delegated to trail cheney could add anything of interest to the little that randall already knew. the "count," they said, had conducted himself in a most circumspect manner and had not been actually seen in conference with any of the germans with whom he was supposed to be in league. "he's too slick for that," added the man from the central office. "whenever he's got a conference on he goes up to the club and you can't get in there with anything less than a battering ram and raiding squad. there's no chance to plant a dictaphone, and how else are you going to get the information?" "what does he do at other times?" countered guy, preferring not to reply to the former question until he had gotten a better line on the case. "behaves himself," was the laconic answer. "takes a drive in the park in the afternoon, dines here or at one of the other hotels, goes to the theater and usually finishes up with a little supper somewhere among the white lights." "any women in sight?" "yes--two. a blond from the girl-show that's playin' at the knickerbocker and a red-head. don't know who she is--but they're both good lookers. no scandal, though. everything appears to be on the level--even the women." "well," mused the government operative after a moment's silence, "i guess i better get on the job. probably means a long stretch of dull work, but the sooner i get at it the sooner i'll get over it. where is cheney now?" "up in his room. hasn't come down to breakfast yet. yes. there he is now. just getting out of the elevator--headed toward the dinin' room," and the plain-clothes man indicated the tall figure of a man about forty, a man dressed in the height of fashion, with spats, a cane, and a morning coat of the most correct cut. "want me for anything?" "not a thing," said randall, absently. "i'll pick him up now. you might tell the chief to watch out for a hurry call from me--though i'm afraid he won't get it." as events proved, randall was dead right. the central office heard nothing from him for several months, and even washington received only stereotyped reports indicative of what cheney was doing--which wasn't much. shortly after the first of the year, guy sent a wire to the chief, asking to be relieved for a day or two in order that he might be free to come to washington. sensing the fact that the operative had some plan which he wished to discuss personally, the chief put another man on cheney's trail and instructed randall to report at the treasury department on the following morning. "what's the matter?" inquired the man at the head of the service as guy, a little thinner than formerly and showing by the wrinkles about his eyes the strain under which he was working, strolled into the office. "nothing's the matter, chief--and that's where the trouble lies. you know i've never kicked about work, no matter how much of it i've had. but this thing's beginning to get on my nerves. cheney is planning some coup. i'm dead certain of that. what it's all about, though, i haven't the least idea. the plans are being laid in the german-american club and there's no chance of getting in there." "how about bribing one of the employees to leave?" "can't be done. i've tried it--half a dozen times. they're all germans and, as such, in the organization. however, i have a plan. strictly speaking, it's outside the law, but that's why i wanted to talk things over with you...." when randall had finished outlining his plan the chief sat for a moment in thought. then, "are you sure you can put it over?" he inquired. "of course i can. it's done every other day, anyhow, by the cops themselves. why shouldn't we take a leaf out of their book?" "i know. but there's always the possibility of a diplomatic protest." "not in this case, chief. the man's only a waiter and, besides, before the embassy has a chance to hear about it i'll have found out what i want to know. then, if they want to raise a row, let 'em." the upshot of the matter was that, about a week later, franz heilman, a waiter employed at the german-american club in new york, was arrested one night and haled into night court on a charge of carrying concealed weapons--a serious offense under the sullivan act. in vain he protested that he had never carried a pistol in his life. patrolman flaherty, who had made the arrest, produced the weapon which he claimed to have found in heilman's possession and the prisoner was held for trial. bright and early the next morning randall, disguised by a mustache which he had trained for just such an occasion and bearing a carefully falsified letter from a german brewer in milwaukee, presented himself at the employee's entrance of the german-american club and asked for the steward. to that individual he told his story--how he had tried to get back to the fatherland and had failed, how he had been out of work for nearly a month, and how he would like to secure employment of some kind at the club where he would at least be among friends. after a thorough examination of the credentials of the supposed german--who had explained his accent by the statement that he had been brought to the united states when very young and had been raised in wisconsin--the steward informed him that there was a temporary vacancy in the club staff which he could fill until heilman returned. "the duties," the steward added, "are very light and the pay, while not large, will enable you to lay by a little something toward your return trip to germany." knowing that his time was limited, randall determined to let nothing stand in the way of his hearing all that went on in the room where cheney and his associates held their conferences. it was the work of only a few moments to bore holes in the door which connected this room with an unused coat closet--plugging up the holes with corks stained to simulate the wood itself--and the instant the conference was on the new waiter disappeared. an hour later he slipped out of the side entrance to the club and the steward is probably wondering to this day what became of him. had he been able to listen in on the private wire which connected the new york office of the secret service with headquarters at washington, he would have had the key to the mystery. "chief," reported randall, "i've got the whole thing. there's a plot on foot to raise one hundred and fifty thousand german reservists--men already in this country--mobilizing them in four divisions, with six sections. the first two divisions are to assemble at silvercreek, michigan--the first one seizing the welland canal and the second capturing wind mill point, ontario. the third is to meet at wilson, n. y., and will march on port hope. the fourth will go from watertown, n. y., to kingston, ontario, while the fifth will assemble somewhere near detroit and proceed toward windsor. the sixth will stage an attack on ottawa, operating from cornwall. "they've got their plans all laid for the coup, and cheney reported to-day that he intends to purchase some eighty-five boats to carry the invading force into the dominion. the only thing that's delaying the game is the question of provisions for the army. cheney's holding out for another advance--from what i gathered he's already received a lot--and claims that he will be powerless unless he gets it. i didn't stay to listen to the argument, for i figured that i'd better leave while the leaving was good." the reply that came back from washington was rather startling to the operative, who expected only commendation and the statement that his task was completed. "what evidence have you that this invasion is planned?" "none besides what i heard through holes which i bored in one of the doors of the german-american club this morning." "that won't stand in court! we don't dare to arrest this man cheney on that. you've got to get something on him." "plant it?" "no! get it straight. and we can't wait for this expedition to start, either. that would be taking too much of a chance. it's up to you to do a little speedy work in the research line. dig back into the count's past and find something on which we can hold him, for he's very evidently the brains of the organization, in spite of the fact that he probably is working only for what he can get of that fund that the germans have raised. i understand that it's sixteen million dollars and that's enough to tempt better men than cheney. now go to it, and remember--you've got to work fast!" disappointed, chagrined by the air of finality with which the receiver at the washington end of the line was hung up, randall wandered out of the new york office with a scowl on his face and deep lines of thought between his eyes. if he hadn't been raised in the school which holds that a man's only irretrievable mistake is to quit under fire, he'd have thrown up his job right there and let some one else tackle the work of landing the count. but he had to admit that the chief was right and, besides, there was every reason to suppose that grave issues hung in the balance. the invasion of canada meant the overthrow of american neutrality, the failure of the plans which the president and the state department had so carefully laid. cheney was the crux of the whole situation. once held on a charge that could be proved in court, the plot would fall through for want of a capable leader--for the operative had learned enough during his hour in the cloak-room to know that "the count" was the mainspring of the whole movement, despite the fact that he undoubtedly expected to reap a rich financial harvest for himself. selecting a seat on the top of a fifth avenue bus, randall resigned himself to a consideration of the problem. "the whole thing," he figured, "simmers down to cheney himself. in its ramifications, of course, it's a question of peace or war--but in reality it's a matter of landing a crook by legitimate means. i can't plant a gun on him, like they did on heilman, and there's mighty little chance of connecting him with the branchfield case or the van husen emeralds at this late date. his conduct around town has certainly been blameless enough. not even any women to speak of. wait a minute, though! there were two. the blond from the knickerbocker and that red-haired dame. he's still chasing around with the blond--but what's become of miss red-head?" this train of thought had possibilities. if the girl had been cast aside, it was probable that she would have no objection to telling what she knew--particularly as the color of her hair hinted at the possession of what the owner would call "temperament," while the rest of the world forgets to add the last syllable. it didn't take long to locate the owner of the fiery tresses. a quick round-up of the head waiters at the cafés which cheney frequented, a taxi trip to washington square and another to the section above columbus circle, and randall found that the red-haired beauty was known as olga brainerd, an artist's model, whose face had appeared upon the cover of practically every popular publication in the country. she had been out of town for the past two months, he learned, but had just returned and had taken an apartment in a section of the city which indicated the possession of considerable capital. "miss brainerd," said randall, when he was face to face with the titian beauty in the drawing-room of her suite, "i came with a message from your friend, carl cheney." here he paused and watched her expression very closely. as he had hoped, the girl was unable to master her feelings. rage and hate wrote themselves large across her face and her voice fairly snapped as she started to reply. randall, however, interrupted her with a smile and the statement: "that's enough! i'm going to lay my cards face up on the table. i am a secret service operative seeking information about cheney. here is my badge, merely to prove that i'm telling the truth. we have reason to believe that 'the count,' as he is called, is mixed up with a pro-german plot which, if successful, would imperil the peace of the country. can you tell us anything about him?" "can i?" echoed the girl. "the beast! he promised to marry me, more than two months ago, and then got infatuated with some blond chit of a chorus girl. just because i lost my head and showed him a letter i had received--a letter warning me against him--he flew into a rage and threatened.... well, never mind what he did say. the upshot of the affair was that he sent me out of town and gave me enough money to last me some time. but he'll pay for his insults!" "have you the letter you received?" asked randall, casually--as if it meant little to him whether the girl produced it or not. "yes. i kept it. wait a moment and i'll get it for you." a few seconds later she was back with a note, written in a feminine hand--a note which read: if you are wise you will ask the man who calls himself carl cheney what he knows of paul weiss, of george winters, and oscar stanley. you might also inquire what has become of florence and rose. (signed) amelia. randall looked up with a puzzled expression. "what's all this about?" he inquired. "sounds like greek to me." "to me, too," agreed the girl. "but it was enough to make carl purple with rage and, what's more, to separate him from several thousand dollars." "weiss, winters, and stanley," mused guy. "those might easily be cheney's former aliases. florence, rose, and amelia? i wonder.... come on, girl, we're going to take a ride down to city hall! i've got a hunch!" late that afternoon when carl cheney arrived at his hotel he was surprised to find a young man awaiting him in his apartment--a man who appeared to be perfectly at ease and who slipped over and locked the door once the count was safely within the room. "what does this mean?" demanded cheney. "by what right--" "it means," snapped randall, "that the game's up!" then, raising his voice, he called, "mrs. weiss!" and a tall woman parted the curtains at the other end of the room; "mrs. winters!" and another woman entered; "mrs. stanley!" and a third came in. with his fingers still caressing the butt of the automatic which nestled in his coat pocket, randall continued: "cheney--or whatever your real name is--there won't be any invasion of canada. we know all about your plans--in fact, the arsenal on west houston street is in possession of the police at this moment. it was a good idea and undoubtedly you would have cleaned up on it--were it not for the fact that i am under the far from painful necessity of arresting you on a charge of bigamy--or would you call it 'trigamy'? the records at city hall gave you away, after one of these ladies had been kind enough to provide us with a clue to the three aliases under which you conducted your matrimonial operations. "come on, count. the germans may need you worse than we do--but we happen to have you!" xvi after seven years bill quinn was disgusted. some one, evidently afflicted with an ingrowing sense of humor, had sent him the prospectus of a "school" which professed to be able to teach budding aspirants the art of becoming a successful detective for the sum of twenty-five dollars, and quinn couldn't appreciate the humor. "_how to become a detective--in ten lessons_," he snorted. "it only takes one for the man who's got the right stuff in him, and the man that hasn't better stay out of the game altogether." "well," i retorted, anxious to stir up any kind of an argument that might lead to one of quinn's tales about the exploits of uncle sam's sleuths, "just what does it take to make a detective?" it was a moment or two before quinn replied. then: "there are only three qualities necessary," he replied. "common sense, the power of observation, and perseverance. given these three, with possibly a dash of luck thrown in for good measure, and you'll have a crime expert who could stand the heroes of fiction on their heads. "take larry simmons, for example. no one would ever have accused him of having the qualifications of a detective--any more than they would have suspected him of being one. but larry drew a good-sized salary from the bureau of pensions because he possessed the three qualities i mentioned. he had the common sense of a physician, the observation of a trained newspaper reporter, and the perseverance of a bulldog. once he sunk his teeth in a problem he never let loose--which was the reason that very few people ever put anything over on the pension bureau as long as larry was on the job. "that cap up there," and quinn pointed to a stained and dilapidated bit of headgear which hung upon the wall of his den, "is a memento of one of simmons's cases. the man who bought it would tell you that i'm dead right when i say that larry was persevering. that's putting it mildly." * * * * * quite a while back [continued quinn, picking up the thread of his story] there was a man out in saint joseph, missouri, named dave holden. no one appeared to know where he came from and, as he conducted himself quietly and didn't mix in with his neighbors' affairs, no one cared very much. holden hadn't been in town more than a couple of weeks when one of the older inhabitants happened to inquire if he were any kin to "old dave holden," who had died only a year or two before. "no," said holden, "i don't believe i am. my folks all came from ohio and i understand that this holden was a missourian." "that's right," agreed the other, "and a queer character, too. guess he was pretty nigh the only man that fought on the union side in the civil war that didn't stick th' government for a pension. had it comin' to him, too, 'cause he was a captain when th' war ended. but he always said he didn't consider that uncle sam owed him anything for doin' his duty. spite of th' protests of his friends, dave wouldn't ever sign a pension blank, either." a few more questions, carefully directed, gave holden the history of his namesake, and that night he lay awake trying to figure out whether the plan which had popped into his head was safe. it promised some easy money, but there was the element of risk to be considered. "after all," he concluded, "i won't be doing anything that isn't strictly within the law. my name is david holden--just as the old man's was. the worst that they can do is to turn down the application. i won't be committing forgery or anything of the kind. and maybe it'll slip through--which would mean a pile of money, because they'll kick in with all that accumulated during the past fifty years." so it was that, in the course of time, an application was filed at the bureau of pensions in washington for a pension due "david holden" of saint joseph, missouri, who had fought in the civil war with the rank of captain. but, when the application had been sent over to the war department so that it might be compared with the records on file there, it came back with the red-inked notation that "capt. david holden had died two years before"--giving the precise date of his demise as evidence. the moment that the document reached the desk of the supervisor of pensions he pressed one of the little pearl buttons in front of him and asked that larry simmons be sent in. when larry arrived the chief handed him the application without a word. "right! i'll look into this," said larry, folding the paper and slipping it into the pocket of his coat. "look into it?" echoed the supervisor. "you'll do more than that! you'll locate this man holden--or whatever his right name is--and see that he gets all that's coming to him. there've been too many of these cases lately. apparently people think that all they have to do is to file an application for a pension and then go off and spend the money. catch the first train for saint joe and wire me when you've landed your man. the district attorney will attend to the rest of the matter." the location of david holden, as simmons found, was not the simplest of jobs. the pension applicant, being comparatively a newcomer, was not well known in town, and simmons finally had to fall back upon the expedient of watching the post-office box which holden had given as his address, framing a dummy letter so that the suspect might not think that he was being watched. holden, however, had rented the box for the sole purpose of receiving mail from the pension bureau. he had given the number to no one else and the fact that the box contained what appeared to be an advertisement from a clothing store made him stop and wonder. by that time, however, simmons had him well in sight and followed him to the boarding-house on the outskirts of the town where he was staying. that evening, while he was still wondering at the enterprise of a store that could obtain a post-office box number from a government bureau at washington, the solution of the mystery came to him in a decidedly unexpected manner. the house in which holden was staying was old-fashioned, one of the kind that are heated, theoretically at least, by "registers," open gratings in the wall. holden's room was directly over the parlor on the first floor and the shaft which carried the hot air made an excellent sound-transmitter. it so happened that simmons, after having made a number of inquiries around town about the original dave holden, called at the boarding house that night to discover what the landlady knew about the other man of the same name, who was seated in the room above. suddenly, like a voice from nowhere, came the statement in a high-pitched feminine voice: "i really don't know anything about him at all. mr. holden came here about six weeks ago and asked me to take him in to board. he seemed to be a very nice, quiet gentleman, who was willing to pay his rent in advance. so i let him have one of the best rooms in the house." at the mention of his name holden listened intently. who was inquiring about him, and why? there was only a confused mumble--apparently a man's reply, pitched in a low tone--and then the voice of the landlady again came clearly through the register: "oh, i'm sure he wouldn't do anything like that. mr. holden is...." but that was all that the pension applicant waited for. moving with the rapidity of a frightened animal, he secured one or two articles of value from his dresser, crammed a hat into his pocket, slipped on a raincoat, and vaulted out of the window, alighting on the sloping roof of a shed just below. before he had quitted the room, however, he had caught the words "arrest on a charge of attempting to obtain money under false pretenses." some two minutes later there was a knock on his door and a voice demanded admittance. there was no reply. again the demand, followed by a rattling of the doorknob and a tentative shake of the door. in all, it was probably less than five minutes after larry simmons had entered the parlor before he had burst in the door of holden's room. but the bird had flown and the open window pointed to the direction of his flight. unfortunately for the operative the night was dark and the fugitive was decidedly more familiar with the surrounding country than larry was. by the time he had secured the assistance of the police half an hour had elapsed, and there weren't even any telltale footprints to show in which direction the missing man had gone. "see that men are placed so as to guard the railroad station," simmons directed, "and pass the word up and down the line that a medium-sized man, about thirty-five years of age, with black hair and a rather ruddy complexion--a man wanted by the government on a charge of false pretenses--is trying to make his escape. if anyone reports him, let me know at once." that, under the circumstances, was really all that larry could do. it ought to be an easy matter to locate the fugitive, he figured, and it would only be a question of a few days before he was safely in jail. bright and early the next morning the operative was awakened by a bell-boy who informed him that the chief of police would like to see him. "show him in," said larry, fully expecting to see the chief enter with a handcuffed prisoner. but the head of the police force came in alone, carrying a bundle, which he gravely presented to simmons. "what's this?" inquired the pension agent. "all that's left of your friend holden," was the reply. "one of my men reported late last night that he had heard a splash in the river as though some one had jumped off the wharf, but he couldn't find out anything more. to tell the truth, he didn't look very hard--because we had our hands full with a robbery of green's clothing store. some one broke in there and--" "yes--but what about holden?" simmons interrupted. "guess you'll have to drag the river for him," answered the chief. "we found his coat and vest and raincoat on the dock this mornin', and on top of them was this note, addressed to you." the note, as larry found an instant later, read: i'd rather die in the river than go to jail. tell your boss that he can pay two pensions now--one for each of the dave holdens. the signature, almost illegible, was that of "david holden (number two)." "no doubt that your man heard the splash when holden went overboard last night?" inquired the operative. "not the least in the world. he told me about it, but i didn't connect it with the man you were after, and, besides, i was too busy right then to give it much thought." "any chance of recovering the body?" "mighty little at this time of the year. the current's good and strong an' the chances are that he won't turn up this side of the mississippi, if then. it was only by accident that we found his cap. it had lodged under the dock and we fished it out less 'n half an hour ago--" and the chief pointed to a water-soaked piece of cloth which simmons recognized as the one which holden had been wearing the evening before. "well, i don't suppose there's anything more that we can do," admitted larry. "i'd like to have the river dragged as much as possible, though i agree with you that the chances for recovering the body are very slim. will you look after that?" "sure i will, and anything else you want done." the chief was nothing if not obliging--a fact which simmons incorporated in his official report, which he filed a few days later, a report which stated that "david holden, wanted on a charge of attempting to obtain money under false pretenses, had committed suicide by drowning rather than submit to arrest." the body has not been recovered [the report admitted], but this is not to be considered unusual at this time of the year when the current is very strong. the note left by the fugitive is attached. back from washington came the wire: better luck next time. anyhow, holden won't bother us again. if this were a moving picture [quinn continued, after a pause], there would be a subtitle here announcing the fact that seven years are supposed to elapse. there also probably would be a highly decorated explanatory title informing the audience that "uncle sam never forgets nor forgives"--a fact that is so perfectly true that it's a marvel that people persist in trying to beat the government. then the scene of the film would shift to seattle, washington. they would have to cut back a little to make it clear that larry simmons had, in the meantime, left the pension bureau and entered the employment of the post-office department, being desirous of a little more excitement and a few more thrills than his former job afforded. but he was still working for uncle sam, and his memory--like that of his employer--was long and tenacious. one of the minor cases which had been bothering the department for some time past was that of a ring of fortune-tellers who, securing information in devious ways, would pretend that it had come to them from the spirit world and use it for purposes which closely approximated blackmail. simmons, being in san francisco at the time, was ordered to proceed to seattle and look into the matter. posing as a gentleman of leisure with plenty of money and but little care as to the way in which he spent it, it wasn't long before he was steered into what appeared to be the very center of the ring--the residence of a madame ahara, who professed to be able to read the stars, commune with spirits, and otherwise obtain information of an occult type. there larry went through all the usual stages--palmistry, spiritualism, and clairvoyance--and chuckled when he found, after his third visit, that his pocket had been picked of a letter purporting to contain the facts about an escapade in which he had been mixed up a few years ago. the letter, of course, was a plant placed there for the sole purpose of providing a lead for madame and her associates to follow. and they weren't long in taking the tip. the very next afternoon the government agent received a telephone call notifying him that madame had some news of great importance which she desired to impart--information which had come to her from the other world and in which she felt certain he would be interested. larry asked if he might bring a friend with him, but the request--as he had expected--was promptly refused. the would-be blackmailers were too clever to allow first-hand evidence to be produced against them. they wished to deal only with principals or, as madame informed him over the phone, "the message was of such a nature that only he should hear it." "very well," replied simmons, "i'll be there at eleven this evening." it was not his purpose to force the issue at this time. in fact, he planned to submit to the first demand for money and trust to the confidence which this would inspire to render the blackmailers less cautious in the future. but something occurred which upset the entire scheme and, for a time at least, threatened disaster to the post-office schemes. thinking that it might be well to look the ground over before dark, larry strolled out to madame ahara's about five o'clock in the afternoon and took up his position on the opposite side of the street, studying the house from every angle. while he was standing there a man came out--a man who was dressed in the height of fashion, but whose face was somehow vaguely familiar. the tightly waxed mustache and the iron-gray goatee seemed out of place, for simmons felt that the last time he had seen the man he had been clean shaven. "where was it?" he thought, as he kept the man in sight, though on the opposite side of the street. "new york? no. washington? hardly. saint louis? no, it was somewhere where he was wearing a cap--a cap that was water-stained and ... i've got it! in saint joseph! the man who committed suicide the night i went to arrest him for attempting to defraud the pension bureau! it's he, sure as shooting!" but just as simmons started to cross the street the traffic cop raised his arm, and when the apparently interminable stream of machines had passed, the man with the mustache was nowhere to be seen. he had probably slipped into one of the near-by office buildings. but which? that was a question which worried larry for a moment or two. then he came to the conclusion that there was no sense in trying to find his man at this moment. the very fact that he was in seattle was enough. the police could find him with little difficulty. but what had holden been doing at the clairvoyant's? had he fallen into the power of the ring or was it possible that he was one of the blackmailers himself? the more larry thought about the matter, the more he came to the conclusion that here was an opportunity to kill two birds with a single stone--to drive home at least the entering wedge of the campaign against the clairvoyants and at the same time to land the man who had eluded him seven years before. the plan which he finally evolved was daring, but he realized that the element of time was essential. holden must not be given another opportunity to slip through the net. that night when larry kept his appointment at madame's he saw to it that a cordon of police was thrown around the entire block, with instructions to allow no one to leave until after a prearranged signal. "don't prevent anyone from coming into the house," simmons directed, "but see that not a soul gets away from it. also, you might be on the lookout for trouble. the crowd's apt to get nasty and we can't afford to take chances with them." a tall dark-skinned man, attired in an arabian burnoose and wearing a turban, answered the ring at the door, precisely as larry anticipated--for the stage was always well set to impress visitors. madame herself never appeared in the richly decorated room where the crystal-gazing séances were held, preferring to remain in the background and to allow a girl, who went by the name of yvette, to handle visitors, the explanation being that "madame receives the spirit messages and transmits them to yvette, her assistant." simmons therefore knew that, instead of dealing with an older and presumably more experienced woman, he would only have to handle a girl, and it was upon this that he placed his principal reliance. everything went along strictly according to schedule. yvette, seated on the opposite side of a large crystal ball in which she read strange messages from the other world--visions transmitted from the cellar by means of a cleverly constructed series of mirrors--told the operative everything that had been outlined in the letter taken from his pocket on the preceding night, adding additional touches founded on facts which larry had been "careless" enough to let slip during his previous visits. then she concluded with a very thinly veiled threat of blackmail if the visitor did not care to kick in with a certain sum of money. larry listened to the whole palaver in silence, but his eyes were busy trying to pierce the dim light in which the room was shrouded. so far as he could see, the door through which he had entered formed the only means of getting into the room--but there were a number of rugs and draperies upon the walls, any one of which might easily mask a doorway. when the girl had finished, the operative leaned forward and hitched his chair around so that he could speak in a whisper. "if you know what's good for you," he cautioned, "don't move! i've got you covered, in the first place, and, secondly, there's a solid cordon of police around this house! careful--not a sound! i'm not after you. i want the people who're behind you. madame and her associates. this blackmailing game has gone about far enough, but i'll see that you get off with a suspended sentence if you do as i tell you. if not--" and the very abruptness with which he stopped made the threat all the more convincing. "what--what do you want me to do?" stammered the girl, her voice barely audible. "turn state's evidence and tip me off to everyone who's in on this thing," was larry's reply, couched in the lowest of tones. "there's not a chance of escape for any of you, so you might as well do it and get it over with. besides that, i want to know where i can find a man with a waxed mustache and iron-gray goatee who left this house at ten minutes past five this afternoon." "madame!" exclaimed the girl. "davidson!" "yes--madame and davidson, if that's the name he goes by now. it was holden the last time i saw him." "he"--and the girl's voice was a mere breath--"he is madame!" "what?" "yes, there is no madame ahara. davidson runs the whole thing. he is--" but at that moment one of the rugs on the wall which larry was facing swung outward and a man sprang into the room, a man whose face was purple with rage and who leaped sidewise as he saw larry's hand snap an automatic into view above the pedestal on which the crystal ball reposed. in a flash simmons recognized two things--his danger and the fact that the man who had just entered was holden, alias davidson, blackmailer and potential thief. before the government agent had time to aim the head of the clairvoyant ring fired. but his bullet, instead of striking larry, shattered the crystal ball into fragments and the room was plunged into total darkness. in spite of the fact that he knew the shot would bring speedy relief from outside the house, simmons determined to capture his man single-handed and alive. half-leaping, half-falling from the chair in which he had been seated, the operative sprang forward in an attempt to nail his man while the latter was still dazed by the darkness. but his foot, catching in one of the thick rugs which carpeted the floor, tripped him and he fell--a bullet from the other's revolver plowing through the fleshy part of his arm. the flash, however, showed him the position of his adversary, and it was the work of only a moment to slip forward and seize the blackmailer around the waist, his right hand gripping the man's wrist and forcing it upward so that he was powerless to use his revolver. for a full minute they wrestled in the inky darkness, oblivious to the fact that the sound of blows on the outer door indicated the arrival of reinforcements. then suddenly larry let go of the blackmailer's arm and, whirling him rapidly around, secured a half nelson that threatened to dislocate his neck. "drop it!" he snarled. "drop that gun before i wring your head off!" and the muffled thud as the revolver struck the floor was the signal that holden had surrendered. a moment later the light in the center of the room was snapped on and the police sergeant inquired if larry needed any assistance. "no," replied simmons, grimly, "but you might lend me a pair of bracelets. this bird got away from me once, some seven years ago, and i'm not taking any more chances!" xvii the poison-pen puzzle beside the bookcase in the room which bill quinn likes to dignify by the name of "library"--though it's only a den, ornamented with relics of scores of cases in which members of the different government detective services have figured--hangs a frame containing four letters, each in a different handwriting. beyond the fact that these letters obviously refer to some secret in the lives of the persons to whom they are addressed, there is little about them that is out of the ordinary. a close observer, however, would note that in none of the four is the secret openly stated. it is only hinted at, suggested, but by that very fact it becomes more mysterious and alarming. it was upon this that i commented one evening as i sat, discussing things in general, with quinn. "yes," he agreed, "the writer of those letters was certainly a genius. as an author or as an advertising writer or in almost any other profession where a mastery of words and the ability to leave much to the imagination is a distinct asset, they would have made a big success." "they?" i inquired. "did more than one person write the letters?" "don't look like the writing of the same person, do they?" countered quinn. "besides, that was one of the many phases of the matter which puzzled elmer allison, and raised the case above the dead level of ordinary blackmailing schemes." * * * * * allison [quinn went on, settling comfortably back in his big armchair] was, as you probably remember, one of the star men of the postal inspection service, the chap who solved the mystery of the lost one hundred thousand dollars in columbus. in fact, he had barely cleared up the tangle connected with the letters when assigned to look into the affair of the missing money, with what results you already know. the poison-pen puzzle, as it came to be known in the department, first bobbed up some six months before allison tackled it. at least, that was when it came to the attention of the postal inspection service. it's more than likely that the letters had been arriving for some time previous to that, because one of the beauties of any blackmailing scheme--such as this one appeared to be--is that per cent of the victims fear to bring the matter to the attention of the law. they much prefer to suffer in silence, kicking in with the amounts demanded, than to risk the exposure of their family skeletons by appealing to the proper authorities. a man by the name of tyson, who lived in madison, wisconsin, was the first to complain. he informed the postmaster in his city that his wife had received two letters, apparently in a feminine handwriting, which he considered to be very thinly veiled attempts at blackmailing. neither of the letters was long. just a sentence or two. but their ingenuity lay in what they suggested rather than in their actual threats. the first one read: does your husband know the details of that trip to fond du lac? he might be interested in what hastings has to tell him. the second, which arrived some ten days later, announced: the photograph of the register of a certain hotel in fond du lac for june might be of interest to your husband--who can tell? that was all there was to them, but it doesn't take an expert in plot building to think of a dozen stories that could lie back of that supposedly clandestine trip on the eighth of june. tyson didn't go into particulars at the time. he contented himself with turning the letters over to the department, with the request that the matter be looked into at once. said that his wife had handed them to him and that he knew nothing more about the matter. all that the postal authorities could do at the time was to instruct him to bring in any subsequent communications. but, as the letters stopped suddenly and tyson absolutely refused to state whether he knew of anyone who might be interested in causing trouble between his wife and himself, there was nothing further to be done. tracing a single letter, or even two of them, is like looking for a certain star on a clear night--you've got to know where to look before you have a chance of finding it--and the postmark on the letters wasn't of the least assistance. some three or four weeks later a similar case cropped up. this time it was a woman who brought in the letters--a woman who was red-eyed from lack of sleep and worry. again the communications referred to a definite escapade, but still they made no open demand for money. by the time the third case cropped up the postal authorities in madison were appealing to washington for assistance. before bolton and clarke, the two inspectors originally assigned to the case, could reach the wisconsin capital another set of the mysterious communications had been received and called to the attention of the department. during the three months which followed no less than six complaints were filed, all of them alleging the receipt of veiled threats, and neither the local authorities nor the men from washington could find a single nail on which to hang a theory. finally affairs reached such a stage that the chief sent for allison, who had already made something of a name for himself, and told him to get on the job. "better make the first train for madison," were the directions which elmer received. "so far as we can tell, this appears to be the scheme of some crazy woman, intent upon causing domestic disturbances, rather than a well-laid blackmailing plot. there's no report of any actual demand for money. just threats or suggestions of revelations which would cause family dissension. i don't have to tell you that it's wise to keep the whole business away from the papers as long as you can. they'll get next to it some time, of course, but if we can keep it quiet until we've landed the author of the notes it'll be a whole lot better for the reputation of the department. "bolton and clarke are in madison now, but their reports are far from satisfactory, so you better do a little investigating of your own. you'll have full authority to handle the case any way that you see fit. all we ask is action--before somebody stirs up a real row about the inefficiency of the service and all that rot." elmer smiled grimly, knowing the difficulties under which the department worked, difficulties which make it hard for any bureau to obtain the full facts in a case without being pestered by politicians and harried by local interests which are far from friendly. for this reason you seldom know that uncle sam is conducting an investigation until the whole thing is over and done with and the results are ready to be presented to the grand jury. premature publicity has ruined many cases and prevented many a detective from landing the men he's after, which was the reason that allison slipped into town on rubber heels, and his appearance at the office of the postmaster was the first indication that official had of his arrival. "mr. gordon," said allison, after they had completed the usual preliminaries connected with credentials and so forth, "i want to tackle this case just as if i were the first man who had been called in. i understand that comparatively little progress has been made--" "'comparatively little' is good," chuckled the postmaster. "and i don't wish to be hindered by any erroneous theories which may have been built up. so if you don't mind we'll run over the whole thing from the beginning." "well," replied the postmaster, "you know about the tyson letters and--" "i don't know about a thing," elmer cut in. "or at least we'll work on the assumption that i don't. then i'll be sure not to miss any points and at the same time i'll get a fresh outline of the entire situation." some two hours later postmaster gordon finished his résumé of the various cases which were puzzling the police and the postal officials, for a number of the best men on the police force had been quietly at work trying to trace the poison-pen letters. "are these all the letters that have been received?" allison inquired, indicating some thirty communications which lay before him on the desk. "all that have been called to the attention of this office. of course, there's no telling how many more have been written, about which no complaint has been made. knowing human nature, i should say that at least three times that number have been received and possibly paid for. but the recipients didn't report the matter--for reasons best known to themselves. as a matter of fact--but you're not interested in gossip." "i most certainly am!" declared allison. "when you're handling a matter of this kind, where back-stairs intrigue and servants-hall talk is likely to play a large part, gossip forms a most important factor. what does dame rumor say in this case?" "so far as these letters are concerned, nothing at all. certain influences, which it's hardly necessary to explain in detail, have kept this affair out of the papers--but gossip has it that at least three divorces within as many months have been caused by the receipt of anonymous letters, and that there are a number of other homes which are on the verge of being broken up for a similar reason." "that would appear to bear out your contention that other people have received letters like these, but preferred to take private action upon them. also that, if blackmail were attempted, it sometimes failed--otherwise the matter wouldn't have gotten as far as the divorce court." then, after a careful study of several of the sample letters on the desk, allison continued, "i suppose you have noted the fact that no two of these appear to have been written by the same person?" "yes, but that is a point upon which handwriting experts fail to agree. some of them claim that each was written by a different person. others maintain that one woman was responsible for all of them, and a third school holds that either two or three people wrote them. what're you going to do when experts disagree?" "don't worry about any of 'em," retorted allison. "if we're successful at all we won't have much trouble in proving our case without the assistance of a bunch of so-called experts who only gum up the testimony with long words that a jury can't understand. where are the envelopes in which these letters were mailed?" "most of the people who brought them in failed to keep the envelopes. but we did manage to dig up a few. here they are," and the postmaster tossed over a packet of about half a dozen, of various shapes and sizes. "hum!" mused the postal operative, "all comparatively inexpensive stationery. might have been bought at nearly any corner drug store. any clue in the postmarks?" "not the slightest. as you will note, they were mailed either at the central post office or at the railroad station--places so public that it's impossible to keep a strict watch for the person who mailed 'em. in one case--that of the osgoods--we cautioned the wife to say nothing whatever about the matter, and then ordered every clerk in the post office to look out for letters in that handwriting which might be slipped through the slot. in fact, we closed all the slots save one and placed a man on guard inside night and day." "well, what happened?" inquired allison, a trifle impatiently, as the postmaster paused. "the joke was on us. some two days later a letter which looked suspiciously like these was mailed. our man caught it in time to dart outside and nail the person who posted it. fortunately we discovered that she was mrs. osgood's sister-in-law and that the letter was a perfectly innocent one." "no chance of her being mixed up in the affair?" "no. her husband is a prominent lawyer here, and, besides, we've watched every move she's made since that time. she's one of the few people in town that we're certain of." "yet, you say her handwriting was similar to that which appears on these letters?" "yes, that's one of the many puzzling phases of the whole matter. every single letter is written in a hand which closely resembles that of a relative of the person to whom it is addressed! so much so, in fact, that at least four of the complainants have insisted upon the arrest of these relatives, and have been distinctly displeased at our refusal to place them in jail merely because their handwriting is similar to that of a blackmailer." "why do you say blackmailer? do you know of any demand for money which has been made?" "not directly--but what other purpose could a person have than to extract money? they'd hardly run the risk of going to the pen in order to gratify a whim for causing trouble." "how about the tysons and the osgoods and the other people who brought these letters in--didn't they receive subsequent demands for money?" "they received nothing--not another single letter of any kind." "you mean that the simple fact of making a report to your office appeared to stop the receipt of the threats." "precisely. now that you put it that way, it does look odd. but that's what happened." allison whistled. this was the first ray of light that had penetrated a very dark and mysterious case, and, with its aid, he felt that he might, after all, be successful. contenting himself with a few more questions, including the names of the couples whom gossip stated had been separated through the receipt of anonymous communications, allison bundled the letters together and slipped them into his pocket. "it's quite possible," he stated, as he opened the door leading out of the postmaster's private office, "that you won't hear anything more from me for some time. i hardly think it would be wise to report here too often, or that if you happen to run into me on the street that you would register recognition. i won't be using the name of allison, anyhow, but that of gregg--alvin gregg--who has made a fortune in the operation of chain stores and is looking over the field with a view to establishing connections here. gregg, by the way, is stopping at the majestic hotel, if you care to reach him," and with that he was gone. allison's first move after establishing his identity at the hotel, was to send a wire to a certain alice norcross in chicago--a wire which informed her that "my sister, mrs. mabel kennedy, requests your presence in madison, wisconsin. urgent and immediate." the signature was "alvin gregg, e. a.," and to an inquisitive telegraph operator who inquired the meaning of the initials, allison replied: "electrical assistant, of course," and walked away before the matter could be further discussed. the next evening mrs. mabel kennedy registered at the majestic hotel, and went up to the room which mr. gregg had reserved for her--the one next to his. "it's all right, alice," he informed her a few moments later, after a careful survey had satisfied him that the hall was clear of prying ears. "i told them all about you--that you were my sister 'n' everything. so it's quite respectable." "mrs. kennedy," or alice norcross, as she was known to the members of the postal service whom she had assisted on more than one occasion when the services of a woman with brains were demanded, merely smiled and continued to fix her hair before the mirror. "i'm not worrying about that," she replied. "you boys can always be trusted to arrange the details--but traveling always did play the dickens with my hair! what's the idea, anyhow? why am i mrs. mabel kennedy, and what's she supposed to do?" in a few words allison outlined what he was up against--evidently the operation of a very skillful gang of blackmailers who were not only perfectly sure of their facts, but who didn't run any risks until their victims were too thoroughly cowed to offer any resistance. "the only weak spot in the whole plan," concluded the operative, "is that the letters invariably cease when the prospective victims lay their case before the postmaster." "you mean that you think he's implicated?" "no--but some one in his office is!" snapped allison. "else how would they know when to lay off? that's the only lead we have, and i don't want to work from it, but up to it. do you know anyone who's socially prominent in madison?" "not a soul, but it's no trick to get letters of introduction--even for mrs. mabel kennedy." "fine! go to it! the minute you get 'em start a social campaign here. stage several luncheons, bridge parties, and the like. be sure to create the impression of a woman of means--and if you can drop a few hints about your none too spotless past, so much the better." "you want to draw their fire, eh?" "precisely. it's unfortunate that we can't rig up a husband for you--that would make things easier, but when it's known that i, alvin gregg, am your brother, i think it's more than likely that they'll risk a couple of shots." it was about a month later that mrs. kennedy called up her brother at the hotel majestic and asked him to come over to her apartment at once. "something stirring?" inquired allison as he entered the drawing-room of the suite which his assistant had rented in order to bolster up her social campaign. "the first nibble," replied the girl, holding out a sheet of violet-tinted paper, on which appeared the words: of course your brother and your friends know all about the night you spent alone with a certain man in a cabin in the sierras? "great scott!" ejaculated allison. "do you mean to say it worked?" "like clockwork," was the girl's reply. "acting on your instructions, i made a special play for snaith, the postmaster's confidential secretary and general assistant. i invited him to several of my parties and paid particular attention to what i said when he was around. the first night i got off some clever little remark about conventions--laughing at the fact that it was all right for a woman to spend a day with a man, but hardly respectable for her to spend the evening. the next time he was there--and he was the only one in the party who had been present on the previous occasion--i turned the conversation to snowstorms and admitted that i had once been trapped in a storm in the sierra nevadas and had been forced to spend the night in a cabin. but i didn't say anything then about any companion. the third evening--when an entirely different crowd, with the exception of snaith, was present--some one brought up the subject of what constitutes a gentleman, and my contribution was a speech to the effect that 'one never knows what a man is until he is placed in a position where his brute instincts would naturally come to the front.' "not a single one of those remarks was incriminating or even suspicious--but it didn't take a master mind to add them together and make this note! snaith was the only man who could add them, because he was the only one who was present when they were all made!" "fine work!" applauded allison. "but there's one point you've overlooked. this letter, unlike the rest of its kind, is postmarked kansas city, while snaith was here day before yesterday when this was mailed. i know, because clarke's been camping on his trail for the past three weeks." "then that means--" "that snaith is only one of the gang--the stool-pigeon--or, in this case, the lounge-lizard--who collects the information and passes it on to his chief? exactly. now, having mr. snaith where i want him and knowing pretty well how to deal with his breed, i think the rest will be easy. i knew that somebody in the postmaster's office must be mixed up in the affair and your very astute friend was the most likely prospect. congratulations on landing him so neatly!" "thanks," said the girl, "but what next?" "for you, not a thing. you've handled your part to perfection. the rest is likely to entail a considerable amount of strong-arm work, and i'd rather not have you around. might cramp my style." that night--or, rather, about three o'clock on the following morning--sylvester snaith, confidential secretary to the postmaster of madison, was awakened by the sound of some one moving stealthily about the bedroom of his bachelor apartment. before he could utter a sound the beam of light from an electric torch blazed in his eyes and a curt voice from the darkness ordered him to put up his hands. then: "what do you know about the anonymous letters which have been sent to a number of persons in this city?" demanded the voice. "not--not a thing," stammered the clerk, trying to collect his badly scattered senses. "that's a lie! we know that you supplied the information upon which those letters were based! now come through with the whole dope or, by hell i'll--" the blue-steel muzzle of an automatic which was visible just outside the path of light from the torch completed the threat. snaith, thoroughly cowed, "came through"--told more than even allison had hoped for when he had planned the night raid on a man whom he had sized up as a physical coward. less than an hour after the secretary had finished, elmer was on his way to kansas city, armed with information which he proceeded to lay before the chief of police. "'spencerian peter,' eh?" grunted the chief. "sure, i know where to lay my hands on him--been watching him more or less ever since he got out of leavenworth a couple of years back. but i never connected him with this case." "what do you mean--this case?" demanded allison. "did you know anything about the poison-pen letters in madison?" "madison? no--but i know about the ones that have set certain people here by the ears for the past month. i thought that was what you wanted him for. evidently the game isn't new." "far from it," elmer replied. "i don't know how much he cleaned up in wisconsin, but i'll bet he got away with a nice pile. had a social pet there, who happened to be the postmaster's right-hand man, collect the scandal for him and then he'd fix up the letters--faking some relative's handwriting with that infernal skill of his. then his man friday would tip him off when they made a holler to headquarters and he'd look for other suckers rather than run the risk of getting the department on his trail by playing the same fish too long. that's what finally gave him away--that and the fact that his assistant was bluffed by an electric torch and an empty gun." "well, i'll be hanged," muttered the chief. "you might have been explaining the situation here--except that we don't know who his society informant is. i think we better drop in for a call on 'spencerian' this evening." * * * * * "the call was made on scheduled time," quinn concluded, "but it was hardly of a social nature. you wouldn't expect a post-office operative, a chief of police, and half a dozen cops to stage a pink tea. their methods are inclined to be a trifle more abrupt--though pete, as it happened, didn't attempt to pull any rough stuff. he dropped his gun the moment he saw how many guests were present, and it wasn't very long before they presented him with a formal invitation to resume his none too comfortable but extremely exclusive apartment in leavenworth. snaith, being only an accomplice, got off with two years. the man who wrote the letters and who was the principal beneficiary of the money which they produced, drew ten." "and who got the credit for solving the puzzle?" i inquired. "allison or the norcross girl?" "allison," replied quinn. "alice norcross only worked on condition that her connection with the service be kept quite as much of a secret as the fact that her real name was mrs. elmer allison." "what? she was allison's wife?" i demanded. "quite so," said the former operative. "if you don't believe me, there's a piece of her wedding dress draped over that picture up there," and he pointed to a strip of white silk that hung over one of the framed photographs on the wall. "but i thought you said--" "that that was part of the famous thirty thousand yards which was nailed just after it had been smuggled across the canadian border? i did. but allison got hold of a piece of it and had it made up into a dress for alice. so that bit up there has a double story. you know one of them. remind me to tell you the other sometime." xviii thirty thousand yards of silk "i'd sure like to lead the life of one of those fictional detective heroes," muttered bill quinn, formerly of the united states secret service, as he tossed aside the latest volume of crime stories that had come to his attention. "nothing to do but trail murderers and find the person who lifted the diamond necklace and stuff of that kind. they never have a case that isn't interesting or, for that matter, one in which they aren't successful. must be a great life!" "but aren't the detective stories of real life interesting and oftentimes exciting?" i inquired, adding that those which quinn had already told me indicated that the career of a government operative was far from being deadly monotonous. "some of them are," he admitted, "but many of them drag along for months or even years, sometimes petering out for pure lack of evidence. those, of course, are the cases you never hear of--the ones where uncle sam's men fall down on the job. oh yes, they're fallible, all right. they can't solve every case--any more than a doctor can save the life of every patient he attends. but their percentage, though high, doesn't approach the success of your sherlock holmeses and your thinking machines, your gryces and sweetwaters and lecoqs." "how is it, then, that every story you've told dealt with the success of a government agent--never with his failure?" quinn smiled reminiscently for a moment. then, "what do doctors do with their mistakes?" he asked. "they bury 'em. and that's what any real detective will do--try to forget, except for hoping that some day he'll run up against the man who tricked him. again, most of the yarns i've told you revolved around some of the relics of this room"--waving his hand to indicate the walls of his library--"and these are all mementoes of successful cases. there's no use in keeping the other kind. failures are too common and brains too scarce. that bit of silk up there--" "oh yes," i interrupted, "the one that formed part of alice norcross's wedding dress." "and figured in one of the most sensational plots to defraud the government that was ever uncovered," added quinn. "if ezra marks hadn't located that shipment i wouldn't have had that piece of silk and there wouldn't be any story to tell. so you see, it's really a circle, after all." * * * * * marks [quinn went on] was one of the few men connected with any branch of the government organizations who really lived up to the press-agent notices of the detectives you read about. in the first place, he looked like he might have stepped out of a book--big and long-legged and lanky. a typical yankee, with all of the new-englander's shrewdness and common sense. if you turned ezra loose on a case you could be sure that he wouldn't sit down and try to work it out by deduction. neither would he plunge in and attempt by sheer bravado and gun play to put the thing over. he'd mix the two methods and, more often than not, come back with the answer. then, too, marks had the very happy faculty of drawing assignments that turned out to be interesting. maybe it was luck, but more than likely it was because he followed plans that made 'em so--preferring to wait until he had all the strings to a case and then stage a big round-up of the people implicated. you remember the case of the englishman who smuggled uncut diamonds in the bowl of his pipe and the one you wrote under the title of "wah lee and the flower of heaven"? well, those were typical of ezra's methods--the first was almost entirely analytical, the second mainly gun play plus a painstaking survey of the field he had to cover. but when marks was notified that it was up to him to find out who was running big shipments of valuable silks across the canadian border, without the formality of visiting the customhouse and making the customary payments, he found it advisable to combine the two courses. it was through a wholesale dealer in silks in seattle, washington, that the customs service first learned of the arrival of a considerable quantity of this valuable merchandise, offered through certain underground channels at a price which clearly labeled it as smuggled. possibly the dealer was peeved because he didn't learn of the shipment in time to secure any of it. but his reasons for calling the affair to the attention of the treasury department don't really matter. the main idea was that the silk was there, that it hadn't paid duty, and that some one ought to find out how it happened. when a second and then a third shipment was reported, marks was notified by wire to get to seattle as fast as he could, and there to confer with the collector of the port. it wasn't until after he had arrived that ezra knew what the trouble was, for the story of the smuggled silk hadn't penetrated as far south as san francisco, where he had been engaged in trying to find a cargo of smuggled coolies. "here's a sample of the silk," announced the collector of the port at seattle, producing a piece of very heavy material, evidently of foreign manufacture. "beyond the fact that we've spotted three of the shipments and know where to lay our hands on them if wanted, i've got to admit that we don't know a thing about the case. the department, of course, doesn't want us to trace the silk from this end. the minute you do that you lay yourself open to all sorts of legal tangles and delays--to say nothing of giving the other side plenty of time to frame up a case that would sound mighty good in court. besides, i haven't enough men to handle the job in the short space of time necessary. so you'll have to dig into it and find out who got the stuff in and how. then we'll attend to the fences who've been handling it here." "the old game of passing the buck," thought ezra, as he fingered the sample of silk meditatively. "i'll do the work and they'll get the glory. oh, well--" "any idea of where the shipments came from?" he inquired. "there's no doubt but that it's of japanese manufacture, which, of course, would appear to point to a shipping conspiracy of some nature. but i hardly think that's true here. already eighteen bolts of silk have been reported in seattle, and, as you know, that's a pretty good sized consignment. you couldn't stuff 'em into a pill box or carry 'em inside a walking stick, like you could diamonds. whoever's handling this job is doing it across the border, rather than via the shipping route." "no chance of a slip-up in your information, is there, chief?" ezra inquired, anxiously. "i'd hate to start combing the border and then find that the stuff was being slipped in through the port." "no," and the collector of customs was positive in his reply. "i'm not taking a chance on that tip. i know what i'm talking about. my men have been watching the shipping like hawks. ever since that consignment of antique ivory got through last year we've gone over every vessel with a microscope, probing the mattresses and even pawing around in the coal bins. i'm positive that there isn't a place big enough to conceal a yard of silk that the boys haven't looked into--to say nothing of eighteen bolts. "besides," added the collector, "the arrival of the silk hasn't coincided with the arrival of any of the ships from japan--not by any stretch of the imagination." "all right, i'll take up the trail northward then," replied marks. "don't be surprised if you fail to hear from me for a couple of months or more. if washington inquires, tell them that i'm up on the border somewhere and let it go at that." "going to take anybody with you?" "not a soul, except maybe a guide that i'll pick up when i need him. if there is a concerted movement to ship silk across the line--and it appears that there is--the more men you have working with you the less chance there is for success. border runners are like moonshiners, they're not afraid of one man, but if they see a posse they run for cover and keep out of sight until the storm blows over. and there isn't one chance in a thousand of finding 'em meanwhile. you've got to play them, just like you would a fish, so the next time you hear from me you will know that i've either landed my sharks or that they've slipped off the hook!" it was about a month later that the little town of northport, up in the extreme northeastern corner of washington, awoke to find a stranger in its midst. strangers were something of a novelty in northport, and this one--a man named marks, who stated that he was "prospectin' for some good lumber"--caused quite a bit of talk for a day or two. then the town gossips discovered that he was not working in the interest of a large company, as had been rumored, but solely on his own hook, so they left him severely alone. besides, it was the height of the logging season and there was too much work to be done along the columbia river to worry about strangers. marks hadn't taken this into consideration when he neared the eastern part of the state, but he was just as well pleased. if logs and logging served to center the attention of the natives elsewhere, so much the better. it would give him greater opportunity for observation and possibly the chance to pick up some information. up to this time his trip along the border had been singularly uneventful and lacking in results. in fact, it was practically a toss-up with him whether he would continue on into idaho and montana, on the hope that he would find something there, or go back to seattle and start fresh. however, he figured that it wouldn't do any harm to spend a week or two in the neighborhood of the columbia--and, as events turned out, it was a very wise move. partly out of curiosity and partly because it was in keeping with his self-assumed character of lumber prospector, marks made a point of joining the gangs of men who worked all day and sometimes long into the night keeping the river clear of log jams and otherwise assisting in the movement of timber downstream. like everyone who views these operations for the first time, he marveled at the dexterity of the loggers who perched upon the treacherous slippery trunks with as little thought for danger as if they had been crossing a country road. but their years of familiarity with the current and the logs themselves had given them a sense of balance which appeared to inure them to peril. nor was this ability to ride logs confined wholly to the men. some of the girls from the near-by country often worked in with the men, handling the lighter jobs and attending to details which did not call for the possession of a great amount of strength. one of these, marks noted, was particularly proficient in her work. apparently there wasn't a man in northport who could give her points in log riding, and the very fact that she was small and wiry provided her with a distinct advantage over men who were twice her weight. apart from her grace and beauty, there was something extremely appealing about the girl, and ezra found himself watching her time after time as she almost danced across the swirling, bark-covered trunks--hardly seeming to touch them as she moved. the girl was by no means oblivious of the stranger's interest in her ability to handle at least a part of the men's work. she caught his eye the very first day he came down to the river, and after that, whenever she noted that he was present she seemed to take a new delight in skipping lightly from log to log, lingering on each just long enough to cause it to spin dangerously and then leaping to the next. but one afternoon she tried the trick once too often. either she miscalculated her distance or a sudden swirl of the current carried the log for which she was aiming out of her path, for her foot just touched it, slipped and, before she could recover her balance, she was in the water--surrounded by logs that threatened to crush the life out of her at any moment. startled by her cry for help, three of the lumbermen started toward her--but the river, like a thing alive, appeared to thwart their efforts by opening up a rift in the jam on either side, leaving a gap too wide to be leaped, and a current too strong to be risked by men who were hampered by their heavy hobnailed shoes. marks, who had been watching the girl, had his coat off almost as soon as she hit the water. an instant later he had discarded his shoes and had plunged in, breasting the river with long overhand strokes that carried him forward at an almost unbelievable speed. before the men on the logs knew what was happening, the operative was beside the girl, using one hand to keep her head above water, and the other to fend off the logs which were closing in from every side. "quick!" he called. "a rope! a--" but the trunk of a tree, striking his head a glancing blow, cut short his cry and forced him to devote every atom of his strength to remaining afloat until assistance arrived. after an interval which appeared to be measured in hours, rather than seconds, a rope splashed within reach and the pair were hauled to safety. the girl, apparently unhurt by her drenching, shook herself like a wet spaniel and then turned to where marks was seated, trying to recover his breath. "thanks," she said, extending her hand. "i don't know who you are, stranger, but you're a man!" "it wasn't anything to make a fuss about," returned ezra, rising and turning suspiciously red around the ears, for it was the first time that a girl had spoken to him in that way for more years than he cared to remember. then, with the vermont drawl that always came to the surface when he was excited or embarrassed, he added: "it was worth gettin' wet to have you speak like that." this time it was the girl who flushed, and, with a palpable effort to cover her confusion, she turned away, stopping to call back over her shoulder, "if you'll come up to dad's place to-night i'll see that you're properly thanked." "dad's place?" repeated ezra to one of the men near by. "where's that?" "she means her stepfather's house up the river," replied the lumberman. "you can't miss it. just this side the border. ask anybody where old man petersen lives." though the directions were rather vague, marks started "up the river" shortly before sunset, and found but little difficulty in locating the big house--half bungalow and half cabin--where petersen and his stepdaughter resided, in company with half a dozen foremen of lumber gangs, and an indian woman who had acted as nurse and chaperon and cook and general servant ever since the death of the girl's mother a number of years before. while he was still stumbling along, trying to pierce the gloom which settled almost instantly after sunset, marks was startled to see a white figure rise suddenly before him and to hear a feminine voice remark, "i wondered if you'd come." "didn't you know i would?" replied ezra. "your spill in the river had me scared stiff for a moment, but it was a mighty lucky accident for me." at the girl's suggestion they seated themselves outside, being joined before long by petersen himself, who, with more than a trace of his slavic ancestry apparent in his voice, thanked marks for rescuing his daughter. it was when the older man left them and the girl's figure was outlined with startling distinctness by the light from the open door, that ezra received a shock which brought him to earth with a crash. in the semidarkness he had been merely aware that the girl was wearing a dress which he would have characterized as "something white." but once he saw her standing in the center of the path of light which streamed from the interior of the house there could be no mistake. the dress was of white silk! more than that, it was made from material which marks would have sworn had been cut from the same bolt as the sample which the collector had shown him in seattle! "what's the matter, mr. marks?" inquired the girl, evidently noting the surprise which ezra was unable completely to suppress. "seen a ghost or something?" "i thought for a moment i had," was the operative's reply, as he played for time. "it must be your dress. my--my sister had one just like it once." "it is rather pretty, isn't it? in spite of the fact that i made it myself--out of some silk that dad--that dad brought home." ezra thought it best to change the subject, and as soon as he could find the opportunity said good night, with a promise to be on hand the next day to see that the plunge in the river wasn't repeated. but the next morning he kept as far away from the girl--fay petersen--as he could, without appearing to make a point of the matter. he had thought the whole thing over from every angle and his conclusion was always the same. the petersens were either hand in glove with the gang that was running the silk across the border or they were doing the smuggling themselves. the lonely cabin, the proximity to the border, the air of restraint which he had noted the previous evening (based principally upon the fact that he had not been invited indoors), the silk dress--all were signs which pointed at least to a knowledge of the plot to beat the customs. more than that, when marks commenced to make some guarded inquiries about the family of the girl whom he had saved from drowning, he met with a decidedly cool reception. "old man petersen has some big loggin' interests in these parts," declared the most loquacious of his informants, "an' they say he's made a pile o' money in the last few months. some say it's timber an' others say it's--well, it ain't nobody's concern how a man makes a livin' in these parts, s'long as he behaves himself." "isn't petersen behaving himself?" asked ezra. "stranger," was the reply, "it ain't always healthy to pry into another man's affairs. better be satisfied with goin' to see the girl. that's more than anybody around here's allowed to do." "so there was an air of mystery about the petersen house, after all!" marks thought. it hadn't been his imagination or an idea founded solely upon the sight of the silk dress! the next fortnight found the operative a constant and apparently a welcome visitor at the house up the river. but, hint as he might, he was never asked indoors--a fact that made him all the more determined to see what was going on. while he solaced himself with the thought that his visits were made strictly in the line of duty, that his only purpose was to discover petersen's connection with the smuggled silk, ezra was unable entirely to stifle another feeling--something which he hadn't known since the old days in vermont, when the announcement of a girl's wedding to another man had caused him to leave home and seek his fortunes in boston. fay petersen was pretty. there was no denying that fact. also she was very evidently prepossessed in favor of the man who had saved her from the river. but this fact, instead of soothing marks's conscience, only irritated it the more. here he was on the verge of making love to a girl--really in love with her, as he admitted to himself--and at the same time planning and hoping to send her stepfather to the penitentiary. he had hoped that the fact that petersen was not her own father might make things a little easier for him, but the girl had shown in a number of ways that she was just as fond of her foster-parent as she would have been of her own. "he's all the daddy i ever knew," she said one night, "and if anything ever happened to him i think it would drive me crazy," which fell far short of easing ezra's mind, though it strengthened his determination to settle the matter definitely. the next evening that he visited the petersens he left a little earlier than usual, and only followed the road back to northport sufficiently far to make certain that he was not being trailed. then retracing his steps, he approached the house from the rear, his soft moccasins moving silently across the ground, his figure crouched until he appeared little more than a shadow between the trees. just as he reached the clearing which separated the dwelling from the woods, he stumbled and almost fell. his foot had caught against something which felt like the trunk of a fallen tree, but which moved with an ease entirely foreign to a log of that size. puzzled, marks waited until a cloud which had concealed the moon had drifted by, and then commenced his examination. yes, it was a log--and a big one, still damp from its immersion in the river. but it was so light that he could lift it unaided and it rang to a rap from his knuckles. the end which he first examined was solid, but at the other end the log was a mere shell, not more than an inch of wood remaining inside the bark. it was not until he discovered a round plug of wood--a stopper, which fitted precisely into the open end of the log--that the solution of the whole mystery dawned upon him. the silk had been shipped across the border from canada inside the trunks of trees, hollowed out for the purpose! wrapping the bolts in oiled silk would keep them perfectly waterproof and the plan was so simple as to be impervious to detection, save by accident. emboldened by his discovery, marks slipped silently across the cleared space to the shadow of the house, and thence around to the side, where a few cautious cuts of his bowie knife opened a peep hole in the shutter which covered the window. through this he saw what he had hoped for, yet feared to find--petersen and three of his men packing bolts of white silk in boxes for reshipment. what was more, he caught snatches of their conversation which told him that another consignment of the smuggled goods was due from trail, just across the border, within the week. retreating as noiselessly as he had come, marks made his way back to northport, where he wrote two letters--or, rather, a letter and a note. the first, addressed to the sheriff, directed that personage to collect a posse and report to ezra marks, of the customs service, on the second day following. this was forwarded by special messenger, but marks pocketed the note and slipped it cautiously under the door of the petersen house the next evening. "it's a fifty-fifty split," he consoled his conscience. "the government gets the silk and the petersens get their warning. i don't suppose i'll get anything but the devil for not landing them!" the next morning when the sheriff and his posse arrived they found, only an empty house, but in the main room were piled boxes containing no less than thirty thousand yards of white silk--valued at something over one hundred thousand dollars. on top of the boxes was an envelope addressed to ezra marks, esq., and within it a note which read, "i don't know who you are, mr. customs officer, but you're a man!" there was no signature, but the writing was distinctly feminine. * * * * * "and was that all marks ever heard from her?" i asked, when quinn paused. "so far as i know," said the former operative. "of course, washington never heard about that part of the case. they were too well satisfied with ezra's haul and the incoming cargo, which they also landed, to care much about the petersens. so the whole thing was entered on marks's record precisely as he had figured it--a fifty-fifty split. you see, even government agents aren't always completely successful--especially when they're fighting cupid as well as crooks!" xix the clue in the classified column quinn tossed his evening paper aside with a gesture in which disgust was mingled in equal proportion with annoyance. "why is it," he inquired, testily, "that some fools never learn anything?" "possibly that's because they're fools," i suggested. "what's the trouble now?" "look at that!" and the former secret service operative recovered the paper long enough to indicate a short news item near the bottom of the first page--an item which bore the headline, "new fifty-dollar counterfeit discovered." "yes," i agreed, "there always are people foolish enough to change bills without examining them any too closely. but possibly this one is very cleverly faked." "fools not to examine them!" echoed quinn. "that isn't the direction in which the idiocy lies. the fools are the people who think they can counterfeit uncle sam's currency and get away with it. barnum must have been right. there's a sucker born every minute--and those that don't try to beat the ponies or buck the stock market turn to counterfeiting for a living. they get it, too, in leavenworth or atlanta or some other place that maintains a federal penitentiary. "they never seem to learn anything by others' experience, either. you'd think, after the thurene case, it would be perfectly apparent that no one could beat the counterfeiting game for long." "the thurene case? i don't seem to remember that. the name is unusual, but--" "yes, and that wasn't the only part of the affair that was out of the ordinary," quinn cut in. "spencer graham also contributed some work that was well off the beaten path--not forgetting the assistance rendered by a certain young woman." * * * * * probably the most remarkable portion of the case [continued quinn] was the fact that graham didn't get in on it until thurene had been arrested. nevertheless, if it hadn't been for his work in breaking through an ironclad alibi the government might have been left high and dry, with a trunkful of suspicions and mighty little else. somewhere around the latter part of august the new york branch of the secret service informed washington that a remarkably clever counterfeit fifty-dollar bill had turned up in albany--a bill in which the engraving was practically perfect and the only thing missing from the paper was the silk fiber. this, however, was replaced by tiny red and blue lines, drawn in indelible ink. the finished product was so exceptionally good that, if it had not been for the lynxlike eyes of a paying teller--plus the highly developed sense of touch which bank officials accumulate--the note would have been changed without a moment's hesitation. the man who presented it, who happened to be well known to the bank officials, was informed that the bill was counterfeit and the matter was reported through the usual channels. a few days later another bill, evidently from the same batch, was picked up in syracuse, and from that time on it rained counterfeits so hard that every teller in the state threw a fit whenever a fifty-dollar bill came in, either for deposit or for change. hardly had the flow of upstate counterfeits lessened than the bills began to make their appearance in and around new york, sometimes in banks, but more often in the resorts patronized by bookmakers from jamaica and the other near-by race tracks. the significance of this fact didn't strike the secret service men assigned to the case until the horses had moved southward. the instant one of the bills was reported in baltimore two operatives were ordered to haunt the _pari-mutuel_ booths at pimlico, with instructions to pay particular attention to the windows where the larger wagers were laid. an expert in counterfeits also took up his position inside the cage, to signal the men outside as soon as a phony bill was presented. it was during the rush of the betting after the two-year-olds had gone to the post for the first race that the signal came--indicating that a man about forty-five years of age, well dressed and well groomed, had exchanged two of the counterfeits for a one hundred-dollar ticket on the favorite. hollister and sheehan, the secret service men, took no chances with their prey. neither did they run the risk of arresting him prematurely. figuring that it was well within the realms of possibility that he had received the bills in exchange for other money, and that he was therefore ignorant of the fact that they were spurious, they contented themselves with keeping close to him during the race and the interval which followed. when the favorite won, the man they were watching cashed his bet and stowed his winnings away in a trousers pocket. then, after a prolonged examination of the jockeys, the past performances and the weights of the various horses, he made his way back to the window to place another bet. again the signal--and this time hollister and sheehan closed in on their man, notifying him that he was under arrest and advising him to come along without creating any disturbance. "arrest for what?" he demanded. "passing counterfeit money," replied hollister, flashing his badge. then, as the man started to protest, sheehan counseled him to reserve his arguments until later, and the trio made their way out of the inclosure in silence. when searched, in baltimore, two sums of money were found upon the suspect--one roll in his left-hand trousers pocket being made up of genuine currency, including that which he had received for picking the winner of the first race, and the one in the right-hand pocket being entirely of counterfeit fifty-dollar bills--forty-eight in number. when questioned, the prisoner claimed that his name was robert j. thurene of new haven, and added that there were plenty of people in the connecticut city who would vouch for his respectability. "then why," inquired the chief of the secret service, who had come over from washington to take charge of the case, "do you happen to have two thousand four hundred dollars in counterfeit money on you?" at that moment thurene dropped his bomb--or, rather, one of the many which rendered the case far from monotonous. "if you'll search my room at the belvedere," he suggested, "you'll find some five thousand dollars more." "what?" demanded the chief. "do you admit that you deliberately brought seven thousand five hundred dollars of counterfeit money here and tried to pass it?" "i admit nothing," corrected the arrested man. "you stated that the fifty-dollar bills which you found upon me when i was searched against my will were false. i'll take your word for that. but if they are counterfeit, i'm merely telling you that there are a hundred more like them in my room at the hotel." "of course you're willing to state where they came from?" suggested the chief, who was beginning to sense the fact that something underlay thurene's apparent sincerity. "certainly. i found them." "old stuff," sneered one of the operatives standing near by. "not only an old alibi, but one which you'll have a pretty hard time proving." "do you happen to have a copy of yesterday's _news_ handy?" thurene asked. when the paper was produced he turned rapidly to the lost and found column and pointed to an advertisement which appeared there: found--an envelope containing a sum of money. owner may recover same by notifying robert j. thurene, belvedere hotel, and proving property. "there," he continued, after reading the advertisement aloud, "that is the notice which i inserted after finding the money which you say is counterfeit." "where did you find it?" "in the pennsylvania station, night before last. i had just come in from new york, and chanced to see the envelope lying under one of the rows of seats in the center of the waiting room. it attracted my attention, but when i examined it i was amazed to find that it contained one hundred and fifty fifty-dollar bills, all apparently brand new. naturally, i didn't care to part with the money unless i was certain that i was giving it up to the rightful owner, so i carried it with me to the hotel and advertised the loss at once. "the next afternoon i went out to the track and found, when it was too late, that the only money i had with me was that contained in the envelope. i used a couple of the bills, won, and, being superstitious, decided to continue betting with that money. that's the reason i used it this afternoon. come to think of it, you won't find the original five thousand dollars in my room. part of it is the money which i received at the track and which i replaced in order to make up the sum i found. but most of the bills are there." "you said," remarked the chief, striking another tack, "that your name is thurene and that you live in new haven. what business are you in?" "stationery. you'll find that my rating in bradstreet's is excellent, even though my capital may not be large. what's more"--and here the man's voice became almost aggressive--"any bank in new haven and any member of the chamber of commerce will vouch for me. i've a record of ten years there and some ten in lowell, mass., which will bear the closest possible inspection." and he was right, at that. in the first place, a search of his room at the hotel brought to light a large official envelope containing just the sum of money he had mentioned, counterfeit bills and real ones. secondly, a wire to new haven elicited the information that "robert j. thurene, answering to description in inquiry received, has operated a successful stationery store here for the past ten years. financial standing excellent. wide circle of friends, all of whom vouch for his character and integrity." when this wire was forwarded to washington, the chief having returned to headquarters, spencer graham received a hurry-up call to report in the main office. there he was informed that he was to take charge of the thurene case and see what he could find out. "i don't have to tell you," added the chief, "that it's rather a delicate matter. either the man is the victim of circumstances--in which case we'll have to release him with profound apologies and begin all over again--or he's a mighty clever crook. we can't afford to take any chances. the case as it finally stands will have to be presented in court, and, therefore, must be proof against the acid test of shrewd lawyers for the defense, lawyers who will rely upon the newspaper advertisement and thurene's spotless record as indications of his innocence." "that being the case, chief, why take any chances right now? the case hasn't gotten into the papers, so why not release thurene?" "and keep him under constant surveillance? that wouldn't be a bad idea. the moment he started to leave the country we could nab him, and meanwhile we would have plenty of time to look into the matter. of course, there's always the danger of suicide--but that's proof of guilt, and it would save the service a lot of work in the long run. good idea! we'll do it." so it was that robert j. thurene of new haven was released from custody with the apologies of the secret service--who retained the counterfeit money, but returned the real bills--while spencer graham went to work on the baltimore end of the case, four operatives took up the job of trailing the stationer, and rita clarke found that she had important business to transact in connecticut. anyone who didn't know rita would never have suspected that, back of her brown eyes lay a fund of information upon a score of subjects--including stenography, the best methods of filing, cost accounting, and many other points which rendered her invaluable around an office. even if they found this out, there was something else which she kept strictly to herself--the fact that she was engaged to a certain operative in the united states secret service, sometimes known as number thirty-three, and sometimes as spencer graham. in reply to spencer's often-repeated requests that she set a day for their wedding, miss clarke would answer: "and lose the chance to figure in any more cases? not so that you could notice it! as long as i'm single you find that you can use me every now and then, but if i were married i'd have too many domestic cares. no, spencer, let's wait until we get one more big case, and then--well, we'll say one month from the day it's finished." which was the reason that graham and his fiancée had a double reason for wanting to bring thurene to earth. the first place that graham went to in baltimore was the pennsylvania station, where he made a number of extended inquiries of certain employees there. after that he went to the newspaper office, where he conferred with the clerk whose business it was to receive the lost and found advertisements, finally securing a copy of the original notice in thurene's handwriting. also some other information which he jotted down in a notebook reserved for that purpose. several days spent in baltimore failed to turn up any additional leads and graham returned to washington with a request for a list of the various places where counterfeit fifty-dollar bills had been reported during the past month. the record sounded like the megaphonic call of a train leaving grand central station--new york, yonkers, poughkeepsie, syracuse, troy, and points north, with a few other cities thrown in for good measure. so spencer informed the chief that he would make his headquarters in new york for the next ten days or so, wired rita to the same effect, and left washington on the midnight train. in new york he discovered only what he had already known, plus one other very significant bit of evidence--something which would have warranted him in placing thurene again under arrest had he not been waiting for word from rita. he knew that it would take her at least a month to work up her end of the case, so graham put in the intervening time in weaving his net a little stronger, for he had determined that the next time the new haven stationer was taken into custody would be the last--that the government would have a case which all the lawyers on earth couldn't break. early in december he received a wire from rita--a telegram which contained the single word, "come"--but that was enough. he was in new haven that night, and, in a quiet corner of the taft grille the girl gave him an account of what she had found. "getting into thurene's store was the easiest part of the whole job," she admitted. "it took me less than a day to spot one of the girls who wanted to get married, bribe her to leave, and then arrive bright and early the following morning, in response to the 'stenographer wanted' advertisement." "thurene's had a lot of practice writing ads lately," remarked graham, with a smile. "what do you mean?" "nothing. tell you later. what'd you find in the store?" "not a thing--until day before yesterday. i thought it best to move slowly and let matters take their own course as far as possible. so i contented myself with doing the work which had been handled by the girl whose place i took--dictation, typing, and the rest. then i found that the correspondence files were in shocking shape. i grabbed the opportunity to do a little night work by offering to bring them up to date. "'certainly,' said the boss, and then took good care to be on hand when i arrived after dinner that night. the very way he hung around and watched every movement i made convinced me that the stuff was somewhere on the premises. but where? that's what i couldn't figure out. "having demonstrated my ability by three hours of stiff work on the files, i suggested a few days later that i had a first-hand knowledge of cost accounting and that i would be glad to help get his books in shape for the holiday business, the old man who usually attends to this being sick. again thurene assented and again he blew in, 'to explain any entries which might prove troublesome.' i'll say this for him, though--there isn't a single incriminating entry on the books. every purchase is accounted for, down to the last paper of pins. "then, when i felt that i had wormed myself sufficiently well into his good graces, i hinted that i might be able to help out by supervising the system in the engraving department--checking up the purchases, watching the disbursements, keeping an eye on the stock and so on. rather to my surprise, he didn't offer any objection. said that my work had been of so much help elsewhere that he would be glad to have me watch the engravers' work. "it was there that i got my first real lead--at least i hope it's a lead. back of the engraving department is a small room, locked and padlocked, where the boss is supposed to ride his personal hobby of amateur photography. i asked one of the men the reason for guarding a dark room so carefully, and he replied that thurene claimed to be on the verge of making a great discovery in color photography, but that the process took a long time and he didn't want to run the risk of having it disturbed. i'm to have a look at his color process to-night." "what?" cried graham. "he's going to show you what is in the double-locked room?" "that's what he's promised to do. i haven't the least hope of seeing anything incriminating--all the evidence will probably be well hidden--but this morning i expressed a casual interest in photography and remarked that i understood he was working on a new color process. i did it mainly to see how he would react. but he never batted an eyelid. 'i've been making some interesting experiments recently,' he said, 'and they ought to reach a climax to-night. if you'd care to see how they turn out, suppose you meet me here at nine o'clock and we'll examine them together.'" "but rita," graham protested, "you don't mean to say that you're going to put yourself entirely in this man's power?" the girl's first answer was a laugh, and then, "what do you mean, 'put myself in his power'?" she mocked. "you talk like the hero of a melodrama. this isn't the first time that i've been alone in the store with him after dark. besides, he doesn't suspect a thing and it's too good a chance to miss. meet me here the first thing in the morning--around eight-thirty--and i'll give you the details of thurene's secret chamber, provided it contains anything interesting." "rita, i can't--" graham started to argue, but the girl cut in with, "you can't stop me? no, you can't. what's more, i'll have to hurry. it's ten minutes to nine now. see you in the morning." the next thing graham knew she had slipped away from the table and was on her way out of the grille. when rita reached the thurene establishment, promptly at nine, she found the proprietor waiting for her. "on time, as usual," he laughed. "now you'd better keep your hat and coat on. there's no heat in the dark room and i don't want you to catch cold. the plates ought to be ready by this time. we'll go right down and take a look at them." guided by the light from the lantern which the stationer held high in the air, the girl started down the steps leading to the basement where the engraving department was located. she heard thurene close the door behind him, but failed to hear him slip the bolt which, as they afterward found, had been well oiled. in fact, it was not until they had reached the center of the large room, in one corner of which was the door to the private photographic laboratory, that she knew anything was wrong. then it was too late. before she could move, thurene leaned forward and seized her--one arm about her waist, the other over her mouth. struggle as she might, rita was unable to move. slowly, relentlessly, thurene turned her around until she faced him, and then, with a sudden movement of the arm that encircled her waist, secured a wad of cotton waste, which he had evidently prepared for just such an emergency. when he had crammed this in the girl's mouth and tied her hands securely, he moved forward to open the door to the dark room. "thought i was easy, didn't you?" he sneered. "didn't think i'd see through your scheme to get a position here and your infernal cleverness with the books and the accounts? want to see something of my color process, eh? well, you'll have an opportunity to study it at your leisure, for it'll be twelve good hours before anyone comes down here, and by that time i'll be where the rest of your crowd can't touch me." "come along! in with you!" at that moment there was a crash of glass from somewhere near the ceiling and something leaped into the room--something that took only two strides to reach thurene and back him up against the wall, with the muzzle of a very businesslike automatic pressed into the pit of his stomach. the whole thing happened so quickly that by the time rita recovered her balance and turned around she only saw the stationer with his hands well above his head and spencer graham--her spencer--holding him up at the point of a gun. "take this," snapped the operative, producing a penknife, "and cut that girl's hands loose! no false moves now--or i'm likely to get nervous!" a moment later rita was free and thurene had resumed his position against the wall. "frisk him!" ordered graham, and then, when the girl had produced a miscellaneous collection of money, keys and jewelry from the man's pockets, spencer allowed him to drop his arms long enough to snap a pair of handcuffs in place. "this time," announced the secret service man, "you won't be released merely because of a fake ad. and the testimony of your friends. pretty clever scheme, that. inserting a 'found advertisement' to cover your possession of counterfeit money in case you were caught. but you overlooked a couple of points. the station in baltimore was thoroughly swept just five minutes before your train arrived from new york and every man on duty there is ready to swear that he wouldn't have overlooked anything as large as the envelope containing that phony money. then, too, the clerk in the _news_ office received your advertisement shortly after noon the next day--so you didn't advertise it 'at once,' as you said you did. "but your biggest mistake was in playing the game too often. here"--producing a page from the classified section of a new york newspaper--"is the duplicate of your baltimore ad., inserted to cover your tracks in case they caught you at jamaica. i've got the original, in your handwriting, in my pocket." "but how'd you happen to arrive here at the right moment?" exclaimed rita. "i wasn't any too well convinced that you'd fooled our friend here," graham replied. "so i trailed you, and, attracted by the light from thurene's lantern, managed to break in that window at the time you needed me." "there's only one thing that puzzles me," the operative continued, turning to thurene. "what made you take up counterfeiting? your business record was clear enough before that, and, of course, being an engraver, it wasn't hard for you to find the opportunity. what was the motive?" for a full sixty seconds the man was silent and then, from between his clenched teeth, came two words, "wall street." "i might have guessed that," replied graham. "i'll see you safely in jail first and then have a look through your room. want to come along, rita?" "no, thanks, spencer. i've had enough for one evening. let's see. this is the sixth of december. suppose we plan a certain event for the sixth of january?" * * * * * "and so they were married and lived happily ever after?" i added, as quinn paused. "and so they were married," he amended. "i can't say as to the rest of it--though i'm inclined to believe that they were happy. anyhow, rita knew when she had enough--and that's all you can really ask for in a wife." xx in the shadow of the capitol "it won't be long until they're all back--with their pretty clothes and their jeweled bags and their air of innocent sophistication--but until at least a dozen of them gather here washington won't be itself again." bill quinn and i had been discussing the change which had come over washington since peace had disrupted the activities of the various war organizations, and then, after a pause, the former member of the secret service had referred to "them" and to "their pretty clothes." "who do you mean?" i inquired. "with the possible exception of some prominent politicians i don't know anyone whose presence is essential to make washington 'itself again.' and certainly nobody ever accused politicians, with the possible exception of j. ham lewis, of wearing pretty clothes. even he didn't carry a jeweled bag." "i wasn't thinking of congressmen or senators or even members of the cabinet," replied quinn with a smile. "like the poor, they are always with us, and also like the poor, there are times when we would willingly dispense with them. but the others--they make life worth living, particularly for members of the secret service, who are apt to be a bit bored with the monotony of chasing counterfeiters and guarding the president. "the ones i refer to are the beautifully gowned women whose too perfect english often betrays their foreign origin almost as certainly as would a dialect. they are sent here by various governments abroad to find out things which we would like to keep secret and their presence helps to keep washington cosmopolitan and--interesting. "during the war--well, if you recall the case of jimmy callahan and the electric sign at norfolk--the affair which i believe you wrote under the title of 'a flash in the night'--you know what happened to those who were caught plotting against the government. in times of peace, however, things are different." "why? isn't a spy always a spy?" "so far as their work is concerned they are. but by a sort of international agreement, tacit but understood, those who seek to pry into the affairs of other governments during the years of peace are not treated with the same severity as when a nation is fighting for its life." "but surely we have no secrets that a foreign government would want!" i protested. "that's one of the earmarks of a republic. everything is aired in the open, even dirty linen." quinn didn't answer for a moment, and when he did reply there was a reminiscent little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "do you remember the disappearance of the plans of the battleship _pennsylvania_?" he asked. "yes, i think i do. but as i recall it the matter was never cleared up." "officially, it wasn't. unofficially, it was. at least there are several persons connected with the united states secret service who are positive that sylvia sterne lifted the blue prints and afterward--well, we might as well begin the story at the first chapter." * * * * * the name she was known by on this side of the atlantic [continued the former government agent] was not that of sterne, though subsequent investigations proved that that was what she was called in paris and vienna and rome and london. when she arrived in washington her visiting cards bore the name of the countess stefani, and as there are half a dozen counts of that name to be found in the peerages of as many principalities, no one inquired too deeply into her antecedents. yes, she admitted that there was a count somewhere in the background, but she led those who were interested to the conclusion he had never understood her peculiar temperament and that therefore she was sojourning in washington, seeking pleasure and nothing more. a slow, soulful glance from her violet eyes usually accompanied the statement--and caused the man to whom the statement was made (it was always a man) to wonder how anyone could fail to appreciate so charming a creature. "charming" is really a very good word to apply to the countess sylvia. her manner was charming and her work was likewise. charming secrets and invitations and news out of those with whom she came in contact. her first public appearance, so far as the secret service was concerned, was at one of the receptions at the british embassy. she was there on invitation, of course, but it was an invitation secured in her own original way. immediately upon arriving in washington she had secured an apartment at brickley court, an apartment which chanced to be directly across the hall from the one occupied by a mrs. sheldon, a young widow with a rather large acquaintance in the diplomatic set. some ten days after the countess sylvia took up her residence on connecticut avenue she visited one of the department stores and made several purchases, ordering them sent c. o. d. to her apartment. only, instead of giving the number as four thirty-six, her tongue apparently slipped and she said four thirty-seven, which was mrs. sheldon's number. of course, if the parcels had been paid for or charged they would have been left at the desk in the lobby, but, being collect, the boy brought them to the door of four thirty-seven. as was only natural, mrs. sheldon was about to order them returned when the door across the hall opened and the countess, attired in one of her most fetching house gowns, appeared and explained the mistake. "how stupid of me!" she exclaimed. "i must have given the girl the wrong apartment number. i'm awfully sorry for troubling you, mrs. sheldon." the widow, being young, could not restrain the look of surprise when her name was mentioned by a woman who was an utter stranger, but the countess cut right in with: "you probably don't remember me, but we met two years ago on derby day in london. the count and i had the pleasure of meeting you through lord cartwright, but it was just before the big race, and when i looked around again you had been swallowed up in the crowd." mrs. sheldon had been at the derby two years before, as the countess doubtless knew before she arrived in washington, and also she remembered having met a number of persons during that eventful afternoon. so the rest was easy for sylvia, particularly as the first half hour of their conversation uncovered the fact that they had many mutual friends, all of whom, however, were in europe. through mrs. sheldon the countess met a number of the younger and lesser lights of the diplomatic corps and the invitation to the reception at the british embassy was hers for the suggestion. before the evening was over several men were asking themselves where they had met that "very charming countess" before. some thought it must have been in paris, others were certain that it was in vienna, and still others maintained that her face brought back memories of their detail in saint petersburg (the name of the russian capital had not then been altered). sylvia didn't enlighten any of them. neither did she volunteer details, save of the vaguest nature, contenting herself with knowing glances which hinted much and bits of frothy gossip which conveyed nothing. the beauty of her face and the delicate curves of her figure did the rest. before the evening was over she had met at least the younger members of all the principal embassies and legations, not to mention three men whose names appeared upon the roster of the senate committee on foreign relations. to one of these, senator lattimer, she paid particular attention, assuring him that she would be honored if he would "drop in some afternoon for tea," an invitation which the gentleman from iowa accepted with alacrity a few days later. as was afterward apparent, the countess had arranged her schedule with considerable care. she had arrived in washington early in the fall, and by the time the season was well under way she had the entrée to the majority of the semiprivate functions--teas and receptions and dances to which a number of guests were invited. here, of course, she had an opportunity to pick up a few morsels of information--crumbs which fell from the tables of diplomacy--but that wasn't what she was after. she wanted a copy of a certain confidential report referring to american relations abroad, and, what's more, she'd have gotten it if she hadn't overstepped herself. through what might have been termed in vulgar circles "pumping" senator lattimer, though the countess's casual inquiries from time to time evinced only a natural interest in the affairs of the world, sylvia found out that the report would be completed early in march and that a copy would be in the senator's office for at least two days--or, what interested her more, two nights. she didn't intimate that she would like to see it. that would have been too crude. in fact, she deftly turned the subject and made the senator believe that she was interested only in his views with respect to the stabilization of currency or some such topic far removed from the point they had mentioned. just before he left, however, senator lattimer mentioned that there was going to be a big display of fireworks around the washington monument the following evening, and inquired if the countess would be interested in witnessing the celebration. "surely," said she. "why not let's watch them from the roof here? we ought to able to get an excellent view." "i've got a better idea than that," was the senatorial reply. "we'll go down to the state, war, and navy building. the windows on the south side ought to be ideal for that purpose and there won't be any trouble about getting in. i'll see to that," he added, with just a touch of pomposity. so it happened that among the dozen or more persons who occupied choice seats in a room in the navy department that next night were the hon. arthur h. lattimer and the countess stefani. the next morning it was discovered that plans relating to certain recent naval improvements--radical changes which were to be incorporated in the battleship _pennsylvania_--were missing. the chief learned of the loss about nine-thirty, and by ten o'clock every available man was turned loose on the case, with instructions to pry into the past records and watch the future actions of the people who had been in the room on the previous evening. because he particularly requested it, owen williams, whose connection with the secret service was not a matter of general information, was detailed to learn what he could of the countess stefani. "i've run into her a couple of times recently," he told the chief, "and there's something not altogether on the level about the lady. i don't suppose we have time to cable abroad and trace the particular branch of the family to which she claims to belong, but i have a hunch that she is not working altogether in the interest of europe. a certain yellow-skinned person whom we both know has been seen coming out of brickley court on several occasions within the past month, and--well, the countess is worth watching." "trail her, then!" snapped the chief. "the department has asked for quick action in this case, for there are reasons which render it inadvisable for those plans to get out of the country." "right!" replied williams, settling his hat at a rather jaunty angle and picking up his gloves and stick. "i'll keep in close touch with you and report developments. if you want me within the next couple of hours i'll probably be somewhere around brickley court. the countess never rises until round noon." but that morning, as williams soon discovered, something appeared to have interfered with the routine of the fair sylvia. she had called the office about nine o'clock, made an inquiry about the new york trains, ordered a chair reserved on the eleven and a taxi for ten forty-five. all of which gave owen just enough time to phone the chief, tell him of the sudden change in his plans, and suggest that the countess's room be searched during her absence. "tell new york to have some one pick up stefani as soon as she arrives," williams concluded. "i'm going to renew my acquaintance with her en route, find out where she's staying, and frame an excuse for being at the same hotel. but i may not be able to accompany her there, so have some one trail her from the station. i'll make any necessary reports through the new york office." just after the train pulled out of baltimore the countess stefani saw a young and distinctly handsome man, whose face was vaguely familiar, rise from his seat at the far end of the car and come toward her. then, as he reached her chair he halted, surprised. "this is luck!" he exclaimed. "i never hoped to find you on the train, countess! going through to new york, of course?" as he spoke the man's name came back to her, together with the fact that he had been pointed out as one of the eligible young bachelors who apparently did but little and yet had plenty of money to do it with. "oh, mr. williams! you gave me a bit of a start at first. your face was in the shadow and i didn't recognize you. yes, i'm just running up for a little shopping. won't be gone for more than a day or two, for i must be back in time for the de maury dance on thursday evening. you are going, i suppose?" thankful for the opening, williams occupied the vacant chair next to hers, and before they reached havre de grace they were deep in a discussion of people and affairs in washington. it was not williams's intention, however, to allow the matter to stop there. delicately, but certainly, he led the conversation into deeper channels, exerting every ounce of his personality to convince the countess that this was a moment for which he had longed, an opportunity to chat uninterruptedly with "the most charming woman in washington." "this is certainly the shortest five hours i've ever spent," he assured his companion as the porter announced their arrival at manhattan transfer. "can't i see something more of you while we are in new york? i'm not certain when i'll get back to washington and this glimpse has been far too short. are you going to stop with friends?" "no--at the vanderbilt. suppose you call up to-morrow morning and i'll see what i can do." "why not a theater party this evening?" "i'm sorry, but i have an engagement." "right--to-morrow morning, then," and the operative said good-by with a clear conscience, having noted that one of the men from the new york office was already on the job. later in the evening he was informed that the countess had gone directly to her hotel, had dressed for dinner, and then, after waiting in the lobby for nearly an hour, had eaten a solitary meal and had gone back to her room, leaving word at the desk that she was to be notified immediately if anyone called. but no one had. the next morning, instead of phoning, williams dropped around to the vanderbilt and had a short session with the house detective, who had already been notified that the countess stefani was being watched by secret service operatives. the house man, however, verified the report of the operative who had picked up the countess at the station--she had received no callers and had seen no one save the maid. "any phone messages?" "not one." "any mail?" "just a newspaper, evidently one that a friend had mailed from washington. the address was in a feminine hand and--" "tell the maid that i want the wrapper of that paper if it's in the countess's room," interrupted williams. "i don't want the place searched for it, but if it happens to be in the wastebasket be sure i get it." a moment later he was calling the countess stefani, presumably from the office of a friend of his in wall street. "i'm afraid i can't see you to-day," and sylvia's voice appeared to register infinite regret. "i wasn't able to complete a little business deal i had on last night--succumbed to temptation and went to the theater, so i'll have to pay for it to-day." (here williams suppressed a chuckle, both at the manner in which the lady handled the truth and at the fact that she was palpably ignorant that she had been shadowed.) "i'm returning to washington on the congressional, but i'll be sure to see you at the de maurys', won't i? please come down--for my sake!" "i'll do it," was owen's reply, "and i can assure you that my return to washington will be entirely because i feel that i must see you again. au revoir, until thursday night." "on the congressional limited, eh?" he muttered as he stepped out of the booth. "maybe it's a stall, but i'll make the train just the same. evidently one of the lady's plans has gone amiss." "here's the wrapper you wanted," said the house detective, producing a large torn envelope, slit lengthwise and still showing by its rounded contour that it had been used to inclose a rolled newspaper. "thanks," replied williams, as he glanced at the address. "i thought so." "thought what?" "come over here a minute," and he steered the detective to the desk, where he asked to be shown the register for the preceding day. then, pointing to the name "countess sylvia stefani" on the hotel sheet and to the same name on the wrapper, he asked, "note everything?" "the handwriting is the same!" "precisely. the countess mailed this paper herself at this hotel before she left washington. and, if i'm not very much mistaken, she'll mail another one to herself in washington, before she leaves new york." "you want it intercepted?" "i do not! if sylvia is willing to trust the post-office department with her secret, i certainly am. but i intend to be on hand when that paper arrives." sure enough, just before leaving for the station that afternoon, williams found out from his ally at the vanderbilt that the countess had slipped a folded and addressed newspaper into the mail box in the lobby. she had then paid her bill and entered a taxi, giving the chauffeur instructions to drive slowly through central park. sibert, the operative who was trailing her, reported that several times she appeared to be on the point of stopping, but had ordered the taxi driver to go on--evidently being suspicious that she was followed and not wishing to take any chances. of this, though, williams knew nothing--for a glance into one of the cars on the congressional limited had been sufficient to assure him that his prey was aboard. he spent the rest of the trip in the smoker, so that he might not run into her. in washington, however, a surprise awaited him. instead of returning at once to brickley court, the countess checked her bag at the station and hired a car by the hour, instructing the driver to take her to the chevy chase club. williams, of course, followed in another car, but had the ill fortune to lose the first taxi in the crush of machines which is always to be noted on dance nights at the club, and it was well on toward morning before he could locate the chauffeur he wanted to reach. according to that individual, the lady had not gone into the club, at all, but, changing her mind, had driven on out into the country, returning to washington at midnight. "did she meet anyone?" demanded williams. "not a soul, sir. said she just wanted to drive through the country and that she had to be at the senate office building at twelve o'clock." "the senate office building?" echoed the operative. "at midnight? did you drop her there?" "i did, sir. she told me to wait and she was out again in five minutes, using the little door in the basement--the one that's seldom locked. i thought she was the wife of one of the senators. then i drove her to union station to get her bag, and then to brickley court, where she paid me and got out." the moment the chauffeur had mentioned the senate office building a mental photograph of senator lattimer had sprung to williams's mind, for the affair between the countess and the iowa statesman was public property. telling the chauffeur to wait in the outer room, the operative called the lattimer home and insisted on speaking to the senator. "yes, it's a matter of vital importance!" he snapped. then, a few moments later, when a gruff but sleepy voice inquired what he wanted: "this is williams of the secret service speaking, senator. have you any documents of importance--international importance--in your office at the present moment?" "no, nothing of particular value. wait a minute! a copy of a certain report to the committee on foreign relations arrived late yesterday and i remember seeing it on my desk as i left. why? what's the matter?" "nothing--except that i don't think that report is there now," replied williams. "can you get to your office in ten minutes?" "i'll be there!" but a thorough search by the two of them failed to reveal any trace of the document. it had gone--vanished--in spite of the fact that the door was locked as usual. "senator," announced the government agent, "a certain woman you know took that paper. she got in here with a false key, lifted the report and was out again in less than five minutes. the theft occurred shortly after midnight and--" "if you know so much about it, why don't you arrest her?" "i shall--before the hour is up. only i thought you might like to know in advance how your friend the countess stefani worked. she was also responsible for the theft of the plans of the battleship _pennsylvania_, you know." and williams was out of the room before the look of amazement had faded from the senator's face. some thirty minutes later the countess sylvia was awakened by the sound of continued rapping on her door. in answer to her query, "who's there?" a man's voice replied, "open this door, or i'll break it in!" williams, however, knew that his threat was an idle one, for the doors at brickley court were built of solid oak that defied anything short of a battering ram. which was the reason that he had to wait a full five minutes, during which time he distinctly heard the sound of paper rattling and then the rasp of a match as it was struck. finally the countess, attired in a bewitching negligée, threw open the door. "ah!" she exclaimed. "so it is you, mr. williams! what do you--" "you know what i want," growled owen. "that paper you stole from lattimer's office to-night. also the plans you lifted from the navy department. the ones you mailed in new york yesterday afternoon and which were waiting for you here!" "find them!" was the woman's mocking challenge as williams's eyes roved over the room and finally rested on a pile of crumbled ashes beside an alcohol lamp on the table. a moment's examination told him that a blue print had been burned, but it was impossible to tell what it had been, and there was no trace of any other paper in the ashes. "search her!" he called to a woman in the corridor. "i'm going to rifle the mail-box downstairs. she can't get away with the same trick three times!" and there, in an innocent-looking envelope addressed to a certain personage whose name stood high on the diplomatic list, williams discovered the report for which a woman risked her liberty and gambled six months of her life! * * * * * "but the plans?" i asked as quinn finished. "evidently that was what she had burned. she'd taken care to crumple the ashes so that it was an impossibility to get a shred of direct evidence, not that it would have made any difference if she hadn't. the government never prosecutes matters of this kind, except in time of war. they merely warn the culprit to leave the country and never return--which is the reason that, while you'll find a number of very interesting foreigners in washington at the present moment, the countess sylvia stefani is not among them. neither is the personage to whom her letter was addressed. he was 'recalled' a few weeks later." xxi a million-dollar quarter "what's in the phial?" i inquired one evening, as bill quinn, formerly of the united states secret service, picked up a small brown bottle from the table in his den and slipped it into his pocket. "saccharine," retorted quinn, laconically. "had to come to it in order to offset the sugar shortage. no telling how long it will continue, and, meanwhile, we're conserving what we have on hand. so i carry my 'lump sugar' in my vest pocket, and i'll keep on doing it until conditions improve. they say the trouble lies at the importing end. can't secure enough sugar at the place where the ships are or enough ships at the place where the sugar is. "this isn't the first time that sugar has caused trouble, either. see that twenty-five-cent piece up there on the wall? apparently it's an ordinary everyday quarter. but it cost the government well over a million dollars, money which should have been paid in as import duty on tons upon tons of sugar. "yes, back of that quarter lies a case which is absolutely unique in the annals of governmental detective work--the biggest and most far-reaching smuggling plot ever discovered and the one which took the longest time to solve. "nine years seems like a mighty long time to work on a single assignment, but when you consider that the treasury collected more than two million dollars as a direct result of one man's labor during that time, you'll see that it was worth while." * * * * * the whole thing really started when dick carr went to work as a sugar sampler [continued quinn, his eyes fixed meditatively upon the quarter on the wall]. some one had tipped the department off to the fact that phony sampling of some sort was being indulged in and dick managed to get a place as assistant on one of the docks where the big sugar ships unloaded. as you probably know, there's a big difference in the duty on the different grades of raw sugar; a difference based upon the tests made by expert chemists as soon as the cargo is landed. sugar which is only ninety-two per cent pure, for example, comes in half-a-cent a pound cheaper than that which is ninety-six per cent pure, and the sampling is accomplished by inserting a thin glass tube through the wide meshes of the bag or basket which contains the sugar. it didn't take carr very long to find out that the majority of the samplers were slipping their tubes into the bags at an angle, instead of shoving them straight in, and that a number of them made a practice of moistening the outside of the container before they made their tests. the idea, of course, was that the sugar which had absorbed moisture, either during the voyage or after reaching the dock--would not "assay" as pure as would the dry material in the center of the package. a few experiments, conducted under the cover of night, showed a difference of four to six per cent in the grade of the samples taken from the inside of the bag and that taken from a point close to the surface, particularly if even a small amount of water had been judiciously applied. the difference, when translated into terms of a half-a-cent a pound import duty, didn't take long to run up into hundreds of thousands of dollars, and carr's report, made after several months' investigating, cost a number of sugar samplers their jobs and brought the wrath of the government down upon the companies which had been responsible for the practice. after such an exposure as this, you might think that the sugar people would have been content to take their legitimate profit and to pay the duty levied by law. but carr had the idea that they would try to put into operation some other scheme for defrauding the treasury and during years that followed he kept in close touch with the importing situation and the personnel of the men employed on the docks. the active part he had played in the sugar-sampling exposure naturally prevented his active participation in any attempt to uncover the fraud from the inside, but it was the direct cause of his being summoned to washington when a discharged official of one of the sugar companies filed a charge that the government was losing five hundred thousand dollars a year by the illicit operations at a single plant. "frankly, i haven't the slightest idea of how it's being done," confessed the official in question. "but i am certain that some kind of a swindle is being perpetrated on a large scale. here's the proof!" with that he produced two documents--one the bill of lading of the steamer _murbar_, showing the amount of sugar on board when she cleared java, and the other the official receipt, signed by a representative of the sugar company, for her cargo when she reached new york. "as you will note," continued the informant, "the bill of lading clearly shows that the _murbar_ carried eleven million seven hundred thirty-four thousand six hundred eighty-seven pounds of raw sugar. yet, when weighed under the supervision of the customhouse officials a few weeks later, the cargo consisted of only eleven million thirty-two thousand and sixteen pounds--a 'shrinkage' of seven hundred two thousand six hundred seventy-one pounds, about six per cent of the material shipment." "and at the present import duty that would amount to about--" "in the neighborhood of twelve thousand dollars loss on this ship alone," stated the former sugar official. "allowing for the arrival of anywhere from fifty to a hundred ships a year, you can figure the annual deficit for yourself." carr whistled. he had rather prided himself upon uncovering the sampling frauds a few years previously, but this bade fair to be a far bigger case--one which would tax every atom of his ingenuity to uncover. "how long has this been going on?" inquired the acting secretary of the treasury. "i can't say," admitted the informant. "neither do i care to state how i came into possession of these documents. but, as you will find when you look into the matter, they are entirely authoritative and do not refer to an isolated case. the _murbar_ is the rule, not the exception. it's now up to you people to find out how the fraud was worked." "he's right, at that," was the comment from the acting secretary, when the former sugar official had departed. "the information is undoubtedly the result of a personal desire to 'get even'--for our friend recently lost his place with the company in question. however, that hasn't the slightest bearing upon the truth of his charges. carr, it's up to you to find out what there is in 'em!" "that's a man-sized order, mr. secretary," smiled dick, "especially as the work i did some time ago on the sampling frauds made me about as popular as the plague with the sugar people. if i ever poked my nose on the docks at night you'd be out the price of a big bunch of white roses the next day!" "which means that you don't care to handle the case?" "not so that you could notice it!" snapped carr. "i merely wanted you to realize the handicaps under which i'll be working, so that there won't be any demand for instant developments. this case is worth a million dollars if it's worth a cent. and, because it is so big, it will take a whole lot longer to round up the details than if we were working on a matter that concerned only a single individual. if you remember, it took joe gregory nearly six months to land phyllis dodge, and therefore--" "therefore it ought to take about sixty years to get to the bottom of this case, eh?" "hardly that long. but i would like an assurance that i can dig into this in my own way and that there won't be any 'hurry up!' message sent from this end every week or two." "that's fair enough," agreed the assistant secretary. "you know the ins and outs of the sugar game better than any man in the service. so hop to it and take your time. we'll content ourselves with sitting back and awaiting developments." armed with this assurance, carr went back to new york and began carefully and methodically to lay his plans for the biggest game ever hunted by a government detective--a ring protected by millions of dollars in capital and haunted by the fear that its operations might some day be discovered. in spite of the fact that it was necessary to work entirely in the dark, dick succeeded in securing the manifests and bills of lading of three other sugar ships which had recently been unloaded, together with copies of the receipts of their cargoes. every one of these indicated the same mysterious shrinkage en route, amounting to about six per cent of the entire shipment, and, as carr figured it, there were but two explanations which could cover the matter. either a certain percentage of the sugar had been removed from the hold and smuggled into the country before the ship reached new york, or there was a conspiracy of some kind which involved a number of the weighers on the docks. "the first supposition," argued carr, "is feasible but hardly within the bounds of probability. if the shortage had occurred in a shipment of gold or something else which combines high value with small volume, that's where i'd look for the leak. but when it comes to hundreds of thousands of pounds of sugar--that's something else. you can't carry that around in your pockets or even unload it without causing comment and employing so many assistants that the risk would be extremely great. "no, the answer must lie right here on the docks--just as it did in the sampling cases." so it was on the docks that he concentrated his efforts, working through the medium of a girl named louise wood, whom he planted as a file clerk and general assistant in the offices of the company which owned the _murbar_ and a number of other sugar ships. this, of course, wasn't accomplished in a day, nor yet in a month. as a matter of fact, it was february when carr was first assigned to the case and it was late in august when the wood girl went to work. but, as dick figured it, this single success was worth all the time and trouble spent in preparing for it. it would be hard, therefore, to give any adequate measure of his disappointment when the girl informed him that everything in her office appeared to be straight and aboveboard. "you know, dick," reported louise, after she had been at work for a couple of months, "i'm not the kind that can have the wool pulled over my eyes. if there was anything crooked going on, i'd spot it before they'd more than laid their first plans. but i've had the opportunity of going over the files and the records and it's all on the level." "then how are you to account for the discrepancies between the bills of lading and the final receipts?" queried carr, almost stunned by the girl's assurance. "that's what i don't know," she admitted. "it certainly looks queer, but of course it is possible that the men who ship the sugar deliberately falsify the records in order to get more money and that the company pays these statements as a sort of graft. that i can't say. it doesn't come under my department, as you know. neither is it criminal. what i do know is that the people on the dock have nothing to do with faking the figures." "sure you haven't slipped up anywhere and given them a suspicion as to your real work?" "absolutely certain. i've done my work and done it well. that's what i was employed for and that's what's given me access to the files. but, as for suspicion--there hasn't been a trace of it!" it was in vain that carr questioned and cross-questioned the girl. she was sure of herself and sure of her information, positive that no crooked work was being handled by the men who received the sugar when it was unloaded from the incoming ships. puzzled by the girl's insistence and stunned by the failure of the plan upon which he had banked so much, carr gave the matter up as a bad job--telling louise that she could stop her work whenever she wished, but finally agreeing to her suggestion that she continue to hold her place on the bare chance of uncovering a lead. "of course," concluded the girl, "you may be right, after all. they may have covered their tracks so thoroughly that i haven't been able to pick up the scent. i really don't believe that they have--but it's worth the gamble to me if it is to you." more than a month passed before the significance of this speech dawned upon dick, and then only when he chanced to be walking along fifth avenue one saturday afternoon and saw louise coming out of tiffany's with a small cubical package in her hand. "tiffany's--" he muttered. "i wonder--" then, entering the store, he sought out the manager and stated that he would like to find out what a lady, whom he described, had just purchased. the flash of his badge which accompanied this request turned the trick. "of course, it's entirely against our rules," explained the store official, "but we are always glad to do anything in our power to assist the government. just a moment. i'll call the clerk who waited on her." "the lady," he reported a few minutes later, "gave her name as miss louise wood and her address as--" "i know where she lives," snapped carr. "what did she buy?" "a diamond and platinum ring." "the price?" "eight hundred and fifty dollars." "thanks," said the operative and was out of the office before the manager could frame any additional inquiries. when the wood girl answered a rather imperative ring at the door of her apartment she was distinctly surprised at the identity of her caller, for she and carr had agreed that it would not be wise for them to meet except by appointment in some out-of-the-way place. "dick!" she exclaimed. "what brings you here? do you think it's safe?" "safe or not," replied the operative, entering and closing the door behind him. "i'm here and here i'm going to stay until i find out something. where did you get the money to pay for that ring you bought at tiffany's to-day?" "money? ring?" echoed the girl. "what are you talking about?" "you know well enough! now don't stall. come through! where'd you get it?" "an--an aunt died and left it to me," but the girl's pale face and halting speech belied her words. "try another one," sneered carr. "where did you get that eight hundred and fifty dollars?" "what business is it of yours? can't i spend my own money in my own way without being trailed and hounded all over the city?" "you can spend your own money--the money you earn by working and the money i pay you for keeping your eyes open on the dock as you please. but--" and here carr reached forward and grasped the girl's wrist, drawing her slowly toward him, so that her eyes looked straight into his, "when it comes to spending other money--money that you got for keeping your mouth shut and putting it over on me--that's another story." "i didn't, dick; i didn't!" "can you look me straight in the eyes and say that they haven't paid you for being blind? that they didn't suspect what you came to the dock for, and declared you in on the split? no! i didn't think you could!" with that he flung her on a couch and moved toward the door. just as his hand touched the knob he heard a voice behind him, half sob and half plea, cry, "dick!" reluctantly he turned. "dick, as there's a god in heaven i didn't mean to double cross you. but they were on to me from the first. they planted some stamps in my pocket during the first week i was there and then gave me my choice of bein' pulled for thieving or staying there at double pay. i didn't want to do it, but they had the goods on me and i had to. they said all i had to do was to tell you that nothing crooked was goin' on--and they'll pay me well for it." "while you were also drawing money from me, eh?" "sure i was, dick. i couldn't ask you to stop my pay. you'd have suspected. besides, as soon as you were done with me, they were, too." "that's where the eight hundred and fifty dollars came from?" "yes, and a lot more. oh, they pay well, all right!" for fully a minute there was silence in the little apartment, broken only by the sobs of the girl on the couch. finally carr broke the strain. "there's only one way for you to square yourself," he announced. "tell me everything you know--the truth and every word of it!" "that's just it, dick. i don't know anything--for sure. there's something goin' on. no doubt of that. but what it is i don't know. they keep it under cover in the scale house." "in the scale house?" "yes; they don't allow anyone in there without a permit. somebody uptown tips 'em off whenever a special agent is coming down, so they can fix things. but none of the staff knows, though nearly all of them are drawin' extra money for keeping their mouths shut." "who are the men who appear to be implicated?" "mahoney, the checker for the company, and derwent, the government weigher." "derwent!" "yes, he's in on it, too. i tell you, dick, the thing's bigger than you ever dreamed. it's like an octopus, with tentacles that are fastened on everyone connected with the place." "but no clue as to the location of the body of the beast?" "can't you guess? you know the number of their office uptown. but there's no use hoping to nab them. they're too well protected. i doubt if you can even get at the bottom of the affair on the dock." "i don't doubt it!" carr's chin had settled itself determinedly and his mouth was a thin red line. "i'm going to give you a chance to redeem yourself. go back to work as usual on monday. don't let on, by word or gesture, that anything has changed. just await developments. if you'll do that, i'll see that you're not implicated. more than that, i'll acknowledge you at the proper time as my agent--planted there to double cross the fraud gang. you'll have your money and your glory and your satisfaction of having done the right thing, even though you didn't intend to do it. are you on?" "i am, dick. i won't say a word. i promise!" "good! you'll probably see me before long. but don't recognize me. you'll be just one of the girls and it'll probably be necessary to include you in the round-up. i'll fix that later. good-by," and with that he was off. not expecting that carr would be able to complete his plans for at least a week, louise was startled when the operative arrived at the dock on the following monday morning. he had spent the previous day in washington, arranging details, and his appearance at the company's office--while apparently casual--was part of the program mapped out in advance. what was more, carr had come to the dock from the station, so as to prevent the "inside man" from flashing a warning of his arrival. straight through the office he strode, his right hand swinging at his side, his left thrust nonchalantly in the pocket of his topcoat. before he had crossed halfway to the door of the scale room he was interrupted by a burly individual, who demanded his business. "i want to see mr. derwent or mr. mahoney," replied carr. "they're both engaged at present," was the answer. "wait here, and i'll tell them." "get out of my road!" growled the operative, pulling back the lapel of his coat sufficiently to afford a glimpse of his badge. "i'll see them where they are," and before the guardian of the scale house door had recovered from his astonishment carr was well across the portals. the first thing that caught his eye was the figure of a man bending over the weight beam of one of the big scales, while another man was making some adjustments on the other side of the apparatus. derwent, who was facing the door, was the first to see carr, but before he could warn his companion, the special agent was on top of them. "who are you? what business have you in here?" demanded the government weigher. "carr is my name," replied dick. "possibly you've heard of me. if so, you know my business. catching sugar crooks!" derwent's face went white for a moment and then flushed a deep red. mahoney, however, failed to alter his position. he remained bending over the weight beam, his finger nails scratching at something underneath. "straighten up there!" ordered carr. "you--mahoney--i mean! straighten up!" "i'll see you in hell first!" snapped the other. "you'll be there soon enough if you don't get up!" was carr's reply, as his left hand emerged from his coat pocket, bringing to light the blue-steel barrel of a forty-five. "get--" just at that moment, from a point somewhere near the door of the scale room, came a shrill, high-pitched cry--a woman's voice: "dick!" it called. "lookout! jump!" instantly, involuntarily, the operative leaped sidewise, and as he did so a huge bag of raw sugar crashed to the floor, striking directly on the spot where he had stood. "thanks, lou," called carr, without turning his head. "you saved me that time all right! now, gentlemen, before any more bags drop, suppose we adjourn uptown. we're less likely to be interrupted there," and he sounded a police whistle, which brought a dozen assistants on the run. "search mahoney," he directed. "i don't think derwent has anything on him. what's that mahoney has in his hand?" "nothin' but a quarter, sir, an' what looks like an old wad o' chewin' gum." puzzled, carr examined the coin. then the explanation of the whole affair flashed upon him as he investigated the weight-beam and found fragments of gum adhering to the lower part, near the free end. "so that was the trick, eh?" he inquired. "quite a delicate bit of mechanism, this scale--in spite of the fact that it was designed to weigh tons of material. even a quarter, gummed on to the end of the beam, would throw the whole thing out enough to make it well worth while. i think this coin and the wad of gum will make very interesting evidence--exhibits a and b--at the trial, after we've rounded up the rest of you." * * * * * "and that," concluded quinn, "is the story which lies behind that twenty-five-cent piece--probably the most valuable bit of money, judged from the standpoint of what it has accomplished, in the world." "derwent and mahoney?" i asked. "what happened to them? and did carr succeed in landing the men higher up?" "unfortunately," and quinn smiled rather ruefully, "there is such a thing as the power of money. the government brought suit against the sugar companies implicated in the fraud and commenced criminal proceedings against the men directly responsible for the manipulation of the scales. (it developed that they had another equally lucrative method of using a piece of thin corset steel to alter the weights.) but the case was quashed upon the receipt of a check for more than two million dollars, covering back duties uncollected, so the personal indictments were allowed to lapse. it remains, however, the only investigation i ever heard of in which success was so signal and the amount involved so large. "todd, of the department of justice, handled a big affair not long afterward, but, while some of the details were even more unusual and exciting, the theft was only a paltry two hundred and fifty thousand dollars." "which case was that?" "the looting of the central trust company," replied the former operative, rising and stretching himself. "get along with you. it's time for me to lock up." xxii "the looting of the c. t. c." there was a wintry quality in the night itself that made a comfortable chair and an open fire distinctly worth the payment of a luxury tax. add to this the fact that the chairs in the library den of william j. quinn--formerly "bill quinn, united states secret service"--were roomy and inviting, while the fire fairly crackled with good cheer, and you'll know why the conversation, after a particularly good dinner on the evening in question, was punctuated by pauses and liberally interlarded with silences. finally, feeling that it was really necessary that i say something, i remarked upon the fierceness of the wind and the biting, stinging sleet which accompanied a typical january storm. "makes one long for florida," i added. "yes," agreed quinn, "or even some point farther south. on a night like this you can hardly blame a man for heading for honduras, even if he did carry away a quarter of a million of the bank's deposits with him." "huh? who's been looting the local treasury?" i asked, thinking that i was on the point of getting some advance information. "no one that i know of," came from the depths of quinn's big armchair. "i was just thinking of florida and warm weather, and that naturally led to honduras, which, in turn, recalled rockwell to my mind. ever hear of rockwell?" "don't think i ever did. what was the connection between him and the quarter-million you mentioned?" "quite a bit. rather intimate, as you might say. but not quite as much as he had planned. however, if it hadn't been for todd--" "todd?" "yes--ernest e. todd, of the department of justice. 'extra ernest,' they used to call him, because he'd never give up a job until he brought it in, neatly wrapped and ready for filing. more than one man has had cause to believe that todd's parents chose the right name for him. he may not have been much to look at--but he sure was earnest." * * * * * take the rockwell case, for example [quinn went on, after a preliminary puff or two to see that his pipe was drawing well]. no one had the slightest idea that the central trust company wasn't in the best of shape. its books always balanced to a penny. there was never anything to cause the examiner to hesitate, and its officials were models of propriety. particularly rockwell, the cashier. not only was he a pillar of the church, but he appeared to put his religious principles into practice on the other six days of the week as well. he wasn't married, but that only boosted his stock in the eyes of the community, many of which had daughters of an age when wedding bells sound very tuneful and orange blossoms are the sweetest flowers that grow. when they came to look into the matter later on, nobody seemed to know much about mr. rockwell's antecedents. he'd landed a minor position in the bank some fifteen years before and had gradually lifted himself to the cashiership. seemed to have an absolute genius for detail and the handling of financial matters. so it was that when todd went back home on a vacation and happened to launch some of his ideas on criminology--ideas founded on an intensive study of lombroso and other experts--he quickly got himself into deep water. during the course of a dinner at one of the hotels, "e. e." commenced to expound certain theories relating to crime and the physical appearance of the criminal. "do you know," he inquired, "that it's the simplest thing in the world to tell whether a man--or even a boy, for that matter--has criminal tendencies? there are certain unmistakable physical details that point unerringly to what the world might call 'laxity of conscience,' but which is nothing less than a predisposition to evil, a tendency to crime. the lobes of the ears, the height and shape of the forehead, the length of the little finger, the contour of the hand--all these are of immense value in determining whether a man will go straight or crooked. employers are using them more and more every day. the old-fashioned phrenologist, with his half-formed theories and wild guesses, has been displaced by the modern student of character, who relies upon certain rules which vary so little as to be practically immutable." "do you mean to say," asked one of the men at the table, "that you can tell that a man is a criminal simply by looking at him?" "if that's the case," cut in another, "why don't you lock 'em all up?" "but it isn't the case," was todd's reply. "the physical characteristics to which i refer only mean that a man is likely to develop along the wrong lines. they are like the stars which, as shakespeare remarked, 'incline, but do not compel.' if you remember, he added, 'the fault, dear brutus, lies in ourselves.' therefore, if a detective of the modern school is working on a case and he comes across a man who bears one or more of these very certain brands of cain, he watches that man very carefully--at least until he is convinced that he is innocent. you can't arrest a man simply because he looks like a crook, but it is amazing how often the guideposts point in the right direction." "anyone present that you suspect of forgery or beating his wife?" came in a bantering voice from the other end of the table. "if you're in earnest," answered the government agent, "lay your hands on the table." and everyone present, including rockwell, cashier of the central trust company, placed his hands, palm upward, on the cloth--though there was a distinct hesitation in several quarters. slowly, deliberately, todd looked around the circle of hands before him. then, with quite as much precision, he scanned the faces and particularly the ears of his associates. only once did his gaze hesitate longer than usual, and then not for a sufficient length of time to make it apparent. "no," he finally said. "i'd give every one of you a clean bill of health. apparently you're all right. but," and he laughed, "remember, i said 'apparently.' so don't blame me if there's a murder committed before morning and one or more of you is arrested for it!" that was all there was to the matter until todd, accompanied by two of his older friends, left the grill and started to walk home. "that was an interesting theory of yours," commented one of the men, "but wasn't it only a theory? is there any real foundation of fact?" "you mean my statement that you can tell by the shape of a man's head and hands whether he has a predisposition to crime?" "yes." "it's far from a theory, inasmuch as it has the support of hundreds of cases which are on record. besides, i had a purpose in springing it when i did. in fact, it partook of the nature of an experiment." "you mean you suspected some one present--" "not suspected, but merely wondered if he would submit to the test. i knew that one of the men at the table would call for it. some one in a crowd always does--and i had already noted a startling peculiarity about the forehead, nose, and ears of a certain dinner companion. i merely wanted to find out if he had the nerve to withstand my inspection of his hands. i must say that he did, without flinching." "but who was the man?" "i barely caught his name," replied todd, "and this conversation must be in strict confidence. after all, criminologists do not maintain that every man who looks like a crook is one. they simply state and prove that ninety-five per cent of the deliberate criminals, men who plan their wrong well in advance, bear these marks. and the man who sat across the table from me to-night has them, to an amazing degree." "across the table from you? why that was rockwell, cashier of the central trust!" "precisely," stated todd, "and the only reason that i am making this admission is because i happen to know that both of you bank there." "but," protested one of the other men, "rockwell has been with them for years. he's worked himself up from the very bottom and had hundreds of chances to make away with money if he wanted to. he's as straight as a die." "very possibly he is," todd agreed. "that's the reason that i warn you that what i said was in strict confidence. neither one of you is to say a word that would cast suspicion on rockwell. it would be fatal to his career. on the other hand, i wanted to give you the benefit of my judgment, which, if you remember, you requested." but it didn't take a character analyst to see that the department of justice man had put his foot in it, so far as his friends were concerned. they were convinced of the cashier's honesty and no theories founded on purely physical attributes could swerve them. they kept the conversation to themselves, but todd left town feeling that he had lost the confidence of two of his former friends. it was about a month later that he ran into weldon, the federal bank examiner for that section of the country, and managed to make a few discreet inquiries about rockwell and the central trust company without, however, obtaining even a nibble. "everything's flourishing," was the verdict. "accounts straight as a string and they appear to be doing an excellent business. fairly heavy on notes, it's true, but they're all well indorsed. why'd you ask? any reason to suspect anyone?" "not the least," lied todd. "it's my home town, you know, and i know a lot of people who bank at the c. t. c. just like to keep in touch with how things are going. by the way, when do you plan to make your next inspection?" "think i'll probably be in there next wednesday. want me to say 'hello' to anybody?" "no, i'm not popular in certain quarters," todd laughed. "they say i have too many theories--go off half cocked and all that sort of thing." nevertheless the department of justice operative arranged matters so that he reached his home city on tuesday of the following week, discovering, by judicious inquiries, that the visit of the examiner had not been forecast. in fact, he wasn't expected for a month or more. but that's the way it is best to work. if bank officials know when to look out for an examiner, they can often fix things on their books which would not bear immediate inspection. weldon arrived on schedule early the following morning, and commenced his examination of the accounts of the first national, as was his habit. as soon as todd knew that he was in town he took up his position outside the offices of the central trust, selecting a vantage point which would give him a clear view of both entrances of the bank. "possibly," he argued to himself, "i am a damn fool. but just the same, i have a mighty well-defined hunch that mr. rockwell isn't on the level, and i ought to find out pretty soon." then events began to move even quicker than he had hoped. the first thing he noted was that jafferay, one of the bookkeepers of the c. t. c., slipped out of a side door of the bank and dropped a parcel into the mail box which stood beside the entrance. then, a few minutes later, a messenger came out and made his way up the street to the state national, where--as todd, who was on his heels--had little trouble in discovering--he cashed a cashier's check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, returning to the central trust company with the money in his valise. "of course," todd reasoned, "rockwell may be ignorant of the fact that weldon doesn't usually get around to the state national until he has inspected all the other banks. hence the check will have already gone to the clearing house and will appear on the books merely as an item of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars due, rather than as a check from the central trust. yes, he may be ignorant of the fact--but it does look funny. wonder what that bookkeeper mailed?" working along the last line of reasoning, the government operative stopped at the post office long enough to introduce himself to the postmaster, present his credentials, and inquire if the mail from the box outside the central trust company had yet been collected. learning that it had, he asked permission to inspect it. "you can look it over if you wish," stated the postmaster, "but, of course, i have no authority to allow you to open any of it. even the postmaster-general himself couldn't do that." "certainly," agreed todd. "i merely want to see the address on a certain parcel and i'll make affidavit, if you wish, that i have reason to suppose that the mails are being used for illegal purposes." "that won't be necessary. we'll step down to the parcel room and soon find out what you want." some five minutes later todd learned that the parcel which he recognized--a long roll covered with wrapping paper, so that it was impossible to gain even an idea of what it contained--was addressed to jafferay, the bookkeeper, at his home address. "thanks! now if you can give me some idea of when this'll be delivered i won't bother you any more. about five o'clock this afternoon? fine!" and the man from washington was out of the post office before anyone could inquire further concerning his mission. a telephone call disclosed the fact that weldon was then making his examination of the central trust company books and could not be disturbed, but todd managed to get him later in the afternoon and made an appointment for dinner, on the plea of official business which he wished to discuss. that afternoon he paid a visit to the house of a certain mr. jafferay and spent an hour in a vain attempt to locate the bank examiner. promptly at six o'clock that official walked into todd's room at the hotel, to find the operative pacing restlessly up and down, visibly excited and clutching what appeared to be a roll of paper. "what's the matter?" asked weldon. "i'm on time. didn't keep you waiting a minute?" "no!" snapped todd, "but where have you been for the last hour? been trying to reach you all over town." "great scott! man, even a human adding machine has a right to take a little rest now and then. if you must know, i've been getting a shave and a haircut. anything criminal in that?" "can't say that there is," and todd relaxed enough to smile at his vehemence. "but there is in this," unrolling the parcel that he still held and presenting several large sheets of ruled paper for the examiner's attention. "recognise them?" "they appear to be loose leaves from the ledgers at the central trust company." "precisely. were they there when you went over the books this morning?" "i don't recall them, but it's possible they may have been." "no--they weren't. one of the bookkeepers mailed them to himself, at his home address, while you were still at the first national. if i hadn't visited his house this afternoon, in the guise of a book agent, and taken a long chance by lifting this roll of paper, he'd have slipped them back in place in the morning and nobody'd been any the wiser." "then you mean that the bookkeeper is responsible for falsifying the accounts?" "only partially. was the cash o. k. at the central trust?" "perfectly." "do you recall any record of a check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars upon the state national drawn and cashed this morning?" "no, there was no such check." "yes, there was. i was present when the messenger cashed it and he took the money back to the c. t. c. they knew you wouldn't get around to the state before morning, and by that time the check would have gone to the clearing house, giving them plenty of time to make the cash balance to a penny." "whom do you suspect of manipulating the funds?" "the man who signed the check--rockwell, the cashier! that's why i was trying to get hold of you. i haven't the authority to demand admittance to the central trust vaults, but you have. then, if matters are as i figure them, i'll take charge of the case as an agent of the department of justice." "come on!" was weldon's response. "we'll get up there right away, no use losing time over it!" at the bank, however, they were told that the combination to the vault was known to only three persons--the president of the bank, rockwell, and the assistant cashier. the president, it developed, was out of town. rockwell's house failed to answer the phone, and it was a good half hour before the assistant cashier put in an appearance. when, in compliance with weldon's orders, he swung back the heavy doors which guarded the vault where the currency was stored, he swung around, amazed. "it's empty!" he whispered. "not a thing there save the bags of coin. why, i put some two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in paper money in there myself this afternoon!" "who was here at the time?" demanded todd. "only mr. rockwell. i remember distinctly that he said he would have to work a little longer, but that there wouldn't be any necessity for my staying. so i put the money in there, locked the door, and went on home." "do you know where rockwell is now?" "at his house, i suppose. he lives at--" "i know where he lives," snapped todd. "i also know that he isn't there. i've had the place watched since five o'clock this afternoon--but rockwell hasn't shown up. like the money--i think we can say 'with the money'--he's gone, disappeared, vanished." "then," said weldon, "it is up to you to find him. my part of the job ceased the moment the shortage was disclosed." "i know that and if you'll attend to making a report on the matter, order the arrest of jafferay, and spread the report of rockwell's embezzlement through police circles, i'll get busy on my own hook. good-by." and an instant later todd was hailing a taxi and ordering the chauffeur to break all the speed laws in reaching the house where rockwell boarded. examination of the cashier's room and an extended talk with the landlady failed, however, to disclose anything which might be termed a clue. the missing official had visited the house shortly after noon, but had not come back since the bank closed. he had not taken a valise or suit case with him, declared the mistress of the house, but he had seemed "just a leetle bit upset." quickly, but efficiently, todd examined the room--even inspecting the bits of paper in the wastebasket and pawing over the books which lined the mantel. three of the former he slipped into his pocket and then, turning, inquired: "was mr. rockwell fond of cold weather?" "no, indeed," was the reply. "he hated winter. said he never was comfortable from november until may. he always--" but the "queer gentleman," as the landlady afterward referred to him, was out of the house before she could detail her pet story of the cashier's fondness for heat, no matter at what cost. no one at the station had seen rockwell board a train, but inquiry at the taxicab offices revealed the fact that a man, with his overcoat collar turned up until it almost met his hat brim, had taken a cab for a near-by town, where it would be easy for him to make connections either north or south. stopping only to wire washington the bare outline of the case, with the suggestion that the canadian border be watched, "though it is almost certain that rockwell is headed south," todd picked up the trail at the railroad ticket office, some ten miles distant, and found that a man answering to the description of his prey had bought passage as far as st. louis. but, despite telegraphic instructions, the saint louis police were unable to apprehend anyone who looked like rockwell and the government operative kept right on down the river, stopping at memphis to file a message to the authorities in new orleans. it was precisely a week after the looting of the central trust company that todd stood on the docks in new orleans, watching the arrival of the passengers and baggage destined to go aboard the boat for honduras. singly and in groups they arrived until, when the "all ashore" signal sounded, the operative began to wonder if he were really on the right trail. then, at the last minute, a cab drove up and a woman, apparently suffering from rheumatism, made her way toward the boat. scenting a tip, two stewards sprang to assist her, but todd beat them to it. "pardon me, madam," he said, "may i not--drat that fly!" and with that he made a pass at something in front of his face and accidentally brushed aside the veil which hid the woman's face. he had barely time to realize that, as he had suspected, it was rockwell, disguised, before the "woman" had slipped out of the light wrap which she had been wearing and was giving him what he later admitted was the "scrap of his life." in fact, for several moments he not only had to fight rockwell, but several bystanders as well--for they had only witnessed what they supposed was a totally uncalled for attack upon a woman. in the mixup that followed rockwell managed to slip away and, before todd had a chance to recover, was halfway across the street, headed for the entrance to a collection of shanties which provided an excellent hiding place. tearing himself loose, todd whipped out his revolver and fired at the figure just visible in the gathering dusk, scoring a clean shot just above the ankle--a flesh wound, that ripped the leg muscles without breaking a bone. with a groan of despair rockwell toppled over, clawing wildly in an attempt to reach his revolver. but todd was on top of him before the cashier could swing the gun into action, and a pair of handcuffs finished the career of the man who had planned to loot the c. t. c. of a quarter million in cold cash. "the next time you try a trick like that," todd advised him, on the train that night, "be careful what you leave behind in your room. the two torn letterheads of the canadian pacific nearly misled me, but the other one referring to the honduran line, plus the book on honduras and the fact that your landlady stated that you hated cold weather, gave you dead away. of course, even without that, it was a toss-up between canada and central america. those are the only two places where an embezzler is comparatively safe these days. i hope, for the sake of your comfort, they give you plenty of blankets in joliet." * * * * * quinn paused a moment to repack his pipe, and then, "so far as i know, he's still handling the prison finances," he added. "yes--they found at the trial that he had had a clean record up to the moment he slipped, but the criminal tendencies were there and he wasn't able to resist temptation. he had speculated with the bank funds, covered his shortages by removing the pages from the ledger and kiting checks through the state national, and then determined to risk everything in one grand clean-up. "he might have gotten away with it, too, if todd hadn't spotted the peculiarities which indicated moral weakness. however, you can't always tell. no one who knew mrs. armitage would have dreamed that she was--what she was." "well," i inquired, "what was she?" "that's what puzzled washington and the state department for several months," replied quinn. "it's too long a story to spin to-night. that's her picture up there, if you care to study her features." and i went home wondering what were the crimes of which such a beautiful woman could have been guilty. xxiii the case of mrs. armitage to look at him no one would have thought that bill quinn had a trace of sentiment in his make-up. apparently he was just the grizzled old veteran of a hundred battles with crime, the last of which--a raid on a counterfeiter's den in long island--had laid him up with a game leg and a soft berth in the treasury department, where, for years he had been an integral part of the united states secret service. but in the place of honor in quinn's library-den there hung the photograph of a stunningly handsome woman, her sable coat thrown back just enough to afford a glimpse of a throat of which juno might have been proud, while in her eyes there sparkled a light which seemed to hint at much but reveal little. it was very evident that she belonged to a world entirely apart from that of quinn, yet the very fact that her photograph adorned the walls of his den proved that she had been implicated in some case which had necessitated secret service investigation--for the den was the shrine of relics relating to cases in which quinn's friends had figured. finally, one evening i gathered courage to inquire about her. "armitage was her name," quinn replied. "lelia armitage. at least that was the name she was known by in washington, and even the investigations which followed melville taylor's exposure of her foreign connections failed to reveal that she had been known by any other, save her maiden name of lawrence." "where is she now?" i asked. "you'll have to ask me something easier," and quinn smiled, a trifle wistfully, i thought. "possibly in london, perhaps in paris, maybe in rio or the far east. but wherever she is, the center of attention is not very far away from her big violet-black eyes. also the police of the country where she is residing probably wish that they had never been burdened with her." "you mean--" "that she was a crook? not as the word is usually understood. but more than one string of valuable pearls or diamonds has disappeared when milady armitage was in the neighborhood--though they were never able to prove that she had lifted a thing. no, her principal escapade in this country brought her into contact with the secret service, rather than the police officials--which is probably the reason she was nailed with the goods. you remember the incident of the 'leak' in the peace note, when certain wall street interests cleaned up millions of dollars?" "perfectly. was she to blame for that?" "they never settled who was to blame for it, but mrs. armitage was dealing through a young and decidedly attractive washington broker at the time and her account mysteriously multiplied itself half a dozen times. "then there was the affair of the carruthers code, the one which ultimately led to her exposure at the hands of taylor and madelaine james." * * * * * the carruthers code [quinn went on] was admittedly the cleverest and yet the simplest system of cipher communication ever devised on this side of the atlantic, with the possible exception of the one mentioned in jules verne's "giant raft"--the one that dr. heinrich albert used with such success. come to think of it, verne wasn't an american, was he? he ought to have been, though. he invented like one. in some ways the carruthers system was even more efficient than the verne cipher. you could use it with less difficulty, for one thing, and the key was susceptible of an almost infinite number of variations. its only weakness lay in the fact that the secret had to be written down--and it was in connection with the slip of paper which contained this that mrs. armitage came into prominence. for some two years lelia armitage had maintained a large and expensive establishment on massachusetts avenue, not far from sheridan circle. those who claimed to know stated that there had been a mr. armitage, but that he had died, leaving his widow enough to make her luxuriously comfortable for the remainder of her life. in spite of the incidents of the jeweled necklaces, no one took the trouble to inquire into mrs. armitage's past until the leak in connection with the peace note and the subsequent investigation of paul connor's brokerage house led to the discovery that her name was among those who had benefited most largely by the advance information. it was at that time that melville taylor was detailed to dig back into her history and see what he could discover. as was only natural, he went at once to madelaine james, who had been of assistance to the service in more than one washington case which demanded feminine finesse, plus an intimate knowledge of social life in the national capital. "madelaine," he inquired, "what do you know of a certain mrs. lelia armitage?" "nothing particularly--except that one sees her everywhere. apparently has plenty of money. supposed to have gotten it from her husband, who has been dead for some time. dresses daringly but expensively, and--while there are at least a score of men, ranging all the way from lieutenants in the army to captains of industry, who would like to marry her--she has successfully evaded scandal and almost gotten away from gossip." "where'd she come from?" "london, i believe, by way of new york. maiden name was lawrence and the late but not very lamented mr. armitage was reputed to have made his money in south africa." "all of which," commented taylor, "is rather vague--particularly for purposes of a detailed report." "report? in what connection?" "her name appears on the list of connor's clients as one of the ones who cleaned up on the 'leak.' sold short and made a barrel of money when stocks came down. the question is, where did she get the tip?" "possibly from paul connor himself." "possibly--but i wish you'd cultivate her acquaintance and see if you can pick up anything that would put us on the right track." but some six weeks later when taylor was called upon to make a report of his investigations he had to admit that the sheet was a blank. "chief," he said, "either the armitage woman is perfectly innocent or else she's infernally clever. i've pumped everyone dry about her, and a certain friend of mine, whom you know, has made a point of getting next to the lady herself. she's dined there a couple of times and has talked to her at a dozen teas and receptions. but without success. mrs. armitage has been very frank and open about what she calls her 'good fortune' on the stock market. says she followed her intuition and sold short when everyone else was buying. what's more, she says it with such a look of frank honesty that, according to madelaine, you almost have to believe her." "has miss james been able to discover anything of the lady's past history?" "nothing more than we already know--born in england--husband made a fortune in south africa--died and left it to her. have you tried tracing her from the other side?" "yes, but they merely disclaim all knowledge of her. don't even recognize the description. that may mean anything. well," and chief sighed rather disconsolately, for the leak puzzle had been a knotty one from the start, "i guess we'd better drop her. too many other things going on to worry about a woman whose only offense seems to be an intuitive knowledge of the way wall street's going to jump." it was at that moment that mahoney, assistant to the chief, came in with the information that the secretary of state desired the presence of the head of the secret service in his office immediately. in answer to a snapped, "come along--this may be something that you can take care of right away!" taylor followed the chief to the state department, where they were soon closeted with one of the under secretaries. "you are familiar with the carruthers code?" inquired the assistant secretary. "i know the principle on which it operates," the chief replied, "but i can't say that i've ever come into contact with it." "so far as we know," went on the state department official, "it is the most efficient cipher system in the world--simple, easy to operate, almost impossible to decode without the key, and susceptible of being changed every day, or every hour if necessary, without impairing its value. however, in common with every other code, it has this weakness--once the key is located the entire system is practically valueless. "when did you discover the disappearance of the code secret?" asked taylor, examining his cigarette with an exaggerated display of interest. "how did you know it was lost?" demanded the under secretary. "i didn't--but the fact that your chief sent for mine and then you launch into a dissertation on the subject of the code itself is open to but one construction--some one has lifted the key to the cipher." "yes, some one has. at least, it was in this safe last night"--here a wave of his hand indicated a small and rather old-fashioned strong box in the corner--"and it wasn't there when i arrived this morning. i reported the matter to the secretary and he asked me to give you the details." "you are certain that the cipher was there last evening?" asked the chief. "not the cipher itself--at least not a code-book as the term is generally understood," explained the under secretary. "that's one of the beauties of the carruthers system. you don't have to lug a bulky book around with you all the time. a single slip of paper--a cigarette paper would answer excellently--will contain the data covering a man's individual code. the loss or theft of one of these would be inconvenient, but not fatal. the loss of the master key, which was in that safe, is irreparable. if it once gets out of the country it means that the decoding of our official messages is merely a question of time, no matter how often we switch the individual ciphers." "what was the size of the master key, as you call it?" "merely a slip of government bond, about six inches long by some two inches deep." "was it of such a nature that it could have been easily copied?" "yes, but anything other than a careful tracing or a photographic copy would be valueless. the position of the letters and figures mean as much as the marks themselves. whoever took it undoubtedly knows this and will endeavor to deliver the original--as a mark of good faith, if nothing else." "was this the only copy in existence?" "there are two others--one in the possession of the secretary, the other in the section which has charge of decoding messages. both of these are safe, as i ascertained as soon as i discovered that my slip was missing." a few more questions failed to bring out anything more about the mystery beyond the fact that the assistant secretary was certain that he had locked the safe the evening before and he knew that he had found it locked when he arrived that morning. "all of which," as taylor declared, "means but little. the safe is of the vintage of eighteen seventy, the old-fashioned kind where you can hear the tumblers drop clean across the room. look!" and he pointed to the japanned front of the safe where a circular mark, some two inches in diameter, was visible close to the dial. "yes, but what is it?" demanded the secretary. "the proof that you locked the safe last night," taylor responded. "whoever abstracted the cipher key opened the safe with the aid of some instrument that enabled them clearly to detect the fall of the tumblers. probably a stethoscope, such as physicians use for listening to a patient's heart. perfectly simple when you know how--particularly with an old model like this." finding that there was no further information available, taylor and the chief left the department, the chief to return to headquarters, taylor to endeavor to pick up the trail wherever he could. "it doesn't look like an inside job," was the parting comment of the head of the secret service. "anyone who had access to the safe would have made some excuse to discover the combination, rather than rely on listening to the click of the tumblers. better get after the night watchman and see if he can give you a line on any strangers who were around the building last night." but the night watchman when roused from his sound forenoon's sleep was certain that no one had entered the building on the previous evening save those who had business there. "everybody's got to use a pass now, you know," he stated. "i was on the job all night myself an' divvle a bit of anything out of the ordinary did i see. there was mr. mcnight and mr. lester and mr. greene on the job in the telegraph room, and the usual crowd of correspondents over in the press room, and a score of others who works there regular, an' mrs. prentice, an'--" "mrs. who?" interrupted taylor. "mrs. prentice, wife of th' third assistant secretary. she comes down often when her husband is working late, but last night he must have gone home just before she got there, for she came back a few minutes later and said that the office was dark." whatever taylor's thoughts were at the moment he kept them to himself--for prentice was the man from whose safe the cipher key had been abstracted! so he contented himself with inquiring whether the watchman was certain that the woman who entered the building was mrs. prentice. "shure an' i'm certain," was the reply. "i've seen her and that green evening cape of hers trimmed with fur too often not to know her." "do you know how long it was between the time that she entered the building and the time she left?" persisted taylor. "that i do not, sir. time is something that you don't worry about much when it's a matter of guarding the door to a building--particularly at night. but i'd guess somewhere about five or ten minutes?" "rather long for her to make her way to the office of her husband, find he wasn't there, and come right back, wasn't it?" "yes, sir--but you must remember i wasn't countin' the minutes, so to speak. maybe it was only three--maybe it was ten. anyhow, it was just nine-thirty when she left. i remember looking at the clock when she went out." from the watchman's house, located well over in the northeastern section of the city, taylor made his way to madelaine james's apartment on connecticut avenue, discovering that young lady on the point of setting off to keep a luncheon engagement. "i won't keep you a minute, madelaine," promised the secret service operative. "just want to ask what you know about mrs. mahlon prentice?" "wife of the third assistant secretary of state?" taylor nodded. "she's a chicago woman, i believe. came here a couple of years ago when her husband received his appointment. rather good-looking and very popular. i happened to be at a dinner with her last evening and--" "you what?" "i was at a dinner at the westovers' last night," repeated the james girl, "and mrs. prentice was among those present. looked stunning, too. what's the trouble?" "what time was the dinner?" taylor countered. "eight o'clock, but of course it didn't start until nearly eight-thirty." "and what time did mrs. prentice leave?" "a few minutes after i did. she was just going up for her wraps as i came downstairs at eleven o'clock." "you are certain that she was there all evening--that she didn't slip out for half an hour or so?" "of course i'm sure, mell," the girl replied, a trace of petulance in her voice. "why all the questions? do you suspect the wife of the third assistant secretary of state of robbing a bank?" "not a bank," taylor admitted, "but it happens that the safe in her husband's office was opened last night and a highly important slip of paper abstracted. what's more, the watchman on duty in the building is ready to swear that mrs. prentice came in shortly before nine-thirty, and went out some five or ten minutes later, stating that her husband had evidently finished his work and left." "that's impossible! no matter what the watchman says, there are a score of people who dined with mrs. prentice last evening and who know that she didn't leave the westovers' until after eleven. dinner wasn't over by nine-thirty, and she couldn't have gotten to the state department and back in less than twenty minutes at the inside. it's ridiculous, that's all!" "but the watchman!" exclaimed taylor. "he knows mrs. prentice and says he couldn't miss that green-and-fur coat of hers in the dark. besides, she spoke to him as she was leaving." madelaine james was silent for a moment, and a tiny frown appeared between her eyes, evidence of the fact that she was doing some deep thinking. then: "of course she spoke! anyone who would go to the trouble of copying mrs. prentice's distinctive cloak would realize that some additional disguise was necessary. last night, if you remember, was quite cold. therefore it would be quite natural that the woman who impersonated mrs. prentice should have her collar turned up around her face and probably a drooping hat as well. the collar, in addition to concealing her features, would muffle her voice, while the watchman, not suspecting anything, would take it for granted that the green cloak was worn by the wife of the under secretary--particularly when she spoke to him in passing." "you mean, then, that some one deliberately impersonated mrs. prentice and took a chance on getting past the watchman merely because she wore a cloak of the same color?" "the same color--the same style--practically the same coat," argued miss james. "what's more, any woman who would have the nerve to try that would probably watch prentice's office from the outside, wait for the light to go out, and then stage her visit not more than five minutes later, so's to make it appear plausible. how was the safe opened?" "stethoscope. placed the cup on the outside, and then listened to the tumblers as they fell. simplest thing in the world with an antiquated box like that." "what's missing?" by this time taylor felt that their positions had been reversed. he, who had come to question, was now on the witness stand, while madelaine james was doing the cross-examining. but he didn't mind. he knew the way the girl's mind worked, quickly and almost infallibly--her knowledge of women in general and washington society in particular making her an invaluable ally in a case like this. "a slip of paper some six inches long and two inches wide," he said, with a smile. "the key to the carruthers code, probably the most efficient cipher in the world, but now rendered worthless unless the original slip is located before it reaches some foreign power." "right!" snapped miss james. "get busy on your end of the matter. see what you can find out concerning this mysterious woman in the green cloak. i'll work along other and what you would probably call strictly unethical lines. i've got what a man would term a 'hunch,' but in a woman it is 'intuition'--and therefore far more likely to be right. see you later!" and with that she was off toward her car. "but what about your luncheon engagement?" taylor called after her. "bother lunch," she laughed back over her shoulder. "if my hunch is right i'll make your chief pay for my meals for the next year!" the next that taylor heard from his ally was a telephone call on the following evening, instructing him to dig up his evening clothes and to be present at a certain reception that evening. "i have reason to believe," said madelaine's voice, "that the lady of the second green cloak will be present. anyhow, there'll be several of your friends there--including myself, mrs. armitage, and an ambassador who doesn't stand any too well with the administration. in fact, i have it on good authority that he's on the verge of being recalled. naturally we don't want him to take a slip of paper, some six inches by two, with him!" "how do you know he hasn't it already?" "he doesn't return from new york until six o'clock this evening, and the paper is far too valuable to intrust to the mails or to an underling. remember, i'm not certain that it is he who is supposed to get the paper eventually, but i do know who impersonated mrs. prentice, and i likewise know that the lady in question has not communicated with any foreign official in person. beyond that we'll have to take a chance on the evening's developments," and the receiver was replaced before taylor could frame any one of the score of questions he wanted to ask. even at the reception that night he was unable to get hold of madelaine james long enough to find out just what she did know. in fact, it was nearly midnight before he caught the signal that caused him to enter one of the smaller and rather secluded rooms apart from the main hall. there he found a tableau that was totally unexpected. in one corner of the room, her back against the wall and her teeth bared in a snarl which distorted her usually attractive features into a mask of hate, stood mrs. armitage. her hands were crossed in front of her in what appeared to be an unnatural attitude until taylor caught a glimpse of polished steel and realized that the woman had been handcuffed. "there," announced madelaine, "in spite of your friend the watchman, stands 'mrs. prentice.' you'll find the green cloak in one of the closets at her home, and the stethoscope is probably concealed somewhere around the house. however, that doesn't matter. the main thing is that we have discovered the missing slip of paper. you'll find it on the table over there." taylor followed the girl's gesture toward a table at the side of the room. but there, instead of the cipher key that he had expected, he saw only--a gold bracelet! "what's the idea?" he demanded. "where's the paper?" "snap open the bracelet," directed the girl. "what do you see?" "it looks like--by gad! it is!--a tightly wrapped spindle of paper!" and a moment later the original of the carruthers code reposed safely in the secret service agent's vest pocket. as he tossed the empty bracelet back on the table he heard a sound behind him and turned just in time to see the woman in the corner slip to the floor in a dead faint. "now that we've got her," inquired madelaine james, "what'll we do with her?" "take off the handcuffs, leave the room, and close the door," directed taylor. "she'll hardly care to make any fuss when she comes to, and the fact that she is unconscious gives us an excellent opportunity for departing without a scene." "but what i'd like to know," he asked, as they strolled back toward the main ballroom, "is how you engineered the affair?" "i told you i had an intuition," came the reply, "and you laughed at me. yes you did, too! it wasn't apparent on your face, but i could feel that inside yourself you were saying, 'just another fool idea.' but mrs. armitage was preying on my mind. i didn't like the way she had slipped one over on us in connection with the leak on the peace note. then, too, she seemed to have no visible means of support, but plenty of money. "i felt certain that she wasn't guilty of blackmail or any of the more sordid kinds of crime, but the fact that she was on terms of familiarity with a number of diplomats, and that she seemed to have a fondness for army and navy officials, led me to believe that she was a sort of super spy, sent over here for a specific purpose. the instant you mentioned the carruthers code she sprang to my mind. a bill, slipped into the fingers of her maid, brought the information about the green cloak, and the rest was easy. "i figured that she'd have the cipher key on her to-night, for it was her first opportunity of passing it along to the man i felt certain she was working for. sure enough, as she passed him about half an hour ago she tapped her bracelet, apparently absent-mindedly. as soon as he was out of sight i sent one of the maids with a message that some one wanted to see her in one of the smaller rooms. thinking that it was the ambassador, she came at once. i was planted behind the door, handcuffed her before she knew what i was doing, and then signaled you! "quite elementary, my dear melville, quite elementary!" * * * * * "that," added quinn, "was the last they heard of mrs. armitage. taylor reported the matter at once, but the chief said that as they had the code they better let well enough alone. the following day the woman left washington, and no one has heard from her since--except for a package that reached taylor some months later. there was nothing in it except that photograph yonder, and, as taylor was interested only in his bride, _née_ madelaine james, he turned it over to me for my collection." xxiv five inches of death "quinn," i said one evening when the veteran of the united states secret service appeared to be in one of his story-spinning moods, "you've told me of cases that have to do with smuggling and spies, robberies and fingerprints and frauds, but you've never mentioned the one crime that is most common in the annals of police courts and detective bureaus." "murder?" inquired quinn, his eyes shifting to the far wall of his library-den. "precisely. haven't government detectives ever been instrumental in solving a murder mystery?" "yes, they've been mixed up in quite a few of them. there was the little matter of the hallowell case--where the crime and the criminal were connected by a shoelace--and the incident of 'the red circle.' but murder, as such, does not properly belong in the province of the government detective. only when it is accompanied by some breach of the federal laws does it come under the jurisdiction of the men from washington. like the montgomery murder mystery, for example." "oh yes, the one connected with the postmark that's framed on your wall over there!" i exclaimed. "i'd forgotten about that. hal preston handled it, didn't he--the same man responsible for running down 'the trail of the white mice'?" "that's the one," said quinn, and i was glad to see him settle luxuriously back in his old armchair--for that meant that he was preparing to recall the details of an adventure connected with a member of one of the government detective services. * * * * * if it hadn't been for the fact that preston was in california at the time, working on the case of a company that was using the mails for illegal purposes, it is extremely doubtful if the mystery would ever have been solved [quinn continued]; certainly not in time to prevent the escape of the criminal. but hal's investigations took him well up into the foot-hills of the sierra nevadas, and one morning he awoke to find the whole town in which he was stopping ablaze with a discussion of the "montgomery mystery," as they called it. it appeared from the details which preston picked up in the lobby of his hotel that marshall montgomery had settled down in that section of the country some three years before, but that he had surrounded himself with an air of aloofness and detachment which had made him none too popular. men who had called to see him on matters of business had left smarting under the sting of an ill-concealed snub, while it was as much as a book agent's life was worth to try to gain entrance to the house. "it wasn't that he was stingy or close-fisted," explained one of the men who had known montgomery. "he bought more liberty bonds than anyone else in town--but he bought them through his bank. mailed the order in, just as he did with his contributions to the red cross and the other charitable organizations. wouldn't see one of the people who went out to his place. in fact, they couldn't get past the six or eight bulldogs that guard the house." "and yet," said preston, "i understand that in spite of his precautions he was killed last night?" "nobody knows just when he was killed," replied the native, "or how. that's the big question. when his servant, a filipino whom he brought with him, went to wake him up this morning he found montgomery's door locked. that in itself was nothing unusual--for every door and window in the place was securely barred before nine o'clock in the evening. but when tino, the servant, had rapped several times without receiving any reply, he figured something must be wrong. so he got a stepladder, propped it up against the side of the house, and looked in through the window. what he saw caused him to send in a hurry call for the police." "well," snapped preston, "what did he see?" "montgomery, stretched out on the floor near the door, stone dead--with a pool of blood that had formed from a wound in his hand!" "in his hand?" preston echoed. "had he bled to death?" "apparently not--but that's where the queer angle to the case comes in. the door was locked from the inside--not only locked, but bolted, so there was no possibility of anyone having entered the room. the windows were tightly guarded by a patented burglar-proof device which permitted them to be open about three inches from the bottom, but prevented their being raised from the outside." "was there a chimney or any other possible entrance to the room?" "none at all. three windows and a door. montgomery's body was sprawled out on the rug near the doorway--a revolver in his right hand, a bullet hole through the palm of his left. the first supposition, of course, was that he had accidentally shot himself and had bled to death. but there wasn't enough blood for that. just a few drops on the table and a small pool near the body. they're going to hold an autopsy later in the day and--" it was at that moment that the post-office operative became conscious that some one was calling his name, and, turning, he beckoned to the bell-boy who was paging him. "mr. preston? gentleman over there'd like to speak to you." then the boy added in a whisper, "chief o' police." excusing himself, preston crossed the lobby to where a large and official-looking man was standing, well out of hearing distance of the guests who passed. "is this mr. preston of the postal inspection service?" inquired the head of the local police force, adding, after the government operative had nodded. "i am the chief of police here." "glad to meet you, chief," was preston's response. "i haven't had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, though of course i know you by sight." (he neglected to add how recently this knowledge had been acquired.) "what can i do for you?" "have you heard about the murder of montgomery marshall?" "only the few details that i picked up in the lobby just now. but a case of that kind is entirely out of my line, you know." "ordinarily it would be," agreed the other, "but here's something that i think puts a different complexion on things," and he extended a bloodstained scrap of paper for preston to examine. "that was found under the dead man's hand," the chief continued. "as you will note, it originally formed part of the wrapping of a special-delivery parcel which reached montgomery about eight o'clock last night--just before the house was locked up, in fact. tino, the filipino servant, signed for it and took it in, placing it upon the table in the room in which his master was found this morning. the scrap of paper you are holding is just enough to show the postmark 'sacramento'--but it's quite evident that the package had something to do with the murder." "which is the reason that you want me to look into it, eh?" "that's the idea. i knew that you were in town, and the very fact that this box came through the mails makes it necessary for the post-office department to take cognizance of what otherwise would be a job for the police force alone. am i right?" "perfectly," replied preston. "provided you have reason to believe that there was some connection between the special-delivery package and the crime itself. what was in the box?" "not a thing!" "what?" "not a thing!" repeated the chief. "perfectly empty--at least when we found it. the lid was lying on the table, the rest of the box on the floor. the major portion of the wrapping paper had been caught under a heavy paper weight and it appears that montgomery, in falling, caught at the table to save himself and probably ripped away the scrap of paper i have just given you." "but i thought his body was found near the door?" "it was, but that isn't far from the table, which is jammed against the wall in front of one of the windows. come on up to the house with me and we'll go over the whole thing." glad of the excuse to look into a crime which appeared to be inexplicable, preston accompanied the chief to the frame dwelling on the outskirts of town where montgomery marshall, hermit, had spent the last three years of his life. the house was set well back from the road, with but a single gateway in a six-foot wall of solid masonry, around the top of which ran several strands of barbed wire. "montgomery erected the wall himself," explained the chief. "had it put up before he ever moved into the house, and then, in addition, kept a bunch of the fiercest dogs i ever knew." "all of which goes to prove that he feared an attack," preston muttered. "in spite of his precautions, however, they got him! the question now is: who are 'they' and how did they operate?" the room in which the body had been found only added to the air of mystery which surrounded the entire problem. in spite of what he had been told preston had secretly expected to find some kind of an opening through which a man could have entered. but there was none. the windows, as the postal operative took care to test for himself, were tightly locked, though open a few inches from the bottom. the bolt on the door very evidently had been shattered by the entrance of the police, and the dark-brown stain on the rug near the door showed plainly where the body had been found. "when we broke in," explained the chief, "montgomery was stretched out there, facing the door. the doctor said that he had been dead about twelve hours, but that it was impossible for the wound in his hand to have caused his death." "how about a poisoned bullet, fired through the opening in the window?" "not a chance! the only wound on the body was the one through the palm of his hand. the bullet had struck on the outside of the fleshy part near the wrist and had plowed its way through the bone, coming out near the base of the index finger at the back. and it was a bullet from his own revolver! we found it embedded in the top of the table there." and the chief pointed to a deep scar in the mahogany and to the marks made by the knives of the police when they had dug the bullet out. "but how do you know it wasn't a bullet of the same caliber, fired from outside the window?" persisted preston. for answer the chief produced montgomery's revolver, with five cartridges still in the chambers. "if you'll note," he said, "each of these cartridges is scored or seamed. that's an old trick--makes the lead expand when it hits and tears an ugly hole, just like a 'dum-dum.' the bullet we dug out of the table was not only a forty-five, as these are, but it had been altered in precisely the same manner. so, unless you are inclined to the coincidence that the murderer used a poisoned bullet of the same size and make and character as those in montgomery's gun, you've got to discard that theory." "does look like pulling the long arm of coincidence out of its socket," preston agreed. "so i guess we'll have to forget it. where's the box you were talking about?" "the lid is on the table, just as we found it. the lower portion of the box is on the floor, where the dead man apparently knocked it when he fell. except for the removal of the body, nothing in the room has been touched." stooping, preston picked up the box and then proceeded to study it in connection with the lid and the torn piece of wrapping paper upon the table. it was after he had examined the creases in the paper, fitting them carefully around the box itself, that he inquired: "do you notice anything funny about the package, chief?" "only that there's a hole at one end of it, just about big enough to put a lead pencil through." "yes, and that same hole appears in the wrapping paper," announced preston. "couple that with the fact that the box was empty when you found it and i think we will have--" "what?" demanded the chief, as preston paused. "the solution to the whole affair," was the reply. "or, at least, as much of it as refers to the manner in which montgomery met his death. by the way, what do you know about the dead man?" "very little. he came here some three years ago, bought this place, paying cash for it; had the wall built, and then settled down. never appeared to do any work, but was never short of money. has a balance of well over fifty thousand dollars in the bank right now. beyond the fact that he kept entirely to himself and refused to allow anyone but tino, his servant, to enter the gate, he really had few eccentricities. some folks say that he was a miser, but there are a dozen families here that wouldn't have had any christmas dinner last year if it hadn't been for him--while his contribution to the red cross equaled that of anyone in town." "apart from his wanting to be alone, then, he was pretty close to being human?" "that's it, exactly--and most of us have some peculiarity. if we didn't have we'd be even more unusual." "what about tino, the servant?" queried preston. "i don't think there's any lead there," the chief replied. "i hammered away at him for an hour this morning. he doesn't speak english any too well, but i gathered that montgomery picked him up in the philippines just before he came over here. the boy was frightened half out of his senses when i told him that his master had been killed. you've got to remember, though, that if tino had wanted to do it he had a thousand opportunities in the open. besides, what we've got to find out first is how montgomery met his death?" "does the filipino know anything about his master's past?" asked preston, ignoring the chief's last remark. "he says not. montgomery was on his way back to the states from africa or some place--stopped off in the islands--spent a couple of months there--hired tino and sailed for san francisco." "africa--" mused the postal operative. then, taking another track, he inquired whether the chief had found out if montgomery was in the habit of getting much mail, especially from foreign points. "saunders, the postmaster, says he didn't average a letter a month--and those he did get looked like advertisements. they remembered this special-delivery package last night because it was the first time that the man who brought it out had ever come to the house. he rang the bell at the gate, he says, turned the box over to tino, and went along." "any comment about the package?" "only that it was very light and contained something that wabbled around. i asked him because i figured at the time that the revolver might have been in it. but the filipino has identified that as montgomery's own gun. says he'd had it as long as he'd known him." "then all we know about this mysterious box," summarized preston, "is that it was mailed from sacramento, that it wasn't heavy, that it had a hole about a quarter-inch wide at one end, and that it contained something that--what was the word the special-delivery man used--'wabbled'?" "that's the word. i remember because i asked him if he didn't mean 'rattled,' and he said, 'no, wabbled, sort o' dull-like.'" "at any rate, that clears up one angle of the case. the box was not empty when it was delivered! granting that the filipino was telling the truth, it was not empty when he placed it on the table in this room! that means that it was not empty when marshall montgomery, after locking and bolting his door, took off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid! you've searched the room thoroughly, of course?" "every inch of it. we didn't leave a--" but the chief suddenly halted, his sentence unfinished. to the ears of both men there had come a sound, faint but distinct. the sound of the rattling of paper somewhere in the room. involuntarily preston whirled and scrutinized the corner from which the sound appeared to have come. the chief's hand had slipped to his hip pocket, but after a moment of silence he withdrew it and a slightly shamefaced look spread over his face. "sounded like a ghost, didn't it?" he asked. "ghosts don't rattle papers," snapped preston. "at least self-respecting ones don't, and the other kind haven't any right to run around loose. so suppose we try to trap this one." "trap it? how?" "like you'd trap a mouse--only with a different kind of bait. is there any milk in the house?" "possibly--i don't know." "go down to the refrigerator and find out, will you? i'll stay here until you return. and bring a saucer with you." a few moments later, when the chief returned, bearing a bottle of milk and a saucer, he found preston still standing beside the table, his eyes fixed upon a corner of the room from which the sound of rattling paper had come. "now all we need is a box," said the postal operative. "i saw one out in the hall that will suit our purposes excellently." securing the box, he cut three long and narrow strips from the sides, notched them and fitted them together in a rough replica of the figure , with the lower point of the upright stick resting on the floor beside the saucer of milk and the wooden box poised precariously at the junction of the upright and the slanting stick. "a figure-four trap, eh?" queried the chief. "what do you expect to catch?" "a mixture of a ghost and the figure of justice," was preston's enigmatic reply. "come on--we'll lock the door and return later to see if the trap has sprung. meanwhile, i'll send some wires to sacramento, san francisco, and other points throughout the state." the telegram, of which he gave a copy to the local chief of police, "in order to save the expense of sending it," read: wire immediately if you know anything of recent arrival from africa--probably american or english--who landed within past three days. wanted in connection with montgomery murder. the message to san francisco ended with the phrase "watch outgoing boats closely," and that to sacramento "was in your city yesterday." hardly an hour later the phone rang and a voice from police headquarters in sacramento asked to speak to "postal inspector preston." "just got your wire," said the voice, "and i think we've got your man. picked him up on the street last night, unconscious. hospital people say he's suffering from poisoning of some kind and don't expect him to live. keeps raving about diamonds and some one he calls 'marsh.' papers on him show he came into san francisco two days ago on the _manu_. won't tell his name, but has mentioned cape town several times." "right!" cried preston. "watch him carefully until i get there. i'll make the first train out." that afternoon preston, accompanied by two chiefs of police, made his way into a little room off the public ward in the hospital in sacramento. in bed, his face drawn and haggard until the skin seemed like parchment stretched tightly over his cheekbones, lay a man at the point of death--a man who was only kept alive, according to the physicians, by some almost superhuman effort of the will. "it's certain that he's been poisoned," said the doctor in charge of the case, "but he won't tell us how. just lies there and glares and demands a copy of the latest newspaper. every now and then he drifts off into delirium, but just when we think he's on the point of death he recovers." motioning to the others to keep in the background, preston made his way to the bedside of the dying man. then, bending forward, he said, very clearly and distinctly: "marshall montgomery is dead!" into the eyes of the other man there sprang a look of concentrated hatred that was almost tangible--a glare that turned, a moment later, into supreme relief. "thank god!" he muttered. "now i'm ready to die!" "tell me," said preston, quietly--"tell me what made you do it." "he did!" gasped the man on the bed. "he and his damned brutality. when i knew him his name was marsh. we dug for diamonds together in south africa--found them, too--enough to make us both rich for life. but our water was running low--barely enough for one of us. he, the skunk, hit me over the head and left me to die--taking the water and the stones with him." he paused a moment, his breath rattling in his throat, and then continued: "it took me five years to find him--but you say he's dead? you're not lying?" preston shook his head slowly and the man on the bed settled back and closed his eyes, content. "ask him," insisted the chief of police, "how he killed montgomery?" in a whisper that was barely audible came the words: "sheep-stinger. got me first." then his jaws clicked and there was the unmistakable gurgle which meant that the end had come. "didn't he say 'sheep-stinger'?" asked the chief of police, after the doctor had stated that the patient had slipped away from the hands of the law. "that's what it sounded like to me," replied preston. "but suppose we go back to montgomery's room and see what our ghost trap has caught. i told you i expected to land a figure of justice--and if ever a man deserved to be killed it appears to have been this same montgomery marshall, or marsh, as this man knew him." the instant they entered the room it was apparent that the trap had sprung, the heavy box falling forward and completely covering the saucer of milk and whatever had disturbed the carefully balanced sticks. warning the chief to be careful, preston secured a poker from an adjoining room, covered the box with his automatic, and then carefully lifted the box, using the poker as a lever. a second later he brought the head of the poker down on something that writhed and twisted and then lay still, blending in with the pattern of the carpet in such a manner as to be almost invisible. "a snake!" cried the chief. "but such a tiny one! do you mean to say that its bite is sufficiently poisonous to kill a man?" "not only one, but two," preston declared, "as you've seen for yourself. see that black mark, like an inverted v, upon the head? that's characteristic of the cobra family, and this specimen--common to the veldts of south africa where he is known as the 'sheep stinger'--is first cousin to the big king cobras. montgomery's former partner evidently brought him over from africa with this idea in mind. but when he was packing him in the box--the airhole in the end of it gave me the first inkling, by the way--he got careless and the snake bit him. only medical attention saved his life until this afternoon, else he'd have passed along before montgomery. i think that closes the case, chief, and in spite of the fact that the mails were used for a distinctly illegal purpose, i believe your department ought to handle the matter--not mine." "but the trap--the milk? how'd you happen to hit on that?" "when you told me what the special-delivery man said about the contents of the package 'wabbling' i figured that the box must have contained a snake," explained the postal operative. "an animal would have made some noise, while a snake, if well fed, will lie silent for hours at a time. the constant motion, however, would have made it irritable--so that it struck the moment montgomery removed the lid of the box. that explains the wound in his hand. he knew his danger and deliberately fired, hoping to cauterize the wound and drive out the poison. it was too quick for him, though, or possibly the shock stunned him so that he fell. "then, in spite of the fact that your men claimed to have searched the room thoroughly, that noise in the corner warned me that whatever killed montgomery was still here. going on the theory that the majority of snakes are fond of milk, i rigged up the trap. and there you are!" * * * * * "yes," concluded quinn, "the majority of the cases handled by government detectives have to do with counterfeiting or smuggling or other crimes against the federal law--offenses which ought to be exciting but which are generally dull and prosaic. every now and then, though, they stumble across a real honest-to-goodness thrill, a story that's worth the telling. "i've got to be away for the next couple of months or so, but drop around when i get back and i'll see if i can't recall some more of the problems that have been solved by one of the greatest, though least known, detective agencies on the face of the earth." the end * * * * * transcriber's notes: contents page changes made to agree with chapter headings: "lost--$ , !"--quotes and exclamation point added. "the double code"--quotes added. "thirty thousand," and again on p. --hyphen removed (more frequent without). after contents page, "on secret service" displays twice--once alone on a page, and again above the chapter i heading. one of the redundancies has been deleted. missing or incorrect punctuation repaired. spelling errors fixed. hyphenation variants changed to most frequently used version. p. "simpson lives" original reads "simpson lived." p. thought break added for consistency. p. "douglass" changed to more frequently used "douglas." p. code table: original shows first number under q as " ." corrected to " ." p. "well dressed" changed to "well-dressed." p. two occurrences of "blonde" changed to more frequently used "blond." abbreviations "sub." and "ad." in original retained. "charleston" and "charlestown," "down town" and "downtown" (used equally), "everyone" and "every one [of]," "résumé" (for summary) and "resume" (for assume anew), "loath" (for unwilling) and "loathe" (for abhor), "mix-up" and "mixup" (used equally), "anyone" and "any one" (a single, particular one) were used in this text and retained. also retained "flivvered" (p. ). provided by the internet archive the strange schemes of randolph mason by melville davisson post author of "the clients of randolph mason" g. p. putnam's sons new york and london to john a. howard skilful lawyer, and courteous gentleman the strange schemes of randolph mason. introduction. the teller of strange tales is not the least among benefactors of men. his cup of lethe is welcome at times even to the strongest, when the _tædium vito_ of the commonplace is in its meridian. to the aching victim of evil fortune, it is ofttimes the divine anaesthetic. to-day a bitter critic calls down to the storyteller, bidding him turn out with the hewers of wood and the drawers of water, for the reason that there is no new thing, and the pieces with which he seeks to build are ancient and well worn. "at best," he cries, "the great one among you can produce but combinations of the old, some quaint, some monstrous, and all weary." but the writer does not turn out, and the world swings merrily on. perhaps the critic forgets that if things are old, men are new; that while the grain field stands fast, the waves passing over it are not one like the other. the new child is the best answer. the reader is a clever tyrant. he demands something more than people of mist. there must be tendons in the ghost hand, and hard bones in the phantom, else he feels that he has been cheated. perhaps, of all things, the human mind loves best the problem. not the problem of the abacus, but the problem of the chess-board when the pieces are living; the problem with passion and peril in it; with the fresh air of the hills and the salt breath of the sea. it propounds this riddle to the writer: create mind-children, o magician, with red blood in their faces, who, by power inherited from you, are enabled to secure the fruits of drudgery, without the drudgery. nor must the genius of circumstance help. make them do what we cannot do, good magician, but make them of clay as we are. we know all the old methods so well, and we are weary of them. give us new ones. exacting is this taskmaster. it demands that the problem builder cunningly join together the fancy and the fact, and thereby enchant and bewilder, but not deceive. it demands all the mighty motives of life in the problem. thus it happens that the toiler has tramped and retramped the field of crime. poe and the french writers constructed masterpieces in the early day. later came the flood of "detective stories" until the stomach of the reader failed. yesterday, mr. conan doyle created sherlock holmes, and the public pricked up its ears and listened with interest. it is significant that the general plan of this kind of tale has never once been changed to any degree. the writers, one and all, have labored, often with great genius, to construct problems in crime, where by acute deduction the criminal and his methods were determined; or, reversing it, they have sought to plan the crime so cunningly as to effectually conceal the criminal and his methods. the intent has always been to baffle the trailer, and when the identity of the criminal was finally revealed, the story ended. the high ground of the field of crime has not been explored; it has not even been entered. the book-stalls have been filled to weariness with tales based upon plans whereby the _detective_, or _ferreting_ power of the state might be baffled. but, prodigious marvel! no writer has attempted to construct tales based upon plans whereby the _punishing_ power of the state might be baffled. the distinction, if one pauses for a moment to consider it, is striking. it is possible, even easy, deliberately to plan crimes so that the criminal agent and the criminal agency cannot be detected. is it possible to plan and execute wrongs in such a manner that they will have all the effect and all the resulting profit of desperate crimes and yet not be crimes before the law? there is, perhaps, nothing of which the layman is so grossly ignorant as of the law. he has grown to depend upon what he is pleased to call common sense. indeed his refrain, "the law is common sense," has at times been echoed by the judiciary. there was never a graver error. the common sense of the common man is at best a poor guide to the criminal law. it is no guide at all to the civil law. there is here no legal heresy. lord coke, in the seventeenth century, declared that the law was not the natural reason of man, and that men could not, out of their common reason, make such laws as the laws of england were. the laws have not grown simpler, surely, and if they could not be constructed by the common reason of men, they could certainly not be determined by it. that men have but indistinct ideas of the law is to be regretted and deplored. for their protection they should know it; and there is need of this protection. the voices of all men were not joined in the first great cry for law and order, nor are they all joined now. the hands of a part of mankind have ever been set against their fellows; for what great reason no man can tell. maybe the potter marred some, and certainly evil circumstance marred some. but, by good hap, industry has always, and intelligence has usually, been on the law's side. ofttimes, however, the ishmælites raise up a genius and he, spying deep, sees the weak places in the law and the open holes in it, and forces through, to the great hurt of his fellows. and men standing in the market-places marvel. we are prone to forget that the law is no perfect structure, that it is simply the result of human labor and human genius, and that whatever laws human ingenuity can create for the protection of men, those same laws human ingenuity can evade. the spirit of evil is no dwarf; he has developed equally with the spirit of good. all wrongs are not crimes. indeed only those wrongs are crimes in which certain technical elements are present. the law provides a procrustean standard for all crimes. thus a wrong, to become criminal, must fit exactly into the measure laid down by the law, else it is no crime; if it varies never so little from the legal measure, the law must, and will, refuse to regard it as criminal, no matter how injurious a wrong it may be. there is no measure of morality, or equity, or common right that can be applied to the individual case. the gauge of the law is iron-bound. the wrong measured by this gauge is either a crime or it is not. there is no middle ground. hence is it, that if one knows well the technicalities of the law, one may commit horrible wrongs that will yield all the gain and all the resulting effect of the highest crimes, and yet the wrongs perpetrated will constitute no one of the crimes described by the law. thus the highest crimes, even murder, may be committed in such manner that although the criminal is known and the law holds him in custody, yet it cannot punish him. so it happens that in this year of our lord of the nineteenth century, the skilful attorney marvels at the stupidity of the rogue who, committing crimes by the ordinary methods, subjects himself to unnecessary peril, when the result which he seeks can easily be attained by other methods, equally expeditious and without danger of liability in any criminal tribunal this is the field into which the author has ventured, and he believes it to be new and full of interest. in order to develop these legal problems the author appreciated the need for a central figure. this central figure must of necessity be a lawyer of shrewdness and ability. here a grave difficulty presented itself. no attorney, unless he were a superlative knave, could be presumed to suggest the committing of wrongs entailing grievous injury upon innocent men. on the other hand, no knave vicious enough to resort to such wrongs could be presumed to have learning enough to plan them, else he would not be driven to such straits. hence the necessity for a character who should be without moral sense and yet should possess all the requisite legal acumen. such a character is randolph mason, and while he may seem strange he is not impossible. that great shocks and dread maladies may lop off a limb of the human mind and leave the other portions perfect, nay, may even wrench the human soul into one narrow groove, is the common lesson of the clinic and the mad-house. an intellect, keen, powerful, and yet devoid of any sense of moral obligation, would be no passing wonder to the skilled physician; for no one knows better than he that often in the house of the soul there are great chambers locked and barred and whole passages sealed up in the dark. nor do men marvel that great minds concentrated on some mighty labor grow utterly oblivious to human relations and see and care for naught save the result which they are seeking. the chemist forgets that the diamond is precious, and burns it; the surgeon forgets that his patient is living and that the knife hurts as it cuts. might not the great lawyer, striving tirelessly with the problems of men, come at last to see only the problem, with the people in it as pieces on a chess-board? it may be objected that the writer has prepared here a text-book for the shrewd knave. to this it is answered that, if he instructs the enemies, he also warns the friends of law and order; and that evil has never yet been stronger because the sun shone on it. it should not be forgotten that this book deals with the law as it is and with no fanciful interpretation of it. the colors are woven into a gray warp of ancient and well settled legal principles, obtaining with full virtue in almost every state. the formula for every wrong in this book is as practical as the plan of an architect and may be played out by any skilful villain. nor should it be presumed that the instances dealt with are exhaustive. the writer has presented but a few of the simpler and more conspicuous; there is, in truth, many another. indeed the wonder grows upon him that the thief should stay up at night to steal. wheeling, w. va., june , . i--the corpus delicti _[see lord hale's rule, russell on crimes. for the law in new york see th n. y. reports, ; also n. y. reports, * page . the doctrine there laid down obtains in almost every state, with the possible exception of a few western states, where the decisions are muddy.]_ i. that man mason," said samuel walcott, "is the mysterious member of this club. he is more than that; he is the mysterious man of new york." "i was much surprised to see him," answered his companion, marshall st. clair, of the great law firm of seward, st. clair, & de muth. "i had lost track of him since he went to paris as counsel for the american stockholders of the canal company. when did he come back to the states?" "he turned up suddenly in his ancient haunts about four months ago," said walcott, "as grand, gloomy, and peculiar as napoleon ever was in his palmiest days. the younger members of the club call him 'zanona redivivus'. he wanders through the house usually late at night, apparently without noticing anything or anybody. his mind seems to be deeply and busily at work, leaving his bodily self to wander as it may happen. naturally, strange stories are told of him; indeed, his individuality and his habit of doing some unexpected thing, and doing it in such a marvellously original manner that men who are experts at it look on in wonder, cannot fail to make him an object of interest. he has never been known to play at any game whatever, and yet one night he sat down to the chess table with old admiral du brey. you know the admiral is the great champion since he beat the french and english officers in the tournament last winter. well, you also know that the conventional openings at chess are scientifically and accurately determined. to the utter disgust of du brey, mason opened the game with an unheard of attack from the extremes of the board. the old admiral stopped and, in a kindly patronizing way, pointed out the weak and absurd folly of his move and asked him to begin again with some one of the safe openings. mason smiled and answered that if one had a head that he could trust he should use it; if not, then it was the part of wisdom to follow blindly the dead forms of some man who had a head. du brey was naturally angry and set himself to demolish mason as quickly as possible. the game was rapid for a few moments. mason lost piece after piece. his opening was broken and destroyed and its utter folly apparent to the lookers-on. the admiral smiled and the game seemed all one-sided, when, suddenly, to his utter horror, du brey found that his king was in a trap. the foolish opening had been only a piece of shrewd strategy. the old admiral fought and cursed and sacrificed his pieces, but it was of no use. he was gone. mason checkmated him in two moves and arose wearily. "'where in heaven's name, man,' said the old admiral, thunderstruck, 'did you learn that masterpiece?' "'just here,' replied mason. 'to play chess, one should know his opponent. how could the dead masters lay down rules by which you could be beaten, sir? they had never seen you'; and thereupon he turned and left the room. of course, st. clair, such a strange man would soon become an object of all kinds of mysterious rumors. some are true and some are not. at any rate, i know that mason is an unusual man with a gigantic intellect. of late he seems to have taken a strange fancy to me. in fact, i seem to be the only member of the club that he will talk with, and i confess that he startles and fascinates me. he is an original genius, st. clair, of an unusual order." "i recall vividly," said the younger man, "that before mason went to paris he was considered one of the greatest lawyers of this city and he was feared and hated by the bar at large. he came here, i believe, from virginia and began with the high-grade criminal practice. he soon became famous for his powerful and ingenious defences. he found holes in the law through which his clients escaped, holes that by the profession at large were not suspected to exist, and that frequently astonished the judges. his ability caught the attention of the great corporations. they tested him and found in him learning and unlimited resources. he pointed out methods by which they could evade obnoxious statutes, by which they could comply with the apparent letter of the law and yet violate its spirit, and advised them well in that most important of all things, just how far they could bend the law without breaking it. at the time he left for paris he had a vast clientage and was in the midst of a brilliant career. the day he took passage from new york, the bar lost sight of him. no matter how great a man may be, the wave soon closes over him in a city like this. in a few years mason was forgotten. now only the older practitioners would recall him, and they would do so with hatred and bitterness. he was a tireless, savage, uncompromising fighter, always a recluse." "well," said walcott, "he reminds me of a great world-weary cynic, transplanted from some ancient mysterious empire. when i come into the man's presence i feel instinctively the grip of his intellect. i tell you, st. clair, randolph mason is the mysterious man of new york." at this moment a messenger boy came into the room and handed mr. walcott a telegram. "st. clair," said that gentleman, rising, "the directors of the elevated are in session, and we must hurry." the two men put on their coats and left the house. samuel walcott was not a club man after the manner of the smart set, and yet he was in fact a club man. he was a bachelor in the latter thirties, and resided in a great silent house on the avenue. on the street he was a man of substance, shrewd and progressive, backed by great wealth. he had various corporate interests in the larger syndicates, but the basis and foundation of his fortune was real estate. his houses on the avenue were the best possible property, and his elevator row in the importers' quarter was indeed a literal gold mine. it was known that, many years before, his grandfather had died and left him the property, which, at that time, was of no great value. young walcott had gone out into the gold-fields and had been lost sight of and forgotten. ten years afterward he had turned up suddenly in new york and taken possession of his property, then vastly increased in value. his speculations were almost phenomenally successful, and, backed by the now enormous value of his real property, he was soon on a level with the merchant princes. his judgment was considered sound, and he had the full confidence of his business associates for safety and caution. fortune heaped up riches around him with a lavish hand. he was unmarried and the halo of his wealth caught the keen eye of the matron with marriageable daughters. he was invited out, caught by the whirl of society, and tossed into its maelstrom. in a measure he reciprocated. he kept horses and a yacht. his dinners at delmonico's and the club were above reproach. but with all he was a silent man with a shadow deep in his eyes, and seemed to court the society of his fellows, not because he loved them, but because he either hated or feared solitude. for years the strategy of the match-maker had gone gracefully afield, but fate is relentless. if she shields the victim from the traps of men, it is not because she wishes him to escape, but because she is pleased to reserve him for her own trap. so it happened that, when virginia st. clair assisted mrs. miriam steuvisant at her midwinter reception, this same samuel walcott fell deeply and hopelessly and utterly in love, and it was so apparent to the beaten generals present, that mrs. miriam steuvisant applauded herself, so to speak, with encore after encore. it was good to see this courteous, silent man literally at the feet of the young debutante. he was there of right. even the mothers of marriageable daughters admitted that. the young girl was brown-haired, brown-eyed, and tall enough, said the experts, and of the blue blood royal, with all the grace, courtesy, and inbred genius of such princely heritage. perhaps it was objected by the censors of the smart set that miss st. clair's frankness and honesty were a trifle old-fashioned, and that she was a shadowy bit of a puritan; and perhaps it was of these same qualities that samuel walcott received his hurt. at any rate the hurt was there and deep, and the new actor stepped up into the old time-worn, semi-tragic drama, and began his rôle with a tireless, utter sincerity that was deadly dangerous if he lost. ii perhaps a week after the conversation between st. clair and walcott, randolph mason stood in the private writing-room of the club with his hands behind his back. he was a man apparently in the middle forties; tall and reasonably broad across the shoulders; muscular without being either stout or lean. his hair was thin and of a brown color, with erratic streaks of gray. his forehead was broad and high and of a faint reddish color. his eyes were restless inky black, and not over-large. the nose was big and muscular and bowed. the eyebrows were black and heavy, almost bushy. there were heavy furrows, running from the nose downward and outward to the corners of the mouth. the mouth was straight and the jaw was heavy, and square. looking at the face of randolph mason from above, the expression in repose was crafty and cynical; viewed from below upward, it was savage and vindictive, almost brutal; while from the front, if looked squarely in the face, the stranger was fascinated by the animation of the man and at once concluded that his expression was fearless and sneering. he was evidently of southern extraction and a man of unusual power. a fire smouldered on the hearth. it was a crisp evening in the early fall, and with that far-off touch of melancholy which ever heralds the coming winter, even in the midst of a city. the man's face looked tired and ugly. his long white hands were clasped tight together. his entire figure and face wore every mark of weakness and physical exhaustion; but his eyes contradicted. they were red and restless. in the private dining-room the dinner party was in the best of spirits. samuel walcott was happy. across the table from him was miss virginia st. clair, radiant, a tinge of color in her cheeks. on either side, mrs. miriam steuvisant and marshall st. clair were brilliant and light-hearted. walcott looked at the young girl and the measure of his worship was full. he wondered for the thousandth time how she could possibly love him and by what earthly miracle she had come to accept him, and how it would be always to have her across the table from him, his own table in his own house. they were about to rise from the table when one of the waiters entered the room and handed walcott an envelope. he thrust it quickly into his pocket in the confusion of rising the others did not notice him, but his face was ash-white and his hands trembled violently as he placed the wraps around the bewitching shoulders of miss st. clair. "marshall," he said, and despite the powerful effort his voice was hollow, "you will see the ladies safely cared for, i am called to attend a grave matter." "all right, walcott," answered the young man, with cheery good-nature, "you are too serious, old man, trot along." "the poor dear," murmured mrs. steuvisant, after walcott had helped them to the carriage and turned to go up the steps of the club,--"the poor dear is hard hit, and men are such funny creatures when they are hard hit." samuel walcott, as his fate would, went direct to the private writing-room and opened the door. the lights were not turned on and in the dark he did not see mason motionless by the mantel-shelf. he went quickly across the room to the writing-table, turned on one of the lights, and, taking the envelope from his pocket, tore it open. then he bent down by the light to read the contents. as his eyes ran over the paper, his jaw fell. the skin drew away from his cheek-bones and his face seemed literally to sink in. his knees gave way under him and he would have gone down in a heap had it not been for mason's long arms that closed around him and held him up. the human economy is ever mysterious. the moment the new danger threatened, the latent power of the man as an animal, hidden away in the centres of intelligence, asserted itself. his hand clutched the paper and, with a half slide, he turned in mason's arms. for a moment he stared up at the ugly man whose thin arms felt like wire ropes. "you are under the dead-fall, aye," said mason. "the cunning of my enemy is sublime." "your enemy?" gasped walcott. "when did you come into it? how in god's name did you know it? how your enemy?" mason looked down at the wide bulging eyes of the man. "who should know better than i?" he said. "haven't i broken through all the traps and plots that she could set?" "she? she trap you?" the man's voice was full of horror. "the old schemer," muttered mason. "the cowardly old schemer, to strike in the back; but we can beat her. she did not count on my helping you--i, who know her so well." mason's face was red, and his eyes burned. in the midst of it all he dropped his hands and went over to the fire. samuel walcott arose, panting, and stood looking at mason, with his hands behind him on the table. the naturally strong nature and the rigid school in which the man had been trained presently began to tell. his composure in part returned and he thought rapidly. what did this strange man know? was he simply making shrewd guesses, or had he some mysterious knowledge of this matter? walcott could not know that mason meant only fate, that he believed her to be his great enemy. walcott had never before doubted his own ability to meet any emergency. this mighty jerk had carried him off his feet. he was unstrung and panic-stricken. at any rate this man had promised help. he would take it. he put the paper and envelope carefully into his pocket, smoothed out his rumpled coat, and going over to mason touched him on the shoulder. "come," he said, "if you are to help me we must go." the man turned and followed him without a word. in the hall mason put on his hat and overcoat, and the two went out into the street. walcott hailed a cab, and the two were driven to his house on the avenue. walcott took out his latch-key, opened the door, and led the way into the library. he turned on the light and motioned mason to seat himself at the table. then he went into another room and presently returned with a bundle of papers and a decanter of brandy. he poured out a glass of the liquor and offered it to mason. the man shook his head. walcott poured the contents of the glass down his own throat. then he set the decanter down and drew up a chair on the side of the table opposite mason. "sir," said walcott, in a voice deliberate, indeed, but as hollow as a sepulchre, "i am done for. god has finally gathered up the ends of the net, and it is knotted tight." "am i not here to help you?" said mason, turning savagely. "i can beat fate. give me the details of her trap." he bent forward and rested his arms on the table. his streaked gray hair was rumpled and on end, and his face was ugly. for a moment walcott did not answer. he moved a little into the shadow; then he spread the bundle of old yellow papers out before him. "to begin with," he said, "i am a living lie, a gilded crime-made sham, every bit of me. there is not an honest piece anywhere. it is all lie. i am a liar and a thief before men. the property which i possess is not mine, but stolen from a dead man. the very name which i bear is not my own, but is the bastard child of a crime. i am more than all that--i am a murderer; a murderer before the law; a murderer before god; and worse than a murderer before the pure woman whom i love more than anything that god could make." he paused for a moment and wiped the perspiration from his face. "sir," said mason, "this is all drivel, infantile drivel. what you are is of no importance. how to get out is the problem, how to get out." samuel walcott leaned forward, poured out a glass of brandy and swallowed it. "well," he said, speaking slowly, "my right name is richard warren. in the spring of i came to new york and fell in with the real samuel walcott, a young man with a little money and some property which his grandfather had left him. we became friends, and concluded to go to the far west together. accordingly we scraped together what money we could lay our hands on, and landed in the gold-mining regions of california. we were young and inexperienced, and our money went rapidly. one april morning we drifted into a little shack camp, away up in the sierra nevadas, called hell's elbow. here we struggled and starved for perhaps a year. finally, in utter desperation, walcott married the daughter of a mexican gambler, who ran an eating-house and a poker joint. with them we lived from hand to mouth in a wild god-forsaken way for several years. after a time the woman began to take a strange fancy to me. walcott finally noticed it, and grew jealous. "one night, in a drunken brawl, we quarrelled, and i killed him. it was late at night, and, beside the woman, there were four of us in the poker room,--the mexican gambler, a half-breed devil called cherubim pete, walcott, and myself. when walcott fell, the half-breed whipped out his weapon, and fired at me across the table; but the woman, nina san croix, struck his arm, and, instead of killing me, as he intended, the bullet mortally wounded her father, the mexican gambler. i shot the half-breed through the forehead, and turned round, expecting the woman to attack me. on the contrary, she pointed to the window, and bade me wait for her on the cross-trail below. "it was fully three hours later before the woman joined me at the place indicated. she had a bag of gold dust, a few jewels that belonged to her father, and a package of papers. i asked her why she had stayed behind so long, and she replied that the men were not killed outright, and that she had brought a priest to them and waited until they had died. this was the truth, but not all the truth. moved by superstition or foresight, the woman had induced the priest to take down the sworn statements of the two dying men, seal it, and give it to her. this paper she brought with her. all this i learned afterwards. at the time i knew nothing of this damning evidence. "we struck out together for the pacific coast. the country was lawless. the privations we endured were almost past belief. at times the woman exhibited cunning and ability that were almost genius; and through it all, often in the very fingers of death, her devotion to me never wavered. it was dog-like, and seemed to be her only object on earth. when we reached san francisco, the woman put these papers into my hands." walcott took up the yellow package, and pushed it across the table to mason. "she proposed that i assume walcott's name, and that we come boldly to new york and claim the property. i examined the papers, found a copy of the will by which walcott inherited the property, a bundle of correspondence, and sufficient documentary evidence to establish his identity beyond the shadow of a doubt. desperate gambler as i now was, i quailed before the daring plan of nina san croix. i urged that i, richard warren, would be known, that the attempted fraud would be detected and would result in investigation, and perhaps unearth the whole horrible matter. "the woman pointed out how much i resembled walcott, what vast changes ten years of such life as we had led would naturally be expected to make in men, how utterly impossible it would be to trace back the fraud to walcott's murder at hell's elbow, in the wild passes of the sierra nevadas. she bade me remember that we were both outcasts, both crime-branded, both enemies of man's law and god's; that we had nothing to lose; we were both sunk to the bottom. then she laughed, and said that she had not found me a coward until now, but that if i had turned chicken-hearted, that was the end of it, of course. the result was, we sold the gold dust and jewels in san francisco, took on such evidences of civilization as possible, and purchased passage to new york on the best steamer we could find. "i was growing to depend on the bold gambler spirit of this woman, nina san croix; i felt the need of her strong, profligate nature. she was of a queer breed and a queerer school. her mother was the daughter of a spanish engineer, and had been stolen by the mexican, her father. she herself had been raised and educated as best might be in one of the monasteries along the rio grande, and had there grown to womanhood before her father, fleeing into the mountains of california, carried her with him. "when we landed in new york i offered to announce her as my wife, but she refused, saying that her presence would excite comment and perhaps attract the attention of walcott's relatives. we therefore arranged that i should go alone into the city, claim the property, and announce myself as samuel walcott, and that she should remain under cover until such time as we would feel the ground safe under us. "every detail of the plan was fatally successful. i established my identity without difficulty and secured the property. it had increased vastly in value, and i, as samuel walcott, soon found myself a rich man. i went to nina san croix in hiding and gave her a large sum of money, with which she purchased a residence in a retired part of the city, far up in the northern suburb. here she lived secluded and unknown while i remained in the city, living here as a wealthy bachelor. "i did not attempt to abandon the woman, but went to her from time to time in disguise and under cover of the greatest secrecy. for a time everything ran smooth, the woman was still devoted to me above everything else, and thought always of my welfare first and seemed content to wait so long as i thought best. my business expanded. i was sought after and consulted and drawn into the higher life of new york, and more and more felt that the woman was an albatross on my neck. i put her off with one excuse after another. finally she began to suspect me and demanded that i should recognize her as my wife. i attempted to point out the difficulties. she met them all by saying that we should both go to spain, there i could marry her and we could return to america and drop into my place in society without causing more than a passing comment. "i concluded to meet the matter squarely once for all. i said that i would convert half of the property into money and give it to her, but that i would not marry her. she did not fly into a storming rage as i had expected, but went quietly out of the room and presently returned with two papers, which she read. one was the certificate of her marriage to walcott duly authenticated; the other was the dying statement of her father, the mexican gambler, and of samuel walcott, charging me with murder. it was in proper form and certified by the jesuit priest. "now," she said, sweetly, when she had finished, 'which do you prefer, to recognize your wife, or to turn all the property over to samuel walcott's widow and hang for his murder?' "i was dumbfounded and horrified. i saw the trap that i was in and i consented to do anything she should say if she would only destroy the papers. this she refused to do. i pleaded with her and implored her to destroy them. finally she gave them to me with a great show of returning confidence, and i tore them into bits and threw them into the fire. "that was three months ago. we arranged to go to spain and do as she said. she was to sail this morning and i was to follow. of course i never intended to go. i congratulated myself on the fact that all trace of evidence against me was destroyed and that her grip was now broken. my plan was to induce her to sail, believing that i would follow. when she was gone i would marry miss st. clair, and if nina san croix should return i would defy her and lock her up as a lunatic. but i was reckoning like an infernal ass, to imagine for a moment that i could thus hoodwink such a woman as nina san croix. "to-night i received this." walcott took the envelope from his pocket and gave it to mason. "you saw the effect of it; read it and you will understand why. i felt the death hand when i saw her writing on the envelope." mason took the paper from the envelope. it was written in spanish, and ran: "greeting to richard warren. "the great senor does his little nina injustice to think she would go away to spain and leave him to the beautiful american. she is not so thoughtless. before she goes, she shall be, oh so very rich! and the dear senor shall be, oh so very safe! the archbishop and the kind church hate murderers. "nina san croix. "of course, fool, the papers you destroyed were copies. "n. san c." to this was pinned a line in a delicate aristocratic hand, saying that the archbishop would willingly listen to madam san croix's statement if she would come to him on friday morning at eleven. "you see," said walcott, desperately, "there is no possible way out. i know the woman--when she decides to do a thing that is the end of it. she has decided to do this." mason turned around from the table, stretched out his long legs, and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. walcott sat with his head down, watching mason hopelessly, almost indifferently, his face blank and sunken. the ticking of the bronze clock on the mantel-shelf was loud, painfully loud. suddenly mason drew his knees in and bent over, put both his bony hands on the table, and looked at walcott. "sir," he said, "this matter is in such shape that there is only one thing to do. this growth must be cut out at the roots, and cut out quickly. this is the first fact to be determined, and a fool would know it. the second fact is that you must do it yourself. hired killers are like the grave and the daughters of the horse-leech,--they cry always, 'give, give,' they are only palliatives, not cures. by using them you swap perils. you simply take a stay of execution at best. the common criminal would know this. these are the facts of your problem. the master plotters of crime would see here but two difficulties to meet: "a practical method for accomplishing the body of the crime. "a cover for the criminal agent. "they would see no farther, and attempt to guard no farther. after they had provided a plan for the killing, and a means by which the killer could cover his trail and escape from the theatre of the homicide, they would believe all the requirements of the problems met, and would stop. the greatest, the very giants among them, have stopped here and have been in great error. "in every crime, especially in the great ones, there exists a third element, pre-eminently vital. this third element the master plotters have either overlooked or else have not had the genius to construct. they plan with rare cunning to baffle the victim. they plan with vast wisdom, almost genius, to baffle the trailer. but they fail utterly to provide any plan for baffling the punisher. ergo, their plots are fatally defective and often result in ruin. hence the vital necessity for providing the third element--the _escape ipso jure_." mason arose, walked around the table, and put his hand firmly on samuel walcott's shoulder. "this must be done to-morrow night," he continued; "you must arrange your business matters to-morrow and announce that you are going on a yacht cruise, by order of your physician, and may not return for some weeks. you must prepare your yacht for a voyage, instruct your men to touch at a certain point on staten island, and wait until six o'clock day after to-morrow morning. if you do not come aboard by that time, they are to go to one of the south american ports and remain until further orders. by this means your absence for an indefinite period will be explained. you will go to nina san croix in the disguise which you have always used, and from her to the yacht, and by this means step out of your real status and back into it without leaving traces. i will come here to-morrow evening and furnish you with everything that you shall need and give you full and exact instructions in every particular. these details you must execute with the greatest care, as they will be vitally essential to the success of my plan." through it all walcott had been silent and motionless. now he arose, and in his face there must have been some premonition of protest, for mason stepped back and put out his hand. "sir," he said, with brutal emphasis, "not a word. remember that you are only the hand, and the hand does not think." then he turned around abruptly and went out of the house. iii. the place which samuel walcott had selected for the residence of nina san croix was far up in the northern suburb of new york. the place was very old. the lawn was large and ill-kept; the house, a square old-fashioned brick, was set far back from the street, and partly hidden by trees. around it all was a rusty iron fence. the place had the air of genteel ruin, such as one finds in the virginias. on a thursday of november, about three o'clock in the afternoon, a little man, driving a dray, stopped in the alley at the rear of the house. as he opened the back gate an old negro woman came down the steps from the kitchen and demanded to know what he wanted. the drayman asked if the lady of the house was in. the old negro answered that she was asleep at this hour and could not be seen. "that is good," said the little man, "now there won't be any row. i brought up some cases of wine which she ordered from our house last week and which the boss told me to deliver at once, but i forgot it until to-day. just let me put it in the cellar now, auntie, and don't say a word to the lady about it and she won't ever know that it was not brought up on time." the drayman stopped, fished a silver dollar out of his pocket, and gave it to the old negro. "there now, auntie," he said, "my job depends upon the lady not knowing about this wine; keep it mum." "dat's all right, honey," said the old servant, beaming like a may morning. "de cellar door is open, carry it all in and put it in de back part and nobody aint never going to know how long it has been in 'dar." the old negro went back into the kitchen and the little man began to unload the dray. he carried in five wine cases and stowed them away in the back part of the cellar as the old woman had directed. then, after having satisfied himself that no one was watching, he took from the dray two heavy paper sacks, presumably filled with flour, and a little bundle wrapped in an old newspaper; these he carefully hid behind the wine cases in the cellar. after a while he closed the door, climbed on his dray, and drove off down the alley. about eight o'clock in the evening of the same day, a mexican sailor dodged in the front gate and slipped down to the side of the house. he stopped by the window and tapped on it with his finger. in a moment a woman opened the door. she was tall, lithe, and splendidly proportioned, with a dark spanish face and straight hair. the man stepped inside. the woman bolted the door and turned round. "ah," she said, smiling, "it is you, senor? how good of you." the man started. "whom else did you expect?" he said quickly. "oh!" laughed the woman, "perhaps the archbishop." "nina!" said the man, in a broken voice that expressed love, humility, and reproach. his face was white under the black sunburn. for a moment the woman wavered. a shadow flitted over her eyes, then she stepped back. "no," she said, "not yet." the man walked across to the fire, sank down in a chair, and covered his face with his hands. the woman stepped up noiselessly behind him and leaned over the chair. the man was either in great agony or else he was a superb actor, for the muscles of his neck twitched violently and his shoulders trembled. "oh," he muttered, as though echoing his thoughts, "i can't do it, i can't!" the woman caught the words and leaped up as though some one had struck her in the face. she threw back her head. her nostrils dilated and her eyes flashed. "you can't do it!" she cried. "then you do love her! you shall do it! do you hear me? you shall do it! you killed him! you got rid of him! but you shall not get rid of me. i have the evidence, all of it. the archbishop will have it to-morrow. they shall hang you! do you hear me? they shall hang you!" the woman's voice rose, it was loud and shrill. the man turned slowly round without looking up, and stretched out his arms toward the woman. she stopped and looked down at him. the fire glittered for a moment and then died out of her eyes, her bosom heaved and her lips began to tremble. with a cry she flung herself into his arms, caught him around the neck, and pressed his face up close against her cheek. "oh! dick, dick," she sobbed, "i do love you so! i can't live without you! not another hour dick! i do want you so much, so much, dick!" the man shifted his right arm quickly, slipped a great mexican knife out of his sleeve, and passed his fingers slowly up the woman's side until he felt the heart beat under his hand, then he raised the knife, gripped the handle tight, and drove the keen blade into the woman's bosom. the hot blood gushed out over his arm, and down on his leg. the body, warm and limp, slipped down in his arms. the man got up, pulled out the knife, and thrust it into a sheath at his belt, unbuttoned the dress, and slipped it off of the body. as he did this a bundle of papers dropped upon the floor; these he glanced at hastily and put into his pocket. then he took the dead woman up in his arms, went out into the hall, and started to go up the stairway. the body was relaxed and heavy, and for that reason difficult to carry. he doubled it up into an awful heap, with the knees against the chin, and walked slowly and heavily up the stairs and out into the bath-room. there he laid the corpse down on the tiled floor. then he opened the window, closed the shutters, and lighted the gas. the bath-room was small and contained an ordinary steel tub, porcelain-lined, standing near the window and raised about six inches above the floor. the sailor went over to the tub, pried up the metal rim of the outlet with his knife, removed it, and fitted into its place a porcelain disk which he took from his pocket; to this disk was attached a long platinum wire, the end of which he fastened on the outside of the tub. after he had done this he went back to the body, stripped off its clothing, put it down in the tub and began to dismember it with the great mexican knife. the blade was strong and sharp as a razor. the man worked rapidly and with the greatest care. when he had finally cut the body into as small pieces as possible, he replaced the knife in its sheath, washed his hands, and went out of the bath-room and down stairs to the lower hall. the sailor seemed perfectly familiar with the house. by a side door he passed into the cellar. there he lighted the gas, opened one of the wine cases, and, taking up all the bottles that he could conveniently carry, returned to the bath-room. there he poured the contents into the tub on the dismembered body, and then returned to the cellar with the empty bottles, which he replaced in the wine cases. this he continued to do until all the cases but one were emptied and the bath tub was more than half full of liquid. this liquid was sulphuric acid. when the sailor returned to the cellar with the last empty wine bottles, he opened the fifth case, which really contained wine, took some of it out, and poured a little into each of the empty bottles in order to remove any possible odor of the sulphuric acid. then he turned out the gas and brought up to the bath-room with him the two paper flour sacks and the little heavy bundle. these sacks were filled with nitrate of soda. he set them down by the door, opened the little bundle, and took out two long rubber tubes, each attached to a heavy gas burner, not unlike the ordinary burners of a small gas-stove. he fastened the tubes to two of the gas jets, put the burners under the tub, turned the gas on full, and lighted it. then he threw into the tub the woman's clothing and the papers which he had found on her body, after which he took up the two heavy sacks of nitrate of soda and dropped them carefully into the sulphuric acid. when he had done this he went quickly out of the bath-room and closed the door. the deadly acids at once attacked the body and began to destroy it; as the heat increased, the acids boiled and the destructive process was rapid and awful. from time to time the sailor opened the door of the bath-room cautiously, and, holding a wet towel over his mouth and nose, looked in at his horrible work. at the end of a few hours there was only a swimming mass in the tub. when the man looked at four o'clock, it was all a thick murky liquid. he turned off the gas quickly and stepped back out of the room. for perhaps half an hour he waited in the hall; finally, when the acids had cooled so that they no longer gave off fumes, he opened the door and went in, took hold of the platinum wire and, pulling the porcelain disk from the stop-cock, allowed the awful contents of the tub to run out. then he turned on the hot water, rinsed the tub clean, and replaced the metal outlet. removing the rubber tubes, he cut them into pieces, broke the porcelain disk, and, rolling up the platinum wire, washed it all down the sewer pipe. the fumes had escaped through the open window; this he now closed and set himself to putting the bath-room in order, and effectually removing every trace of his night's work. the sailor moved around with the very greatest degree of care. finally, when he had arranged everything to his complete satisfaction, he picked up the two burners, turned out the gas, and left the bath-room, closing the door after him. from the bath-room he went directly to the attic, concealed the two rusty burners under a heap of rubbish, and then walked carefully and noiselessly down the stairs and through the lower hall. as he opened the door and stepped into the room where he had killed the woman, two police-officers sprang out and seized him. the man screamed like a wild beast taken in a trap and sank down. "oh! oh!" he cried, "it was no use! it was no use to do it!" then he recovered himself in a manner and was silent. the officers handcuffed him, summoned the patrol, and took him at once to the station-house. there he said he was a mexican sailor and that his name was victor ancona; but he would say nothing further. the following morning he sent for randolph mason and the two were long together. iv. the obscure defendant charged with murder has little reason to complain of the law's delays. the morning following the arrest of victor ancona, the newspapers published long sensational articles, denounced him as a fiend, and convicted him. the grand jury, as it happened, was in session. the preliminaries were soon arranged and the case was railroaded into trial. the indictment contained a great many counts, and charged the prisoner with the murder of nina san croix by striking, stabbing, choking, poisoning, and so forth. the trial had continued for three days and had appeared so overwhelmingly one-sided that the spectators who were crowded in the court-room had grown to be violent and bitter partisans, to such an extent that the police watched them closely. the attorneys for the people were dramatic and denunciatory, and forced their case with arrogant confidence. mason, as counsel for the prisoner, was indifferent and listless. throughout the entire trial he had sat almost motionless at the table, his gaunt form bent over, his long legs drawn up under his chair, and his weary, heavy-muscled face, with its restless eyes, fixed and staring out over the heads of the jury, was like a tragic mask. the bar, and even the judge, believed that the prisoner's counsel had abandoned his case. the evidence was all in and the people rested. it had been shown that nina san croix had resided for many years in the house in which the prisoner was arrested; that she had lived by herself, with no other companion than an old negro servant; that her past was unknown, and that she received no visitors, save the mexican sailor, who came to her house at long intervals. nothing whatever was shown tending to explain who the prisoner was or whence he had come. it was shown that on tuesday preceding the killing the archbishop had received a communication from nina san croix, in which she said she desired to make a statement of the greatest import, and asking for an audience. to this the archbishop replied that he would willingly grant her a hearing if she would come to him at eleven o'clock on friday morning. two policemen testified that about eight o'clock on the night of thursday they had noticed the prisoner slip into the gate of nina san croix's residence and go down to the side of the house, where he was admitted; that his appearance and seeming haste had attracted their attention; that they had concluded that it was some clandestine amour, and out of curiosity had both slipped down to the house and endeavored to find a position from which they could see into the room, but were unable to do so, and were about to go back to the street when they heard a woman's voice cry out in great anger: "i know that you love her and that you want to get rid of me, but you shall not do it! you murdered him, but you shall not murder me! i have all the evidence to convict you of murdering him! the archbishop will have it to-morrow! they shall hang you! do you hear me? they shall hang you for his murder!" that thereupon one of the policemen proposed that they should break into the house and see what was wrong, but the other had urged that it was only the usual lovers' quarrel and if they should interfere they would find nothing upon which a charge could be based and would only be laughed at by the chief; that they had waited and listened for a time, but hearing nothing further had gone back to the street and contented themselves with keeping a strict watch on the house. the people proved further, that on thursday evening nina san croix had given the old negro domestic a sum of money and dismissed her, with the instruction that she was not to return until sent for. the old woman testified that she had gone directly to the house of her son, and later had discovered that she had forgotten some articles of clothing which she needed; that thereupon she had returned to the house and had gone up the back way to her room,--this was about eight o'clock; that while there she had heard nina san croix's voice in great passion and remembered that she had used the words stated by the policemen; that these sudden, violent cries had frightened her greatly and she had bolted the door and been afraid to leave the room; shortly thereafter, she had heard heavy footsteps ascending the stairs, slowly and with great difficulty, as though some one were carrying a heavy burden; that therefore her fear had increased and that she had put out the light and hidden under the bed. she remembered hearing the footsteps moving about up-stairs for many hours, how long she could not tell finally, about half-past four in the morning, she crept out, opened the door, slipped down stairs, and ran out into the street. there she had found the policemen and requested them to search the house. the two officers had gone to the house with the woman. she had opened the door and they had had just time to step back into the shadow when the prisoner entered. when arrested, victor ancona had screamed with terror, and cried out, "it was no use! it was no use to do it!" the chief of police had come to the house and instituted a careful search. in the room below, from which the cries had come, he found a dress which was identified as belonging to nina san croix and which she was wearing when last seen by the domestic, about six o'clock that evening. this dress was covered with blood, and had a slit about two inches long in the left side of the bosom, into which the mexican knife, found on the prisoner, fitted perfectly. these articles were introduced in evidence, and it was shown that the slit would be exactly over the heart of the wearer, and that such a wound would certainly result in death. there was much blood on one of the chairs and on the floor. there was also blood on the prisoner's coat and the leg of his trousers, and the heavy mexican knife was also bloody. the blood was shown by the experts to be human blood. the body of the woman was not found, and the most rigid and tireless search failed to develop the slightest trace of the corpse, or the manner of its disposal. the body of the woman had disappeared as completely as though it had vanished into the air. when counsel announced that he had closed for the people, the judge turned and looked gravely down at mason. "sir," he said, "the evidence for the defence may now be introduced." randolph mason arose slowly and faced the judge. "if your honor please," he said, speaking slowly and distinctly, "the defendant has no evidence to offer." he paused while a murmur of astonishment ran over the court-room. "but, if your honor please," he continued, "i move that the jury be directed to find the prisoner not guilty." the crowd stirred. the counsel for the people smiled. the judge looked sharply at the speaker over his glasses. "on what ground?" he said curtly. "on the ground," replied mason, "that the _corpus delicti_ has not been proven." "ah!" said the judge, for once losing his judicial gravity. mason sat down abruptly. the senior counsel for the prosecution was on his feet in a moment. "what!" he said, "the gentleman bases his motion on a failure to establish the _corpus delicti?_ does he jest, or has he forgotten the evidence? the term '_corpus delicti_' is technical, and means the body of the crime, or the substantial fact that a crime has been committed. does any one doubt it in this case? it is true that no one actually saw the prisoner kill the decedent, and that he has so sucessfully hidden the body that it has not been found, but the powerful chain of circumstances, clear and close-linked, proving motive, the criminal agency, and the criminal act, is overwhelming. "the victim in this case is on the eve of making a statement that would prove fatal to the prisoner. the night before the statement is to be made he goes to her residence. they quarrel. her voice is heard, raised high in the greatest passion, denouncing him, and charging that he is a murderer, that she has the evidence and will reveal it, that he shall be hanged, and that he shall not be rid of her. here is the motive for the crime, clear as light. are not the bloody knife, the bloody dress, the bloody clothes of the prisoner, unimpeachable witnesses to the criminal act? the criminal agency of the prisoner has not the shadow of a possibility to obscure it. his motive is gigantic. the blood on him, and his despair when arrested, cry 'murder! murder!' with a thousand tongues. "men may lie, but circumstances cannot. the thousand hopes and fears and passions of men may delude, or bias the witness. yet it is beyond the human mind to conceive that a clear, complete chain of concatenated circumstances can be in error. hence it is that the greatest jurists have declared that such evidence, being rarely liable to delusion or fraud, is safest and most powerful. the machinery of human justice cannot guard against the remote and improbable doubt. the inference is persistent in the affairs of men. it is the only means by which the human mind reaches the truth. if you forbid the jury to exercise it, you bid them work after first striking off their hands. rule out the irresistible inference, and the end of justice is come in this land; and you may as well leave the spider to weave his web through the abandoned courtroom." the attorney stopped, looked down at mason with a pompous sneer, and retired to his place at the table. the judge sat thoughtful and motionless. the jurymen leaned forward in their seats. "if your honor please," said mason, rising, "this is a matter of law, plain, clear, and so well settled in the state of new york that even counsel for the people should know it. the question before your honor is simple. if the _corpus delicti,_ the body of the crime, has been proven, as required by the laws of the commonwealth, then this case should go to the jury. if not, then it is the duty of this court to direct the jury to find the prisoner not guilty. there is here no room for judicial discretion. your honor has but to recall and apply the rigid rule announced by our courts prescribing distinctly how the _corpus delicti_ in murder must be proven. "the prisoner here stands charged with the highest crime. the law demands, first, that the crime, as a fact, be established. the fact that the victim is indeed dead must first be made certain before any one can be convicted for her killing, because, so long as there remains the remotest doubt as to the death, there can be no certainty as to the criminal agent, although the circumstantial evidence indicating the guilt of the accused may be positive, complete, and utterly irresistible. in murder, the _corpus delicti_, or body of the crime, is composed of two elements: "death, as a result. "the criminal agency of another as the means. "it is the fixed and immutable law of this state, laid down in the leading case of ruloff v. the people, and binding upon this court, that both components of the _corpus delicti_ shall not be established by circumstantial evidence. there must be direct proof of one or the other of these two component elements of the _corpus delicti_. if one is proven by direct evidence, the other may be presumed; but both shall not be presumed from circumstances, no matter how powerful, how cogent, or how completely overwhelming the circumstances may be. in other words, no man can be convicted of murder in the state of new york, unless the body of the victim be found and identified, or there be direct proof that the prisoner did some act adequate to produce death, and did it in such a manner as to account for the disappearance of the body." the face of the judge cleared and grew hard. the members of the bar were attentive and alert; they were beginning to see the legal escape open up. the audience were puzzled; they did not yet understand. mason turned to the counsel for the people. his ugly face was bitter with contempt. "for three days," he said, "i have been tortured by this useless and expensive farce. if counsel for the people had been other than playactors, they would have known in the beginning that victor ancona could not be convicted for murder, unless he were confronted in this courtroom with a living witness, who had looked into the dead face of nina san croix; or, if not that, a living witness who had seen him drive the dagger into her bosom. "i care not if the circumstantial evidence in this case were so strong and irresistible as to be overpowering; if the judge on the bench, if the jury, if every man within sound of my voice, were convinced of the guilt of the prisoner to the degree of certainty that is absolute; if the circumstantial evidence left in the mind no shadow of the remotest improbable doubt; yet, in the absence of the eye-witness, this prisoner cannot be punished, and this court must compel the jury to acquit him." the audience now understood, and they were dumbfounded. surely this was not the law. they had been taught that the law was common sense, and this,--this was anything else. mason saw it all, and grinned. "in its tenderness," he sneered, "the law shields the innocent. the good law of new york reaches out its hand and lifts the prisoner out of the clutches of the fierce jury that would hang him." mason sat down. the room was silent. the jurymen looked at each other in amazement. the counsel for the people arose. his face was white with anger, and incredulous. "your honor," he said, "this doctrine is monstrous. can it be said that, in order to evade punishment, the murderer has only to hide or destroy the body of the victim, or sink it into the sea? then, if he is not seen to kill, the law is powerless and the murderer can snap his finger in the face of retributive justice. if this is the law, then the law for the highest crime is a dead letter. the great commonwealth winks at murder and invites every man to kill his enemy, provided he kill him in secret and hide him. i repeat, your honor,"--the man's voice was now loud and angry and rang through the court-room--"that this doctrine is monstrous!" "so said best, and story, and many another," muttered mason, "and the law remained." "the court," said the judge, abruptly, "desires no further argument." the counsel for the people resumed his seat. his face lighted up with triumph. the court was going to sustain him. the judge turned and looked down at the jury. he was grave, and spoke with deliberate emphasis. "gentlemen of the jury," he said, "the rule of lord hale obtains in this state and is binding upon me. it is the law as stated by counsel for the prisoner: that to warrant conviction of murder there must be direct proof either of the death, as of the finding and identification of the corpse, or of criminal violence adequate to produce death, and exerted in such a manner as to account for the disappearance of the body; and it is only when there is direct proof of the one that the other can be established by circumstantial evidence. this is the law, and cannot now be departed from. i do not presume to explain its wisdom. chief-justice johnson has observed, in the leading case, that it may have its probable foundation in the idea that where direct proof is absent as to both the fact of the death and of criminal violence capable of producing death, no evidence can rise to the degree of moral certainty that the individual is dead by criminal intervention, or even lead by direct inference to this result; and that, where the fact of death is not certainly ascertained, all inculpatory circumstantial evidence wants the key necessary for its satisfactory interpretation, and cannot be depended on to furnish more than probable results. it may be, also, that such a rule has some reference to the dangerous possibility that a general preconception of guilt, or a general excitement of popular feeling, may creep in to supply the place of evidence, if, upon other than direct proof of death or a cause of death, a jury are permitted to pronounce a prisoner guilty. "in this case the body has not been found and there is no direct proof of criminal agency on the part of the prisoner, although the chain of circumstantial evidence is complete and irresistible in the highest degree. nevertheless, it is all circumstantial evidence, and under the laws of new york the prisoner cannot be punished. i have no right of discretion. the law does not permit a conviction in this case, although every one of us may be morally certain of the prisoner's guilt. i am, therefore, gentlemen of the jury, compelled to direct you to find the prisoner not guilty." "judge," interrupted the foreman, jumping up in the box, "we cannot find that verdict under our oath; we know that this man is guilty." "sir," said the judge, "this is a matter of law in which the wishes of the jury cannot be considered. the clerk will write a verdict of not guilty, which you, as foreman, will sign." the spectators broke out into a threatening murmur that began to grow and gather volume. the judge rapped on his desk and ordered the bailiffs promptly to suppress any demonstration on the part of the audience. then he directed the foreman to sign the verdict prepared by the clerk, when this was done he turned to victor ancona; his face was hard and there was a cold glitter in his eyes. "prisoner at the bar," he said, "you have been put to trial before this tribunal on a charge of cold-blooded and atrocious murder. the evidence produced against you was of such powerful and overwhelming character that it seems to have left no doubt in the minds of the jury, nor indeed in the mind of any person present in this court-room. "had the question of your guilt been submitted to these twelve arbiters, a conviction would certainly have resulted and the death penalty would have been imposed. but the law, rigid, passionless, even-eyed, has thrust in between you and the wrath of your fellows and saved you from it i do not cry out against the impotency of the law; it is perhaps as wise as imperfect humanity could make it. i deplore, rather, the genius of evil men who, by cunning design, are enabled to slip through the fingers of this law. i have no word of censure or admonition for you, victor ancona. the law of new york compels me to acquit you. i am only its mouthpiece, with my individual wishes throttled. i speak only those things which the law directs i shall speak. "you are now at liberty to leave this court-room, not guiltless of the crime of murder, perhaps, but at least rid of its punishment. the eyes of men may see cain's mark on your brow, but the eyes of the law are blind to it." when the audience fully realized what the judge had said they were amazed and silent. they knew as well as men could know, that victor ancona was guilty of murder, and yet he was now going out of the court-room free. could it happen that the law protected only against the blundering rogue? they had heard always of the boasted completeness of the law which magistrates from time immemorial had labored to perfect, and now when the skilful villain sought to evade it, they saw how weak a thing it was. v. the wedding march of lohengrin floated out from the episcopal church of st. mark, clear and sweet, and perhaps heavy with its paradox of warning. the theatre of this coming contract before high heaven was a wilderness of roses worth the taxes of a county. the high caste of manhattan, by the grace of the check-book, were present, clothed in parisian purple and fine linen, cunningly and marvellously wrought. over in her private pew, ablaze with jewels, and decked with fabrics from the deft hand of many a weaver, sat mrs. miriam steuvisant as imperious and self-complacent as a queen. to her it was all a kind of triumphal procession, proclaiming her ability as a general. with her were a choice few of the _genus homo_ which obtains at the five-o'clock teas, instituted, say the sages, for the purpose of sprinkling the holy water of lethe. "czarina," whispered reggie du puyster, leaning forward, "i salute you. the ceremony _sub jugum_ is superb." "walcott is an excellent fellow," answered mrs. steuvisant; "not a vice, you know, reggie." "aye, empress," put in the others, "a purist taken in the net. the clean-skirted one has come to the altar. vive la vertu!" samuel walcott, still sunburned from his cruise, stood before the chancel with the only daughter of the blue-blooded st. clairs. his face was clear and honest and his voice firm. this was life and not romance. the lid of the sepulchre had closed and he had slipped from under it. and now, and ever after, the hand red with murder was clean as any. the minister raised his voice, proclaiming the holy union before god, and this twain, half pure, half foul, now by divine ordinance one flesh, bowed down before it. no blood cried from the ground. the sunlight of high noon streamed down through the window panes like a benediction. back in the pew of mrs. miriam steuvisant, reggie du puyster turned down his thumb. "habet!" he said. ii--two plungers of manhattan i. for my part, sidney," said the dark man, "i don't agree with your faith in providence at all. for the last ten years it has kept too far afield of our house in every matter of importance. it has never once shown its face to us except for the purpose of interposing some fatal wrecker just at the critical moment. don't you remember how it helped barton woodlas rob our father in that shoe trust at lynn? and you will recall the railroad venture of our own. did not the cursed thing go into the hands of a receiver the very moment we had gotten the stock cornered? and look at the oil deal. did not the tools stick in both test wells within fifty feet of the sand, and all the saints could not remove them? i tell you i have no faith in it. the same thing is going to happen again." "there is some truth in your rant, brother," replied the light man, "but i cling to my superstition. we have a cool million in this thing, a cool million. if we can only break the chicago corner the market is bound to turn. the thing is below the cost of production now, and this western combine is already groggy. ten thousand would break its backbone, and leave us in a position to force the market up to the ceiling." "but how in heaven's name, sidney, are we going to get the other five thousand? to-day at ten i put up everything that could be scraped together, begged, or borrowed, and out of it all we have scarcely five thousand dollars. for any good that amount will do we might as well have none at all. we know that this combine would in all probability weather a plunge of five thousand, while a bold plunge of ten thousand would rout it as certainly as there is a sun in heaven, but we only have half enough money and no means of getting another dollar. if there were ten millions in it the case would be the same. the jig is up." "i don't think so, gordon. i don't give it up. we must raise the money." "raise the money!" put in the other, bitterly; "as well talk of raising the soul of samuel. did n't i say that i had raised the last money that human ingenuity could raise; that there was not another shining thing left on earth to either of us, but our beauty?--and it would take genius to raise money on that, sidney, gigantic genius." he stopped, and looked at his brother. the brother poured his soda into the brandy, and said simply, "we must find it." "you find it," said gordon montcure, getting up, and walking backward and forward across the room. for full ten minutes sidney montcure studied the bottom of his glass. then he looked up, and said, "brother, do you remember the little bald-headed man who stopped us on the steps of the stock exchange last week?" "yes; you mean the old ghost with the thin, melancholy face?" "the same. you remember he said that if we were ever in a desperate financial position we should come to the office building on the wall street corner and inquire for randolph mason, and that mason would show us a way out of the difficulty; but that under no circumstances were we to say how we happened to come to him, except that we had heard of his ability." "i recall the queer old chap well," said the other. "he seemed too clean and serious for a fakir, but i suppose that is what he was; unless he is wrong in the head, which is more probable." "do you know, brother," said sidney montcure, thrusting his hands into his pockets, "i have been thinking of him, and i have a great mind to go down there in the morning just for a flyer. if there is any such man as randolph mason, he is not a fakir, because i know the building, and he could not secure an office in any such prominent place unless he was substantial." "that is true, although i am convinced that you will find randolph mason a myth." "at any rate, we have nothing to lose, brother; there may be something in it. will you go with me to-morrow morning?" the dark man nodded assent, and proceeded to add his autograph to the club's collection, as evidenced by its wine ticket. gordon and sidney montcure were high-caste club men of the new york type, brokers and plungers until three p.m., immaculate gentlemen thereafter. both were shrewd men of the world. and as they left the ephmere club that night, that same club and divers shop-men of various guilds had heavy equitable interests in the success of their plans. shortly after ten the following morning, the two brothers entered the great building in which randolph mason was supposed to have his office. there, on the marble-slab directory, was indeed the name; but it bore no indication of his business, and simply informed the stranger that he was to be found on the second floor front. the two men stepped into the elevator, and asked the boy to show them to mr. mason's office. the boy put them off on the second floor, and directed them to enquire at the third door to the left. they found here a frosted glass door with "randolph mason, counsellor," on an ancient silver strip fastened to the middle panel. sidney montcure opened the door, and the two entered. the office room into which they came was large and scrupulously clean. the walls were literally covered with maps of every description. two rows of mammoth closed bookcases extended across the room, and there were numerous file cases of the most improved pattern. at a big flat-topped table, literally heaped with letters, sat their friend, the little bald, melancholy man, writing as though his very life and soul were at stake. "we desire to speak with mr. mason, sir," said sidney montcure, addressing the little man. the man arose, and went into the adjoining room. in a moment he returned and announced that mr. mason would see the gentlemen at once in his private office. they found the private office of randolph mason to be in appearance much like the private office of a corporation attorney. the walls were lined with closed bookcases, and there were piles of plats and blue prints and bundles of papers scattered over a round-topped mahogany table. randolph mason turned round in his chair as the men entered. "be seated, gentlemen," he said, removing his eye-glasses. "in what manner can i be of service?" his articulation was metallic and precise. "we have had occasion to hear of your ability, mr. mason," said gordon montcure, "and we have called to lay our difficulty before you, in the hope that you may be able to suggest some remedy. it may be that our dilemma is beyond the scope of your vocation, as it is not a legal matter." "let me hear the difficulty," said mason, bluntly. "we are in a most unfortunate and critical position," said gordon montcure. "my brother and myself are members of the board of trade, and, in defiance of the usual rule, occasionally speculate for ourselves. after making elaborate and careful investigation, we concluded that the wheat market had reached bottom and was on the verge of a strong and unusual advance. we based this conclusion on two safe indications: the failure in production of the other staples, and the fact that the price of wheat was slightly below the bare cost of production. this status of the market we believed could not remain, and on monday last we bought heavily on a slight margin. the market continued to fall. we covered our margins, and plunged, in order to bull the market. to our surprise the decline continued; we gathered all our ready money, and plunged again. the market wavered, but continued to decline slowly. then it developed that there was a chicago combine against us. we at once set about ascertaining the exact financial status of this combine, and discovered that it was now very weak, and that a bold plunge of ten thousand dollars would rout it. but unfortunately all our ready money was now gone. after exhausting every security and resorting to every imaginable means we have only five thousand dollars in all. this sum is utterly useless under the circumstances, for we know well that the combine would hold out against a plunge of this dimension and we would simply lose everything, while a bold, sudden plunge of ten thousand would certainly break the market and make us a vast fortune. of course, no sane man will lend us money under circumstances of this kind, and it is not possible for us to raise another dollar on earth." the speaker leaned back in his chair, like a man who has stated what he knows to be a hopeless case. "we are consuming your time unnecessarily," he added; "our case is, of course, remediless." mason did not at once reply. he turned round in his chair and looked out of the open window. the two brothers observed him more closely. they noticed that his clothing was evidently of the best, that he was scrupulously neat and clean, and wore no ornament of any kind. even the eyeglasses were attached to a black silk guard, and had a severely plain steel spring. "have you a middle name, sir?" he said, turning suddenly to sidney montcure. "yes," replied the man addressed, "van guilder; i am named for my grandfather." "an old and wealthy family of this city, and well known in new england," said mason; "that is fortunate." then he bent forward and looking straight into the eyes of his clients said: "gentlemen, if you are ready to do exactly what i direct, you will have five thousand dollars by to-morrow night. is that enough?" "ample," replied gordon montcure; "and we are ready to follow your instructions to the letter in any matter that is not criminal." "the transaction will be safely beyond the criminal statutes," said mason, "although it is close to the border line of the law." "'beyond, is as good as a mile," said gordon montcure; "let us hear your plan." "it is this," said mason. "down at lynn, massachusetts, there is a certain retired shoe manufacturer of vast wealth, accumulated by questionable transactions. he is now passing into the sixties, and, like every man of his position, is restless and unsatisfied. five years ago he concluded to build a magnificent residence in the suburbs of lynn. he spared nothing to make the place palatial in every respect. the work has been completed within the past summer. the grounds are superb, and the place is indeed princely. as long as the palace was in process of building, the old gentleman was interested and delighted; but no sooner was it finished than, like all men of his type, he was at once dissatisfied. he now thinks that he would like to travel on the continent, but he has constructed a frankenstein monster, which he imagines requires his personal care. he will not trust it to an agent, he does not dare to rent it, and he can find no purchaser for such a palace in such a little city. the mere fact that he cannot do exactly as he pleases is a source of huge vexation to such a man as old barton woodlas, of the shoe trust." the two montcures apparently gave no visible evidence of their mighty surprise and interest at the mention of the man who had robbed their father, yet mason evidently saw something in the tail of their eyes, for he smiled with the lower half of his face, and continued: "you, sir," he said, speaking directly to sidney montcure, "must go to lynn and buy this house in the morning." "buy the house!" answered the man, bitterly, "your irony approaches the sublime; we have only five thousand dollars and no security. how could we buy a house?" "i am meeting the difficulties, if you please, sir," said mason, "and not yourself. at ten tomorrow you must be at lynn. at two p.m. you will call upon barton woodlas, giving your name as sidney van guilder, from new york. he knows that family, and will at once presume your wealth. you will say to him that you desire to purchase a country place for your grandfather, and heard of his residence. the old gentleman will at once jump at this chance for a wealthy purchaser, and drive you out to his grounds. you will criticise somewhat and make some objections, but will finally conclude to purchase, if satisfactory terms can be made. here you will find barton woodlas a shrewd business dealer, and you must follow my instructions to the very letter. he will finally agree to take about fifty thousand dollars. you will make the purchase proposing to pay down five thousand cash, and give a mortgage on the property for the residue of the purchase money, making short-time notes. five thousand in hand and a mortgage will of course be safe, and the old gentleman will take it. you demand immediate possession, and as he is not residing in the house you will get it. go with him at once to his attorney, pay the money, have the papers signed and recorded, and be in full possession of the property by four o'clock in the afternoon." mason stopped abruptly and turned to gordon montcure. "sir," he said curtly, "i must ask you to step into the other office and remain until i have finished my instructions to your brother. i have found it best to explain to each individual that part of the transaction which he is expected to perform. suggestions made in the presence of a third party invariably lead to disaster." gordon montcure went into the outer room and sat down. he was impressed by this strange interview with mason. here was certainly one of the most powerful and mysterious men he had ever met,--one whom he could not understand, who was a mighty enigma. but the man was so clear and positive that montcure concluded to do exactly as he said. after all, the money they were risking was utterly worthless as matters now stood. in a few moments sidney montcure came out of the private office and took a cab for the depot, leaving his brother in private interview with randolph mason. ii. the following afternoon, gordon montcure stepped from the train at lynn. an hour before, _en route_, he had received a telegram from mason saying that the deal had been made and that his brother was in possession of the property, and authorizing him to proceed according to instructions. he was a man of business methods and began at once to play his part. calling a carriage, he went to the court-house and ascertained that the deed had been properly recorded. then he drove to the hotel of barton woodlas and demanded to see that gentleman at once. he was shown into a private parlor and in a few minutes the shoe capitalist came down. he was a short, nervous, fat man with a pompous strut. "mr. woodlas, i presume," said gordon mont-cure. "the same, sir," was the answer; "to what am i indebted for this honor?" "to be brief," replied montcure, "i am looking for one sidney van guilder. i am informed that he was to-day with you in this city. can you tell me where i can see him?" "why, yes," said the old gentleman, anxiously; "i suppose he is out at the residence i to-day sold him for his grandfather. is there anything wrong?" "what?" cried montcure, starting up, "you sold him a residence to-day? curse the luck! i am too late. he is evidently into his old tricks." "old tricks," said the little fat man, growing pale, "what in heaven's name is wrong with him? speak out, man; speak out!" "to come at once to the point," said gordon montcure, "mr. van guilder is just a little offcolor. he is shrewd and all right in every way except for this one peculiarity. he seems to have an insane desire to purchase fine buildings and convert them into homes for his horses. he has attempted to change several houses on fifth avenue into palatial stables, and has only been prevented by the city authorities. in all human probability the house you have sold him will be full of stalls by morning." "my house full of stalls!" yelled the little fat man, "my house that i have spent so much money on, and my beautiful grounds a barn-yard! never! never! come on, sir, come on, we must go there at once!" and barton woodlas waddled out of the room as fast as his short legs could carry him. gordon montcure followed, smiling. both men climbed into montcure's carriage and hurried out to the suburban residence. the grounds were indeed magnificent, and the house a palace. as they drove in, they noticed several italian laborers digging a trench across the lawn. barton woodlas tumbled out of the carriage and bolted into the house, followed by montcure. here they found a scene of the greatest confusion. the house was filled with grimy workmen. they were taking off the doors and shutters, and removing the stairway, and hammering in different portions of the house until the noise was like bedlam. sidney van guilder stood in the drawing-room, with his coat off, directing his workmen. his clothing was disarranged and dusty but he was apparently enthusiastic and happy. "stop, sir! stop!" cried barton woodlas, waving his arms and rushing into the room. "put these dirty workmen out of here and stop this vandalism at once! at once!" sidney van guilder turned round smiling. "ah," he said, "is it you, mr. woodlas? i am getting on swimmingly you see. this will make a magnificent stable. i can put my horses on both floors, but i will be compelled to cut the inside all out, and make great changes. it is a pity that you built your rooms so big." for a moment the little man was speechless with rage; then he danced up and down and yelled: "oh, you crazy fool! you crazy fool! you are destroying my house! it won't be worth a dollar!" "i beg your pardon," said van guilder, coldly, "this is my house and i shall do with it as i like. i have bought it and i shall make a home for my horses of it by morning. it cannot possibly be any business of yours." "no business of mine!" shouted woodlas, "what security have i but the mortgage? and if you go on with this cursed gutting the mortgage won't be worth a dollar. oh, my beautiful house! my beautiful house! it is awful, awful! come on, sir," he yelled to gordon montcure, "i will find a way to stop the blooming idiot!" with that he rushed out of the house and rolled into the carriage, gordon montcure following. together the two men were driven furiously to the office of vinson harcout, counsellor for the shoe trust. that usually placid and unexcitable gentleman turned round in astonishment as the two men bolted into his private office. woodlas dropped into a chair and, between curses and puffs of exhaustion, began to describe his trouble. when the lawyer had finally succeeded in drawing from the irate old man a full understanding of the matter, he leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "well," he said, "this is an unfortunate state of affairs, but there is really no legal remedy for it. the title to the property is in mr. van guilder. he is in possession by due and proper process of law, and he can do as he pleases, even to the extent of destroying the property utterly. if he chooses to convert his residence into a stable, he certainly commits no crime and simply exercises a right which is legally his own. it is true that you have such equitable interest in the property that you might be able to stop him by injunction proceedings--we will try that at any rate." the attorney stopped and turned to his stenographer. "william," he said, "ask the clerk if judge henderson is in the court-room." the young man went to the telephone and returned in a moment. "judge henderson is not in the city, sir," he said. "the clerk answers that he went to boston early in the day to meet with some judicial committee from new york and will not return until to-morrow." the lawyer's face lengthened. "well," he said, "that is the end of it. we could not possibly reach him in time to prevent mr. van guilder from carrying out his intentions." gordon montcure smiled grimly. mason had promised to inveigle away the resident judge by means of a bogus telegram, and he had done so. "oh!" wailed the little fat man, "is there no law to keep me from being ruined? can't i have him arrested, sir?" "unfortunately, no," replied the lawyer. "he is committing no crime, he is simply doing what he has a full legal right to do if he so chooses, and neither you nor any other man can interfere with him. if you attempt it, you at once become a violator of the law and proceed at your peril. you are the victim of a grave wrong, mr. woodlas. your security is being destroyed and great loss may possibly result. yet there is absolutely no remedy except the possible injunction, which, in the absence of the judge, is no remedy at all. it is an exasperating and unfortunate position for you, but, as i said, there is nothing to be done." the face of barton woodlas grew white and his jaw dropped. "gone!" he muttered, "all gone, five thousand dollars and a stable as security for forty thousand! it is ruin, ruin!" "i am indeed sorry," said the cold-blooded attorney, with a feeling of pity that was unusual, "but there is no remedy, unless perhaps you could repurchase the property before it is injured." "ah," said the little fat man, straightening up in his chair, "i had not thought of that. i will do it. come on, both of you," and he hurried to the carriage without waiting for an answer. at the residence in question the three men found matters as barton woodlas had last seen them, except that the trench across the lawn was now half completed and the doors and shutters had all been removed from the house and piled up on the veranda. sidney van guilder laughed at their proposition to repurchase. he assured them that he had long been looking for just this kind of property, that it suited him perfectly, and that he would not think of parting with it. the attorney for wood-las offered two thousand dollars' advance; then three, then four, but sidney van guilder was immovable. finally gordon montcure suggested that perhaps the city would not allow his stable to remain after he had completed it, and advised him to name some price for the property. van guilder seemed to consider this possibility with some seriousness. he had presumably had this trouble in new york city, and finally said that he would take ten thousand dollars for his bargain. old barton woodlas fumed and cursed and ground his teeth, and damned every citizen of the state of new york from the coast to the lakes for a thief, a villain, and a robber. finally, when the italians began to cut through the wall of the drawing-room and the fat old gentleman's grief and rage were fast approaching apoplexy, the lawyer raised his offer to seven thousand dollars cash, and sidney van guilder reluctantly accepted it and dismissed his workmen. the four went at once to the law office of vinson harcout, where the mortgage and notes were cancelled, the money paid, and the deed prepared, reconveying the property and giving barton woodlas immediate possession. iii. at nine-thirty the following morning, the two brothers walked into the private office of randolph mason and laid down seven thousand dollars on his desk. mason counted out two thousand and thrust it into his pocket. "gentlemen," he said shortly, "here is the five thousand dollars which i promised. i commend you for following my instructions strictly." "we have obeyed you to the very letter," said gordon montcure, handing the money to his brother, "except in one particular." "what!" cried mason, turning upon him, "you dared to change my plans?" "no," said gordon montcure, stepping back, "only the fool lawyer suggested the repurchase before i could do it." "ah," said randolph mason, sinking back into his chair, "a trifling detail. i bid you goodmorning." iii--woodford's partner _[see clark's criminal law, p. , or any good text-book for the general principles of law herein concerned. see especially state vs. reddick, northwestern reporter, , and the long list of cases there cited, on the proposition that the taking of partnership funds by one of the general partners, even with felonious intent, constitutes no crime. also, gary vs. northwestern masonic aid association, northwestern reporter, .]_ i. after some thirty years, one begins to appreciate in a slight degree the mystery of things in counter-distinction to the mystery of men. he learns with dumb horror that startling and unforeseen events break into the shrewdest plans and dash them to pieces utterly, or with grim malice wrench them into engines of destruction, as though some mighty hand reached out from the darkness and shattered the sculptor's marble, or caught the chisel in his fingers and drove it back into his heart. as one grows older, he seeks to avoid, as far as may be, the effect of these unforeseen interpositions, by carrying in his plans a factor of safety, and, as what he is pleased to call his "worldly wisdom" grows, he increases this factor until it is a large constant running through all his equations dealing with probabilities of the future. whether in the end it has availed anything, is still, after six thousand years, a mooted question. nevertheless, it is the manner of men to calculate closely in their youth, disregarding the factor of safety, and ignoring utterly the element of chance, fortune, ar providence, as it may please men to name this infinite meddling intelligence. whether this arises from ignorance or some natural unconscious conviction that it is useless to strive against it, the race has so far been unable to determine. that it is useless to, the weight of authorities would seem to indicate, while, on the other hand, the fact that men are amazed and dumbfounded when they first realize the gigantic part played by this mysterious power in all human affairs, and immediately thereafter plan to evade it, would tend to the conviction that there might be some means by which these startling accidents could be guarded against, or at least their effect counteracted. the laws, if in truth there be any, by which these so-called fortunes and misfortunes come to men, are as yet undetermined, except that they arise from the quarter of the unexpected, and by means oftentimes of the commonplace. on a certain friday evening in july, carper harris, confidential clerk of the great wholesale house of beaumont, milton, & company of baltimore, was suddenly prostrated under the horror of this great truth. for the first time in his life fate had turned about and struck him, and the blow had been delivered with all her strength. up to this time he had been an exceedingly fortunate man. to begin with, he had been born of a good family, although, at the time of his father's death, reduced in circumstances. while quite a small boy, he had been taken in as clerk through the influence of mr. milton, who had been a friend of his father. the good blood in the young man had told from the start. he had shown himself capable and unusually shrewd in business matters, and had risen rapidly to the position of chief confidential clerk. in this position he was intrusted with the most important matters of the firm, and was familiar with all its business relations. his abilities had expanded with the increasing duties of his successive positions. he had done the firm much service, and had shown himself to be a most valuable and trustworthy man. but, with it all, the eyes of old silas beaumont had followed his every act, in season and out of season, tirelessly. it was a favorite theory of old beaumont, that the great knave was usually the man of irreproachable habits, and necessarily the man of powerful and unusual abilities, and that, instead of resorting to ordinary vices or slight acts of rascality, he was wont to bide his time until his reputation gained him opportunity for some gigantic act of dishonesty, whereby he could make a vast sum at one stroke. old beaumont was accustomed to cite two scriptural passages as the basis of his theory, one being that oft-quoted remark of david in his haste, and the other explanatory of what the lord saw when he repented that he had made man on the earth. like all those of his type, when this theory had once become fixed with him, he sought on all occasions for instances by which to demonstrate its truthfulness. thus it happened that the honesty and industry of young harris were the very grounds upon which beaumont based his suspicions and his acts of vigilance. when it was proposed that carper harris should go to europe in order to buy certain grades of pottery which the firm imported, beaumont grumbled and intimated that it was taking a large risk to intrust money to him. he said the sum was greater than the young man had been accustomed to handle, that big amounts of cash were dangerous baits, and then he switched over to his theory and hinted that just this kind of opportunity would be the one which a man would seize for his master act of dishonesty. the other members of the firm ridiculed the idea, and arranged the matter over silas beaumont's protest. thus it happened that about seven o'clock on the eventful friday, carper harris left baltimore for new york. he carried a small hand-bag containing twenty thousand dollars, with which he was to buy foreign exchange. arriving at the depot he had checked his luggage and had gone into the chair-car with only his overcoat and the little hand-bag. he laid his overcoat across the back of the seat and set the little satchel down in the seat beside him. he had been particularly careful that the money should be constantly guarded, and for that reason he had attempted to keep his hand on the handle of the bag during the entire trip, although he was convinced that there was no danger or risk of any consequence, for the reason that no one would suspect that the satchel contained cash. when he arrived in new york he had gone directly to his hotel and asked to be shown up to his room. it was his intention to look over the money carefully and see that it was all right, after which he would have it placed in one of the deposit boxes in the hotel safe until morning. when harris set the hand-bag down on the table under the light, after the servant had left the room, something about its general appearance struck his attention, and he bent down to examine it closely. as he did so his heart seemed to leap into his throat, and the cold perspiration burst out on his forehead and began to run down his face in streams. the satchel before him on the table was not the one in which he had placed the money in baltimore, and with which he had left the counting-house of beaumont, milton, & company. the young man attempted to insert the key in the lock of the satchel, but his hand trembled so that he could not do it, and in an agony of fear he threw down the keys and wrenched the satchel open. his great fear was only too well founded. the satchel contained a roll of newspapers. for a moment carper harris stood dazed and dumbfounded by his awful discovery; then he sank down in a heap on the floor and covered his face with his hands. of all the dreaded calamities that fate could have sent, this was the worst. all that he had hoped for and labored for was gone by a stroke,--wiped out ruthlessly, and by no act or wrong of his. the man sat on the floor like a child, and literally wrung his hands in anguish, and strove to realize all the terrible results that would follow in the wake of this unforeseen calamity. first of all there was beaumont's theory, and the horror of the thought gripped his heart like a frozen hand. it stood like some grim demon barring the only truthful and honorable way out of the matter. how could he go back and say that he had been robbed. beaumont would laugh the idea to scorn and gloat over the confirmation of his protest. little would explanation avail. his friends would turn against him, and join with beaumont, and seek to make the severity of their accusation against him atone for their previous trust and confidence, and their disregard of what they would now characterize as mr. beaumont's unusual foresight. and then, if they would listen to explanation, what explanation was there to make? he had left their counting-house with the money in the afternoon, and now in new york in the evening he claimed to have been robbed. and how? that some one had substituted another hand-bag for the one with which he started, without attacking him and even without his slightest suspicion--a probable story indeed! why, the hand-bag there on the table was almost exactly like the one he had taken with him to the company's office. no one but himself could tell that it was not the same bag. the whole matter would be considered a shrewd trick on his part,--a cunningly arranged scheme to rob his employers of this large sum of money. in his heated fancy he could see the whole future as it would come. the hard smile of incredulity with which his story would be greeted,--the arrest that would follow,--the sensational newspaper reports of the defalcation of carper harris, confidential clerk of the great wholesale house of beaumont, milton, & company. the newspapers would assume his guilt, as they always do when one is charged with crime; they would speak of him as a defaulter, and would comment on the story as an ingenious defence emanating from his shrewd counsel. even the newsboys on the street would convict him with the cry of, "all about the trial of the great defaulter!" the jury its very self, when it went into the box, would be going there to try a man already convicted of crime. this conviction would have been forced upon them by the reports, and they could not entirely escape from it, no matter how hard they might try. why, if one of them should be asked suddenly what he was doing, in all possibility, if he should reply without stopping to think, he would answer that he was trying the man who had robbed beaumont, milton, & company. so that way was barred, and it was a demon with a flaming sword that kept it. the man arose and began to pace the floor. he could not go back and tell the truth. what other thing could he do? it was useless to inform the police. that would simply precipitate the storm. it would be going by another path the same way which he had convinced himself was so effectually blocked. nor did he dare to remain silent. the loss would soon be discovered, and then his silence would convict him, while flight was open confession of the crime. carper harris had one brother living in new york,--a sort of black sheep of the family, who had left home when a child to hazard his fortunes with the cattle exporters. the family had attempted to control him, but without avail. he had shifted around the stock-yards in baltimore, and had gone finally to new york, and was now a commission merchant, with an office in jersey city. the relation between this man and the family had been somewhat strained, but now, in the face of this dreaded disaster, harris felt that he was the only one to appeal to--not that he hoped that his brother could render him any assistance, but because he must consult with some one, and this man was after all the only human being whom he could trust. he hastily scribbled a note, and, calling a messenger, sent it to his brother's hotel. then he threw himself down on the bed and covered his face with his hands. what diabolical patience and cunning fate sometimes exhibits! all the good fortune which had come to young harris seemed to have been only for the purpose of smoothing the way into this trap. ii. what is wrong here, carper?" said william harris, as he shut the door behind him. "i expected to find a corpse from the tone of your note. what's up?" the commission merchant was a short heavy young man with a big square jaw and keen gray eyes. his face indicated bull-dog tenacity and unlimited courage of the sterner sort. carper harris arose when his brother entered. he was as white as the dead. "william," he said, "i wish i were a corpse!" "ho! ho!" cried the cattle-man, dropping into a chair. "there is a big smash-up on the track, that is evident. which is gone, your girl or your job?" "brother," continued carper harris, "i am in a more horrible position than you can imagine. i don't know whether you will believe me or not, but if you don't, no one will." "you may be a fool, carper," answered the commission merchant, closing his hands, on the arms of his chair, "but you are not a liar. go on, tell me the whole thing." carper harris drew up a chair to the table and began to go over the whole affair from the beginning to the end. as he proceeded, the muscles of his brother's face grew more and more rigid, until they looked as hard and as firm as a cast. when he finally finished and dropped back into his chair, the cattle-man arose and without a word went over to the window, and stood looking out over the city, with his hands behind his back. there was no indication by which one could have known of the bitter struggle going on in the man's bosom, unless one could have looked deep into his eyes; there the danger and despair which he realized as attendant upon this matter shone through in a kind of fierce glare. finally he turned round and looked down half smilingly at his brother. "well, carper," he said, "is that all the trouble? we can fix that all right." "how?" almost screamed young harris, bounding to his feet, "how?" the commission merchant came back leisurely to his chair and sat down. his features were composed and wore an air of pleasant assurance. "my boy," he began, "this is tough lines, to be sure, but you are worth a car-load of convicts yet. sit down then, and i will straighten this thing out in a jiffy. i have been devilish lucky this season, and i now have about sixteen thousand dollars in bank. you have, i happen to know, some five thousand dollars in securities which came to you out of father's estate when it was settled. turn these securities over to me and go right on to europe as you intended. i will realize on the securities, and with the money i now have will be enabled to purchase the exchange which you require, and will have it sent to you immediately, so there will be no delay. you can go right on with your business as you intended, and neither old beaumont nor any other living skinflint will ever know of this robbery." carper harris could not speak. his emotion choked him. he seized his brother's hand and wrung it in silence, while the tears streamed down his face. "come, come," said the cattle-man, "this won't do! brace up! i am simply lending you the money. you can return it if you ever get able. if you don't, why, it came easy, and i won't ever miss the loss of it." "may god bless you, brother!" stammered carper harris. "you have saved me from the very grave, and what is more--from the stigma of a felon. you shall not lose this money by me. i will repay it if heaven spares my life." "don't go on like a play-actor, carper," said the cattle-man, rising and turning to the door. "pull yourself together, gather up your duds, and skip out to london. the stuff will be there by the time you are ready for it." then he went out and closed the door behind him. iii. i had to lie to him," said william harris. "there was no other way out of it. i knew it was the only means by which i could get him out of the country. if he stayed here they would nab him and put him in the penitentiary in spite of the very devil himself. it is all very well to talk about even-eyed justice and all that rot, but a young man in that kind of a position would have about as much show as a snowball in vesuvius. the best thing to do was to put him over the pond, and the next thing was to come here. i did both, now what is to be done?" "it is evident," said randolph mason, "that the young man is the victim of one of our numerous gangs of train robbers, and it is quite as evident that it is utterly impossible to recover the stolen money. the thing to be done is to shift the loss." "shift the loss, sir," echoed the cattle-man; "i don't believe that i quite catch your meaning." "sir," said mason, "the law of self-preservation is the great law governing the actions of men. all other considerations are of a secondary nature. the selfish interest is the great motive power. it is the natural instinct to seek vicarious atonement. men do not bear a hurt if the hurt can be placed upon another. it is a bitter law, but it is, nevertheless, a law as fixed as gravity." "i see," said the commission merchant; "but how is this loss to be shifted on any one? the money is gone for good; there is no way to get it back, and there is no means by which we can switch the responsibility to the shoulders of any other person. the money was placed in carper harris's custody, he was instructed to use great care in order to prevent any possible loss. he left baltimore with it. the story of his robbery would only render him ridiculous if it were urged in his behalf. he alone is responsible for the money; there is no way to shift it." "i said, sir," growled mason, "that the loss must be shifted. what does the responsibility matter, provided the burden of loss can be placed upon other shoulders? how much money have you?" "only the five thousand dollars which i received from the sale of his securities," answered the man. "the story which i told him about the sixteen thousand was all a lie; i have scarcely a thousand dollars to my name, all told." mason looked at the cattle-man and smiled grimly. "so far you have done well," he said; "it seems that you must be the instrument through which this cunning game of fate is to be blocked. you are the strong one; therefore the burden must fall on your shoulders. are you ready to bear the brunt of this battle?" "i am," said the man, quietly; "the boy must be saved if i have to go to sing sing for the next twenty years." iv. the traveller crossing the continent in a pullman car is convinced that west virginia is one continuous mountain. he has no desire to do other than to hurry past with all the rapidity of which the iron horse is capable. he can have no idea that in its central portion is a stretch of rolling blue-grass country, as fertile and as valuable as the stock-farm lands of kentucky; with a civilization, too, distinctly its own, and not to be met with in any other country of the world. it seems to combine, queerly enough, certain of the elements of the virginia planter, the western ranchman, and the feudal baron. perhaps nowhere in any of the united states can be found such decided traces of the ancient feudal system as in this inland basin of west virginia, surrounded by great mountain ranges, and for many generations cut off from active relations with the outside world. nor is this civilization of any other than natural growth. in the beginning, those who came to this region were colonial families of degree,--many of them tories, hating washington and his government, and staunch lovers of the king at heart, for whom the more closely settled east and south were too unpleasant after the success of the revolution. many of them found in this fertile land lying against the foot-hills, and difficult of access from either the east or west, the seclusion and the utter absence of relations with their fellows which they so much desired. with them they brought certain feudal customs as a basis for the civilization which they builded. the nature of the country forced upon them others, and the desire for gain--ever large in the anglo-saxon heart--brought in still other customs, foreign and incongruous. thus it happened that at an early day this country was divided into great tracts, containing thousands of acres of grass lands, owned by certain powerful families, who resided upon it, and, to a very large extent, preserved ancient customs and ancient ideas in relation to men. the idea of a centrally situated manor-house was one adhered to from the very first, and this differed from the virginia manor in that it was more massive and seemed to be built with the desire of strength predominating, as though the builder had yet in mind a vague notion of baronial defences, and some half hope or half fear of grim fights, in which he and his henchmen would defend against the invader. gradually, after the feudal custom, the owner of one of these great tracts gathered about him a colony of tenants and retainers, who looked after his stock and grew to be almost fixtures of the realty and partook in no degree of the shiftless qualities of the modern tenant. they were attached to the family of the master of the estate, and shared in his peculiarities and his prejudices. his quarrel became their own, and personal conflicts between the retainers of different landowners were not infrequent. at such times, if the breaches of the peace were of such a violent order as to attract the attention of the law, the master was in honor bound to shield his men as far as possible, and usually his influence was sufficient to preserve them from punishment. indeed it was the landowner and his people against the world. they were different from the virginians in that they were more aggressive and powerful, and were of a more adventurous and hardy nature. they were never content to be mere farmers, or to depend upon the cultivation of the soil. nor were they careful enough to become breeders of fine stock. for these reasons it came about that they adopted a certain kind of stock business, combining the qualities of the ranch and the farm. they bought in the autumn great herds of two-year-old cattle, picking them up along the borders of virginia and kentucky. these cattle they brought over the mountains in the fall, fed them through the winter, and turned them out in the spring to fatten on their great tracts of pasture land. in the summer this stock was shipped to the eastern market and sold in favorable competition with the corn-fed stock of the west, and the stable-fed cattle of virginia and pennsylvania. as this business grew, the little farmer along the border began to breed the finer grades of stock. this the great landowners encouraged, and as the breeds grew better, the stock put upon the market from this region became more valuable, until at length the blue-grass region of west virginia has become famous for its beef cattle, and for many years its cattle have been almost entirely purchased by the exporters for the liverpool market. so famous have the cattle of certain of these great landowners become, that each season the exporters send men to buy the stock, and not infrequently contract for it from year to year. often a landowner, in whom the speculative spirit is rife, will buy up the cattle and make great contracts with the exporter, or he will form a partnership with an eastern commission merchant and ship with the market. the risks taken in this business are great, and often vast sums of money are made or lost in a week. it is a hazardous kind of gambling for the reason that great amounts are involved, and the slightest fall in the market will often result in big loss. with the shipping feature of this business have grown certain customs. sometimes partnerships will be formed to continue for one or more weeks, and for the purpose of shipping. one drove of cattle or a number of droves; and when the shippers are well known the cattle are not paid for until the shipper returns from the market, it being presumed that he would not carry in bank sufficient money to pay for a large drove. it is a business containing all the peril and excitement of the stock exchange, and all its fascinating hope of gain, as well as its dreaded possibility of utter ruin. often in a grimy caboose at the end of a slow freight train is as true and fearless a devotee of fortune, and as reckless a plunger as one would find in the pit on wall street, and not infrequently one with as vast plans and as heavy a stake in the play as his brother of the city. yet to look at him--big, muscular, and uncouth--one would scarcely suspect that every week he was juggling with values ranging from ten to sixty thousand dollars. one monday morning of july, william harris, a passenger on the through st. louis express of the baltimore & ohio, said to the conductor that he desired to get off at bridgeport, a small shipping station in this blue-grass region of west virginia. the conductor answered that his train did not stop at this station, but that as the town was on a grade at the mouth of a tunnel he would slow up sufficiently for mr. harris to jump off if he desired to assume the risk. this harris concluded to do, and accordingly, as the train ran by the long open platform beside the cattle pens, he swung himself down from the steps of the car and jumped. the platform was wet, and as harris struck the planks his feet slipped and he would have fallen forward directly under the wheels of the coach had it not been that a big man standing near by sprang forward and dragged him back. "you had a damned close call there, my friend," said the big man. "yes," said harris, picking himself up, "you cut the undertaker out of a slight fee by your quick work." the stranger turned sharply when he heard harris's voice and grasped him by the hand. "why, billy," he said, "i did n't know it was you. what are you doing out here?" "well, well!" said harris, shaking the man's hand vigorously, "there is a god in israel sure. you are the very man i am looking for, woodford." thomas woodford was a powerfully built man--big, and muscular as an ox. he was about forty, a man of property, and a cattle-shipper known through the whole country as a daring speculator of almost phenomenal success. his plans were often gigantic, and his very rashness seemed to be the means by which good fortune heaped its favors upon him. he was in good humor this morning. the reports from the foreign markets were favorable, and indications seemed to insure the probability of a decidedly substantial advance at home. he put his big hand upon harris's arm and fairly led him down the platform. "what is up, billy?" he asked, lowering his voice. "in my opinion," answered harris, "the big combine among the exporters is going to burst and go up higher than gilderoy's kite, and if we can get over to new york in time, we will have the world by the tail." "holy-head-of-the-church!" exclaimed the cattle-shipper, dropping his hands. "it will be every man for himself, and they will have to pay whatever we ask. but we must get over there this week. next week everything that wears hoofs will be dumped into jersey city. come over to the hotel and let us hold a council of war." the two men crossed the railroad track and entered the little eating-house which bore the high-sounding and euphonious title of "hotel holloway." they went directly up the steps and into a small room in the front of the building overlooking the railroad. here woodford locked the door, pulled off his coat, and took a large chew of tobacco. it was his way of preparing to wrestle with an emergency--a kind of mechanical means of forcing his faculties to a focus. "now, billy," he said, "how is the best way to begin?" harris drew up his chair beside the bed on which his companion had seated himself. "the situation is in this kind of shape," he began. "the exporters have all the ships chartered and expect ball & holstein to furnish the cattle for next week's shipments. i believe that old ball will kick out of the combine and tell the other exporters in the trust that they may go to the devil for their cattle. you know what kind of a panic this will cause. the space on the boats has been chartered and paid for, and it would be a great loss to let it stand empty. nor could they ship the common stock on the market. all these men have foreign contracts, made in advance and calling for certain heavy grades of stock, and they are under contract to furnish a certain specified number of bullocks each week. they formed the combine in order to avoid difficulties, and have depended on a pool of all the stock contracted for by the several firms, out of which they could fill their boats when the supply should happen to be short or the market temporarily high. the foreign market is rising, and the old man is dead sure to hold on to the good thing in his clutches. i was so firmly convinced that the combine was going to pieces that i at once jumped on the first train west and hurried here to see you. the exporters must fill their contracts no matter what happens. if old ball kicks over, as he is sure to do, the market will sail against the sky. we will have them on the hip if we can get the export cattle into new york, but we have no time to lose. these cattle must be bought to-day, and carred here to-morrow. do you understand me?" "yes," said the cattle-shipper, striking his clenched right hand into the palm of his left. "it is going to be quick work, but we can do it or my name is not woodford." "we must have at least twelve carloads of big export cattle," continued harris. "not one to weigh less than sixteen hundred pounds. they must be good. now, where can you get them quickest?" "well," answered the shipper, thoughtfully, "old ralph izzard has the best drove, but he wants five cents for them, and that is steep, too steep." "no," said harris, "that is all right if they are good. we have no time to run over the country to hunt them up. if these are the right kind we will not stand on his price." "you can stake your soul on them being the right kind, billy," answered the cattle-shipper enthusiastically. "izzard picked them out of a drove of at least a thousand last fall, and he has looked after the brutes and pampered them like pet cats. they will go over sixteen hundred, every one of them, and they are as fat as hogs and as broad on the backs as a bed. i could slip out to his place and buy them to-night and have them here in time to car to-morrow, if you think we can give the old man his price." "they will bring six and a half in new york, and go like hot cakes," said harris, "but you will have to get out of this quick or you may run into a crowd of buyers from baltimore." "all right, billy," said the cattle-shipper, rising and pulling on his coat, "i will tackle the old man to-night. we had better go to clarksburg, and there you can lay low, and can come up to-morrow on the freight that stops here for the cattle. i will go out to izzard's from there, and drive here by noon to-morrow. the accommodation will be along in about a half hour. i will go down and order the cars." "wait a moment, woodford," said harris, "we ought to have some written agreement about this business." "what is the use?" answered the shipper. "we will go in even on it, but if you want to fix up a little contract, go ahead, and i will sign it. by the way, old izzard is a little closer than most anybody else; we may have to pay him something down." "i thought about that," said harris, "and i brought some money with me, but i did n't have time to gather up much. i have about six thousand dollars here. can you piece out with that?" "easy," replied the shipper. "the old devil would not have the nerve to ask more than ten thousand down." william harris seated himself at the table and drew up a memorandum of agreement between them, stating that they had formed a partnership for the purpose of dealing in stock, and had put into it ten thousand dollars as a partnership fund; that they were to share the profits or losses equally between them, and that the partnership was to continue for thirty days. this agreement both men signed, and harris placed it in his pocket. then the two men ordered the cattle cars for the following day and went to clarksburg on the evening train. here harris asked woodford if he should pay over to him the five thousand dollars or put it in the bank. to this the cattle-shipper replied that he did not like to take the risk of carrying money over the country, and that it would be best to deposit it and check it out as it should be needed. woodford and harris went to the bank. the shipper drew five thousand dollars from his own private account, put it with the five thousand which harris handed him, and thrust the package of bills through the window to the teller. "how do you wish to deposit this money, gentlemen?" asked the officer. "i don't know, hardly," said the shipper, turning to his companion; "what do you think about it, billy?" "well," said the commission-merchant, thoughtfully, "i suppose we had better deposit it in the firm name of woodford & harris, then you can give your checks that way and they wont get mixed with your private matters." "that is right," said the cattle-shipper, "put it under the firm name." whereupon the teller deposited the money subject to the check of woodford & harris. "now, billy," continued woodford, as they passed out into the street, "i will buy these cattle and put them on the train to-morrow. you go down with them. i will stay here and look over the country for another drove, and, if you want more, telegraph me." "that suits me perfectly," replied harris. "i must get back to new york, and i can wire you just how matters stand the moment i see the market." then the two men shook hands and harris returned to his hotel. the following afternoon william harris went to bridgeport on the freight train. there he found twelve cars loaded with cattle, marked "woodford & harris." at grafton he hired a man to go through with the stock, and took the midnight express for new york. the partnership formed to take advantage of the situation which harris had so fluently described, had been brought about with ease and expedition. woodford was well known to william harris. he had met him first in baltimore where young harris was a mere underling of one of the great exporting firms. afterwards he had seen him frequently in jersey city, and of late had sold some stock for him. the whole transaction was in close keeping with the customs of men in this business. the confidence of one average cattle-man in another is a matter of more than passing wonder. yet almost from time immemorial it has been respected, and instances are rare indeed where this confidence has been betrayed to any degree. perhaps after all the ancient theory that "trust reposed breeds honesty in men," has in it a large measure of truthfulness, and if practised universally might result in huge elevation of the race. and it may be, indeed, that those who attempt to apply this principle to the business affairs of men are philanthropists of no little stature. but it is at best a dangerous experiment, wherein the safeguards of society are lowered, and whereby grievous wrongs break in and despoil the citizen. to the view of one standing out from the circle of things, men often present queer contradictions. they call upon the state to protect them from the petty rogue and make no effort to protect themselves from the great one. they place themselves voluntarily in positions of peril, and then cry out bitterly if by any mishap they suffer hurt from it, and fume and rail at the law, when it is themselves they should rail at. the wonder is that the average business man is not ruined by the rogue. surely the ignorance of the knave will not protect him always. the situation would seem to arise from a false belief that the protection of the law is a great shield, covering at all points against the attacks of wrong. v. on saturday afternoon about three o'clock, the cashier of the fourth national bank in the town of clarksburg called thomas woodford as he was passing on the street, and requested him to come at once into the directors' room. woodford saw by the man's face that there was something serious the matter and he hurried after him to the door of the private office. as he entered, mr. izzard arose and crossed the room to him. the old man held a check in his hand and was evidently laboring under great excitement. "woodford," he cried, thrusting the check up into the cattle-shipper's face, "this thing is not worth a damn! there is no money here to pay it." "no money to pay it!" echoed woodford. "you must be crazy. we put the money in here monday. there's ten thousand dollars here to pay it." "well," said the old man, trembling with anger, "there is none here now. you gave me this check tuesday on my cattle which you and harris bought, and you told me there was money here to meet it. i thought you were all right, of course, and i did not come to town until to-day. now the cashier says there is not a cursèd cent here to the credit of you and harris." the blood faded out of the cattle-shipper's face, leaving him as white as a sheet. he turned slowly to the cashier: "what became of that money?" he gasped. "why," the officer replied, "it was drawn out on the check of yourself and harris. did n't you know about it? the check was properly endorsed." "show me the check," said thomas woodford, striving hard to control the trembling of his voice. "there must be some mistake." the cashier went to his desk and returned with a check, which he spread out on the table before the cattle-shipper. the man seized it and carried it to the light, where he scrutinized it closely. it was in proper form and drawn in the firm name of "woodford & harris," directing the fourth national bank to pay to william harris ten thousand dollars. it was properly endorsed by william harris and bore the stamp of the new york clearing house. "when was this check cashed?" asked woodford. "it was sent in yesterday," answered the cashier. "is there anything wrong with it?" for a time woodford did not speak. he stood with his back to the two men and was evidently attempting to arrive at some solution of the matter. presently he turned and faced the angry land-owner. "there has been a mistake here, mr. izzard," he said, speaking slowly and calmly. "suppose i give you my note for the money; the bank here will discount it, and you will not be put to any inconvenience." to this the old gentleman readily assented. "all i want," he assured the shipper, "is to be safe. your note, woodford, is good for ten times the sum." thomas woodford turned to the desk and drew a negotiable note for the amount of the check. this he gave to mr. izzard, and then hurried to the telegraph office, where he wired harris asking for an immediate explanation of the mysterious transaction. he was a man accustomed to keep his own counsels, and he was not yet ready to abandon them. he gave directions where the answer was to be sent, then he went to the hotel, locked himself in his room, and began to pace the floor, striving to solve the enigma of this queer proceeding on the part of william harris. the transaction had an ugly appearance. the money had been placed in the bank by the two men for the express purpose of meeting this check, which he had given to izzard as a part payment on his stock. harris knew this perfectly, and had suggested it. now, how should it happen that he had drawn the money in his own name almost immediately upon his arrival in new york? could it be that harris had concluded to steal the money? this the cattle-shipper refused to believe. he had known harris for years, and knew that he was considered honest, as the world goes. besides, harris would not dare to make such a bold move for the purpose of robbery. his name was on the back of the check; there was no apparent attempt to conceal it. no, there could be but one explanation, considered woodford: harris had found the market rising and a great opportunity to make a vast sum of money; consequently he had bought more stock and had been compelled to use this money for the purpose of payment. there could be no other explanation, so the cattle-shipper convinced himself. thomas woodford was not a man of wavering decisions. when his conclusion was once formed, that was the end of it. he went over to the wash-stand, bathed his face, and turned to leave the room. as he did so, some one rapped on the door; when he opened it, a messenger boy handed him a telegram. he took the message, closed the door, and went over to the window. for a moment the dread of what the little yellow envelope might possibly contain, made the big rough cattle-shipper tremble. then he dismissed the premonition as an unreasonable fear, and with calm finger opened the message. the telegram was from new york, and contained these few words: "have been robbed. everything is lost," and was signed "william harris." thomas woodford staggered as if some one had dealt him a terrible blow in the face. the paper fell from his fingers and fluttered down on the floor. the room appeared to swim round him; his heart thumped violently for a moment, and then seemed to die down in his breast and cease its beating. he sank down in his chair and fell forward on the table, his big body limp under the shock of this awful calamity. it was all perfectly plain to him now. the entire transaction from the beginning to the end had been a deep-laid, cunning plan to rob him. the checking out of the ten thousand dollars was but a small part of it harris had sold the cattle, and, seeking to keep the money, had simply said that he had been robbed. the story about the probable dissolution of the exporters' combine had been all a lie. he had been the dupe--the easy, willing dupe, of a cunning villain. william harris had come to west virginia with the deliberate intention of inveigling him into this very trap. he had left new york with the entire scheme well planned. he had stopped at bridgeport and told him the plausible story about what would happen to the combine, in order to arouse his interest and draw him into the plot and to account for his own presence in the cattle region. it was a shrewdly constructed tale, which, under the circumstances, the most cautious man in the business would have believed. the man winced as he recalled how cunningly harris had forced him to do the very things he desired done, without appearing to even suggest them. there was the deposit of the fund in the partnership name,--that seemed all reasonable enough. it had not occurred to him that this money would then be subject to harris's check as well as his own. then, too, it was reasonable that he should go out and buy the cattle, and harris ship them,--harris was a commission-merchant by trade, and this division of the work was natural. such a robbery had not occurred before in all the history of this business, and how fatally well all the circumstances and the customs of the trade fitted into the plan of this daring rascal! then, like a benumbing ache, came the gradual appreciation of the magnitude of this loss. the cattle were worth twenty thousand dollars. he had agreed to pay izzard that sum for the drove, and then there was the five thousand of his own money. twenty-five thousand dollars in all. it was no small sum for the wealthiest to lose, and to this man in his despair it loomed large indeed. financial ruin is an evil-featured demon at best. the grasp of his hand is blighting; the leer of his sunken face, maddening. it requires strong will to face the monster when one knows that he is coming, even after his shadow has been flitting across one's path for years. when he leaps down suddenly from the dark upon the shoulders of the unsuspecting passer-by, that one must be strong indeed if all that he possesses of virtue and honesty and good motive be not driven out from him. the old clock on the court-house struck five, its battered iron tongue crying out from above the place where men were accustomed to resort for justice. the sound startled woodford and reminded him of something. he arose and went to the window and stood looking at the gaunt old building. yes, there was the law. he had almost forgotten that, and the law would not tolerate wrong. it hated the evil-doer, and hunted him down even to the death, and punished him. men were often weak and half blind, but the law was strong always, and its eyes were far-sighted. the world was not so large that the rogue could hide from it. in its strength it would seek him out and hold him responsible for the evil he had done. it stood ever in its majesty between the knave and those upon whom he sought to prey; its shadow, heavy with warning, lay always before the faces of vicious men. in his bitterness, woodford thanked heaven that this was true. from the iron hand of the law; william harris should have vengeance visited upon him to the very rim of the measure. vi. randolph mason looked up from his desk as william harris burst into his office. the commission-merchant's face was red, and he was panting with excitement. "mr. mason," he cried, "there is trouble on foot; you must help me out!" "trouble," echoed mason, "is it any new thing to meet? why do you come back with your petty matters?" "it is no petty matter, sir," said harris; "you planned the whole thing for me, and you said it was no crime. now they are trying to put me in the penitentiary. you must have been wrong when you said it was no crime." "wrong?" said mason, sharply. "what fool says i am wrong?" "why, sir," continued harris, rapidly, "thomas woodford has applied to the governor for an extradition, asking that i be turned over to the authorities of west virginia on the charge of having committed a felony. you said i could draw out the partnership fund and keep it, and that i could sell the cattle and buy foreign exchange with the money, and it would be no crime. now they are after me, and you must go to albany and see about it." "i shall not go to albany," said mason. "you have committed no crime and cannot be punished." "but," said harris, anxiously, "won't they take me down there? won't the governor turn me over to them?" "the governor," continued mason, "is no fool. the affidavit stating the facts, which must accompany the application, will show on its face that no crime has been committed. you were a partner, with a partner's control of the funds. the taking of partnership property by one partner is no crime. neither did you steal the cattle. they were sold to you. your partner trusted you. if you do not pay, it is his misfortune. it was all a business affair, and by no possible construction can be twisted into a crime. nor does it matter how the partnership was formed, so that it existed. it is no crime to lie in regard to an opinion. you have violated no law,--you have simply taken advantage of its weak places to your own gain and to the hurt of certain stupid fools. the attorney general will never permit an extradition in this case while the world stands. go home, man, and sleep,--you are as safe from the law as though you were in the grave." with that, randolph mason arose and opened the office door. "i bid you good-morning, sir," he said curtly. the governor of new york pushed the papers across the table to the attorney general. "i would like you to look at this application for the extradition of one harris, charged with committing a felony in the state of west virginia," he said. "the paper seems to be regular, but i am somewhat in doubt as to the proper construction to be placed upon the affidavit stating the facts alleged to constitute this crime." vii. the attorney general took the papers and went over them rapidly. "well," he said, "there is nothing wrong with the application. everything is regular except the affidavit, and it is quite clear that it fails to support this charge of felony." "i was inclined to that opinion," said the governor, "and i thought best to submit the matter to you." "it is usual," continued the attorney general, "to grant the application without question, where the papers are regular and the crime is charged, and it is not required that the crime be charged with the legal exactness necessary in an indictment. the governor is not permitted to try the question whether the accused is guilty or not guilty. nor is he to be controlled by the question whether the offence is or is not a crime in his own state, the question before him being whether the act is punishable as a crime in the demanding state. the governor cannot go behind the face of the papers nor behind the facts alleged to constitute a crime, and if these facts, by any reasonable construction, support the charge of crime, the extradition will usually be granted. but it is a solemn proceeding, and one not to be trifled with, and not to be invoked without good cause, nor to be used for the purpose of redressing civil injuries, or for the purpose of harassing the citizens; and where on the face of the affidavit it is plainly evident that no crime has been committed, and that by no possible construction of the facts stated could the matter be punishable as a crime, then it is the duty of the governor to refuse the extradition. "in this case the authorities in the demanding state have filed an affidavit setting forth at length the facts alleged to constitute a felony. this paper shows substantially that a general partnership was formed by william harris and thomas woodford, and that pursuant to such business relations certain partnership property came into the possession of harris; this property he converted to his own use. it is clear that this act constituted no crime under the statutes of west virginia or the common law there obtaining. the property was general partnership property; the money taken was a general partnership fund, subject to the check of either partner. the partner harris was properly in possession of the cattle as a part owner. he was also lawfully entitled to the possession of the partnership fund if he saw fit to draw it out and use it. if it be presumed that his story of the robbery is false, and that he deliberately planned to secure possession of the property and money, and did so secure possession of it, and converted it to his own use, yet he has committed no crime. he has simply taken advantage of the trust reposed in him by his partner woodford, and has done none of those acts essential to a felony. the application must be refused." "that was my opinion," said the governor, "but such a great wrong had been done that i hesitated to refuse the extradition." "yes," answered the attorney general, "all the wrong of a serious felony has been done, but no crime has been committed. the machinery of criminal jurisprudence cannot be used for the purpose of redressing civil wrong, the distinction being that, by a fiction of law, crimes are wrongs against the state, and in order to be a crime the offence must be one of those wrongs described by the law as being against the peace and dignity of the state. if, on the other hand, the act be simply a wrong to the citizen and not of the class described as being offences against the state, it is no crime, no matter how injurious it may be or how wrongful to the individual. the entire transaction was a civil matter resulting in injury to the citizen, woodford, but it is no crime, and is not the proper subject of an extradition." the governor turned around in his chair. "james," he said to his private secretary, "return the application for the extradition of william harris, and say that upon the face of the papers it is plainly evident that no crime has been committed." the blow which fate had sought to deliver with such malicious cunning against the confidential clerk of beaumont, milton, & company had been turned aside, and had fallen with all its crushing weight upon the shoulders of another man, five hundred miles to westward, within the jurisdiction of a distant commonwealth. iv--the error of william van broom _[the lawyer will at once see that the false making of this paper is no forgery, and that no crime has been committed. see the virginia case of foulke in robinson's virginia reports, ; the case of jackson vs. weisiger, ky. (monroe reports), ; and the later case of charles waterman vs. the people, ., .]_ i. the morning paper contained this extravagant personal: "do not suicide. if you are a non-resident of new york in difficulty, at nine to-night walk east by the corner of the -------- building with a copy of this paper in your right hand." the conservative foreigner, unfamiliar with our great dailies, would, perhaps, be surprised that the editor would print such a questionable announcement in his paper, but at this time in new york the personal column had become a very questionable directory, resorted to by all classes of mankind for every conceivable purpose, be it gain, adventure, or even crime; no one thought to question the propriety of such publications. indeed, no one stopped to consider them at all, unless he happened to be a party in interest. ii. a few minutes before the hour mentioned in the above personal, a cab came rattling down -------- street. the driver wore a fur-cap and a great-coat buttoned up around his ears. as he turned the corner to the -------- building, he glanced down at his front wheel and brought his horses up with a jerk. there was evidently something wrong with the wheel, for he jumped down from the box to examine it. he shook the wheel, took off the tap, and began to move the hub carefully out toward the end of the axle. as he worked he kept his eyes on the corner. presently a big, plainly dressed man walked slowly down by the building. he carried a half-open newspaper in his right hand and seemed to be keeping a sharp lookout around him. he stopped for a moment by the carriage, satisfied himself that it was empty, and went on. at the next corner he climbed up on the seat of the waiting patrol wagon and disappeared. the cabman seemed to be engrossed with the repair of his wheel and gave no indication that he had seen the stranger. almost immediately thereafter a second man passed the corner with a newspaper in prominent evidence. he was a "hobo" of the most pronounced type and marched by with great difficulty. after he had passed, he turned round and threw the newspaper into the gutter with a volley of curses. the cabman worked on at his wheel. he had now removed it to the end of the axle and was scraping the boxing with his knife. at this moment a young man wearing a gray overcoat and a gray slouch hat came rapidly down the street. at the corner he put his hand quickly into his overcoat pocket, took out a newspaper, and immediately thrust it into his other pocket. the cabman darted across the street and touched him on the shoulder. the man turned with a quick, nervous start. the cabman took off his cap, said something in a low tone, and pointed to his wheel. the two men crossed to the carriage. the cabman held the axle and the stranger slipped the wheel into place, while the two talked in low tones. when it was done, the stranger turned round, stepped up on the pavement, and hurried on by the building. the cabman shut his door with a bang, climbed up on his box, and drove rapidly down -------- street. iii. parks," said randolph mason, taking off his great-coat in the private office, "who wanted to see me at this unusual hour?" "he was a philadelphia man, he said, sir," answered the little melancholy clerk. "well," said mason, sharply, "did he expect to die before morning that i should be sent for in the middle of the night?" "he said that he would leave at six, sir, and must see you as soon as possible, so i thought i had best send for you." "he is to be here at ten, you say?" "at ten, sir," answered the little man, going out into the other office and closing the door behind him. when the door was closed, parks went over to a corner of the room, took up a hackman's overcoat and fur cap, put them into one of the bookcases and locked the sliding top. then he went quietly out of the room and down the steps to the entrance of the building. in the private office randolph mason walked backward and forward with his hands in his pockets. he was restless and his eyes were bright. "another weakling," he muttered, "making puny efforts to escape from fate's trap, or seeking to slip from under some gin set by his fellows. surely, the want of resources on the part of the race is utter, is abysmal. what miserable puppets men are! moved backward and forward in fate's games as though they were strung on a wire and had their bellies filled with sawdust! yet each one has his problem, and that is the important matter. in these problems one pits himself against the mysterious intelligence of chance,--against the dread cunning and the fatal patience of destiny. ah! these are worthy foemen. the steel grates when one crosses swords with such mighty fencers." there was a sound as of men conversing in low tones in the outer office. mason stopped short and turned to the door. as he did so, the door was opened from the outside and a man entered, closed the door behind him, and remained standing with his back against it. randolph mason looked down at the stranger sharply. the man wore a gray suit and gray overcoat; he was about twenty-five, of medium height, with a clean-cut, intelligent face that was peculiar; originally it had expressed an indulgent character of unusual energy. now it could not be read at all. it was simply that silent, immobile mask so sought after by the high-grade criminal. his face was white, and the perspiration, was standing out on his forehead, indicating that he was laboring under some deep and violent emotion. yet, with all, his manner was composed and deliberate, and his face gave no sign other than its whiteness; it was calm and expressionless, as the face of the dead. randolph mason dragged a big chair up to his desk, sat down in his office chair and pointed to the other. the stranger came and sat down in the big chair, gripping its arms with his hands, and without introduction or comment began to talk in a jerky, metallic voice. "this is all waste of time," he said. "you won't help me. there is no reason for my being here. i should have had it over by this time, and yet that would not help her, and she is the only one. it would be the meanest kind of cowardice to leave her to suffer; and yet i dare not live to see her suffer, i could not bear that. i love her too much for that, i----" "sir," said mason, brutally, "this is all irrelevant rant. come to the point of your difficulty." the stranger straightened up and passed his hand across his forehead. "yes," he said, "you are right, sir; it is all rant. i forget where i am. i will be as brief and concise as possible. "my name is camden gerard. i am a gambler by profession. my mother died when i was about ten years old and my father, then a philadelphia lawyer, found himself with two children, myself and my little sister, a mere baby in arms. he sent me to one of the eastern colleges and put the baby in a convent. thus things ran on for perhaps ten or twelve years. the evil effect of forcing me into a big college at an early age soon became apparent i came under the influence of a rapid and unscrupulous class and soon became as rapid and unscrupulous as the worst. i went all the paces and gradually became an expert college gambler of such high order that i was able to maintain myself. at about twelve my sister marie began to show remarkable talent as an artist and my father, following her wishes, took her to paris and placed her in one of the best art schools of that city. in a short time thereafter my father died suddenly, and it developed after investigation that he had left no estate whatever. i sold the books and other personal effects, and found myself adrift in the world with a few hundred dollars, no business, no profession, and no visible means of support, and, further, i had this helpless child to look after. "i went to supposed friends of my father and asked them to help me into some business by which i could maintain myself and my little sister. they promised, but put me off with one excuse after another, until i finally saw through their hypocrisy and knew that they never intended to assist me. i felt, indeed, that i was adrift, utterly helpless and friendless, and the result was, that i resorted to my skill as a gambler for the purpose of making a livelihood. for a time fortune favored me, and i lived well, and paid all the college expenses of marie. i was proud of the child. she was sweet and lovable, and developing into a remarkably handsome girl. about two months ago, my luck turned sharply against me; everything went wrong with long jumps. night after night i was beaten. anybody broke me, even the 'tender-feet,' i gathered together every dollar possible and struggled against my bad fortune, but to no purpose. i only lost night after night. in the midst of all, marie wrote to me for money to pay her quarterly bills. i replied that i would send it in a short time. i pawned everything, begged and borrowed and struggled, and resorted to every trick and resource of my craft; but all was utterly vain and useless. i was penniless and stranded. on the heels of it all, i to-day received another letter from marie, saying that her bills must be paid by the end of the month, or they would turn her out into the city." his voice trembled and the perspiration poured out on his forehead. "you know what it means for a helpless young girl to be turned out in paris," he went on; "i know, and the thought of it makes me insanely desperate. now," said the man, looking mason squarely in the eyes, "i have told you all the truth. what am i to do?" for a time mason's face took on an air of deep abstraction. "this is saturday night," he said, as though talking to himself. "you should complete it by friday. there is time enough." "young man," he continued, speaking clearly and precisely, "you are to leave new york for west virginia to-morrow morning. a messenger boy will meet you at the train, with a package of papers which i shall send. in it you will find full instructions and such things as you will need. these instructions you are to follow to the very letter. everything will depend on doing exactly as i say, but," he continued, with positive and deliberate emphasis, "this must not fail." the man arose and drew a deep breath. "it will not fail," he said; "i will do anything to save her from disgrace,--anything." then he went out. at the entrance of the building parks stepped up and touched the stranger on the shoulder. "my friend," he said, "i will bring those papers myself, and i will see that you have sufficient money to carry this thing through. but remember that i am not to be trifled with. you are to come here just as soon as you return." iv. shortly before noon on monday morning, camden gerard stepped into the jewelry establishment of william van broom, in the city of wheeling, and asked for the proprietor. that gentleman came forward in no very kindly humor. upon seeing the well dressed young man, he at once concluded that he was a high-grade jewel drummer, and being a practical business man, he was kindly at sales and surly at purchases. "this is mr. van broom, i believe," said the young man. "my name is gerard. i am from new york, sir." then noticing the jeweller's expression, he added, quickly: "i am not a salesman, sir, and am not going to consume your time. i am in west virginia on business, and stepped in here to present a letter of introduction which my friend, bartholdi, insisted upon writing." the affability of the jeweller returned with a surge. he bowed and beamed sweetly as he broke the seal of the letter of introduction. the paper bore the artistic stamp of bartholdi and banks, the great diamond importers, and ran as follows: "william van broom, esq., "wheeling, west va. "dear sir: "this will introduce mr. camden gerard. kindly show him every possible courtesy, for which we shall be under the greatest obligations. "most sincerely your obedient servants, "bartholdi and banks" the jeweller's eyes opened wide with wonder. he knew this firm to be the largest and most aristocratic dealers in the world. it was much honor, and perhaps vast benefit, to be of service to them, and he was flattered into the seventh heaven. "i am indeed glad to meet you, sir," he said, seizing the man's hand and shaking it vigorously. "i certainly hope that i can be of service. it is now near twelve; you will come with me to lunch at the club?" "i thank you very much," answered camden gerard, "but i am compelled to go to the sistersville oil field on the noon train. however, i will return at eight, and shall expect you to dine with me at the hotel." the jeweller accepted the invitation with ill-concealed delight. the young man thanked him warmly for his kindly interest, bade him good-day, and went out. that night at eight, camden gerard and mr. william van broom dined in the best style the city could afford. the wine was excellent and plentiful, and gerard proved to be most entertaining. he was brilliant and considerate to such a degree, that when the two men parted for the night the jeweller assured himself that he had never met a more delightful companion. the following morning camden gerard dropped into the store for a few moments, and while conversing with his friend van broom, noticed a little ring in the show window. he remarked on its beauty, and intimated that he must purchase a birthday present for his little daughter. the jeweller took the ring from the case and handed it to gerard. that gentleman discovered that it was far prettier than he had at first imagined it, and inquired the price. "it is marked at twenty-five dollars," said the jeweller. "why," said camden gerard, "that is very cheap; i will take it." the jeweller wrapped up the ring and gave it to the new yorker. that gentleman paid the money and returned to his hotel. the next day camden gerard was presumably down in the great tyler county oil field. at any rate he returned to the city on the evening train and dined with van broom at the club. as the evening waned, the men grew confidential. gerard spoke of the vast fortunes that were made in oil. he said that the west virginia fields were scarce half developed, but that they had already attracted the attention of the great russian companies and that gigantic operations might be soon expected. he denounced the autocratic policy of the czar in regard to oil transportation, and hinted vaguely at vast international combines. he spoke of st. petersburg and the larger russian cities; of the manners and customs of the nobility; of their vast fortunes, and their very great desire to invest in america. he intimated vaguely that there now existed in new york a colossal syndicate backed by unlimited russian capital, but he gave the now excited and curious jeweller no definite information concerning himself or his business in west virginia, shrewdly leaving van broom to draw his own inferences. it was late when william van broom retired to his residence. he was happy and flattered, and with reason. had he not been selected by the great firm of bartholdi & banks to counsel with one who, he strongly suspected, was the private agent of princes? about two o'clock on the following thursday afternoon, mr. camden gerard called upon william van broom and said that he wished to speak with him in his private office. the new yorker was soiled and grimy, and had evidently just come from a train, but he was smiling and in high spirits. when the two men were alone in the private office, camden gerard took a roll of paper from his pocket, and turned to van broom. "here are some papers," he said, speaking low that he might not be overheard. "i have no secure place to put them, and i would be under great obligations to you if you would kindly lock them up in your safe." "certainly," said the jeweller, taking the papers and crossing to the safe. he threw back the door and pulled out one of the little boxes. it contained an open leather case in which there was a magnificent diamond necklace. "by george!" said camden gerard, "those are splendid stones." "yes," answered van broom, taking out the case and handing it to the new yorker. "they are too valuable for my trade; i am going to return them." camden gerard carried the necklace to the light and examined it critically. the stones were not large but they were clear and flawless. "what are these worth?" he said, turning to van broom. "thirty-five hundred dollars," answered the jeweller. "what!" cried gerard, "only thirty-five hundred dollars for this necklace? it is the cheapest thing i ever saw. you are away under the foreign dealers." "they are cheap," said van broom. "that is almost the wholesale price." "but," said camden gerard, "you must be mistaken. your mark is certainly wrong. i have seen smaller stones in the russian shops for double the price." "we can't sell the necklace at that figure," said van broom, smiling. "we are not such sharks as your foreign dealers." "if you mean that," said camden gerard, "i will buy these jewels here and now. i had intended purchasing something in the east for my wife, but i can never do better than this." the new yorker took out his pocket-book and handed van broom a bill. "before you retract," he said, "here is fifty to seal the bargain. get your hat and come with me to the bank." "all right," said mr. van broom, taking the money. "the necklace is yours, my friend." camden gerard closed the leather case and put it into his pocket. the jeweller locked the safe, put on his hat, and the two went out of the store and down the street to the banking house of the mechanics' trust company. mr. gerard enquired for the cashier. the teller informed him that the cashier was in the back room of the bank and if he would step back he could see him. the new yorker asked his companion to wait for a moment until he spoke with the cashier. then he went back into the room indicated by the teller, closing the door after him. the cashier sat at a table engaged with a pile of correspondence. he was busy and looked up sharply as the man entered. "sir," said the new yorker, "have you received a sealed package from the adams express company consigned to one camden gerard?" "no," answered the cashier, turning to his work. "you have not?" repeated gerard, excitedly, "then i will run down to the telegraph office and see what is the matter." thereupon he crossed hurriedly to the side door of the office, opened it and stepped out into the street. the cashier went on with his work. for perhaps a quarter of an hour william van broom waited for his companion to conclude his business with the cashier. finally he grew impatient and asked the teller to remind mr. gerard that he was waiting. the teller returned in a moment and said that the gentleman had gone to the telegraph office some time ago. the jeweller's heart dropped like a lead plummet. he turned without a word and hurried to the office of the western union. here his fears were confirmed, camden gerard had not been in the office. he ran across the street to the hotel and enquired for the new yorker. the clerk informed him that the gentleman had paid his bill and left the hotel that morning. the jeweller's anxiety was at fever heat, but with all he was a man of business method and knew the very great value of silence. he called a carriage, went to the chief of police, and set his machinery in motion. returning to his place of business he opened the safe and took out the package of papers which camden gerard had given him. upon examination this proved to be simply a roll of blank oil leases. then remembering the letter of introduction, he telegraphed to bartholdi & banks. hours passed and not the slightest trace of camden gerard could be found. the presumed friend of the great diamond importers had literally vanished from the face of the earth. about four o'clock the jeweller received an answer from bartholdi & banks, stating that they knew no such man as camden gerard and that his letter of introduction was false. mr. william van broom was white with despair. he put the letter and answer into his pocket and went at once to the office of the prosecuting attorney for the state and laid the whole matter before him. "my dear sir," said that official, when mr. van broom had finished his story, "your very good friend camden gerard owes you thirty-four hundred and fifty dollars, which he will perhaps continue to owe. you may as well go back to your business." "what do you mean?" said the jeweller. "i mean," replied the attorney, "that you have been the dupe of a shrewd knave who is familiar with the weak places in the law and has resorted to an ingenious scheme to secure possession of your property without rendering himself liable to criminal procedure. it is true that if the diamonds were located you could attach and recover them by a civil suit, but it is scarcely possible that such a shrewd knave would permit himself to be caught with the jewels, and it is certain that he has some reasonably safe method by which he can dispose of them without fear of detection. he has trapped you and has committed no crime. if you had the fellow in custody now, the judge would release him the moment an application was made. the entire matter was only a sale. he bought the jewels and you trusted him. he is no more a law-breaker than you are. he is only a sharper dealer." "but, sir," cried the angry van broom, spreading the false letter out on the table, "that is forged, every word of it. i will send this fellow to the penitentiary for forgery. i will spend a thousand dollars to catch him." "if you should spend a thousand dollars to catch him," said the attorney, smiling, "you would never be able to send him to the penitentiary on that paper. it is not forgery." "not forgery!" shouted the jeweller, "not forgery, man! the rascal wrote every word of that letter. he signed the name of bartholdi & banks at the bottom of it. every word of that paper is false. the company never heard of it. here is their telegram." "mr. van broom," said the public prosecutor, "listen to me, sir. all that you say is perhaps true. camden gerard doubtless wrote the entire paper and signed the name of bartholdi & banks, and presented it to you for a definite purpose. to such an act men commonly apply the term forgery, and in the common acceptation of the word it is forgery and a reprehensible wrong; but legally, the false making of such a paper as this is not forgery and is no crime. in order to constitute the crime of forgery, the instrument falsely made must be apparently capable of effecting a fraud, of being used to the prejudice of another's right. it must be such as might be of legal efficacy, or might be the foundation of some legal liability. "this paper in question, although falsely made, has none of the vital elements of forgery under the law. if genuine, it would have no legal validity, as it affects no legal rights. it would merely be an attempt to receive courtesies on a promise, of no legal obligation, to reciprocate them; and courtesies have never been held to be the subject of legal fraud. this is a mere letter of introduction, which, by no possibility, could subject the supposed writer to any pecuniary loss or legal liability. it is not a subject of forgery, and its false making is no crime. "men commonly believe that all writings falsely made or falsely altered are forgeries. there was never a greater error. forgery may be committed only of those instruments in writing which, if genuine, would, or might appear as the foundation of another man's liability, or the evidence of his right. all wrongful and injurious acts are not punished by the law. wrongs to become crimes must measure up to certain definite and technical standards. these standards are laid down rigidly by the law and cannot be contracted or expanded. they are fixed and immutable. the act done must fit closely into the prescribed measure, else it is no crime. if it falls short, never so little, in any one vital element, the law must, and will, disregard it as criminal, no matter how injurious, or wrongful, or unjust it may be. the law is a rigid and exact science." mr. william van broom dropped his hands to his sides and gazed at the lawyer in wonder. "these facts," continued the attorney, in his clear, passionless voice, "are matters of amazement to the common people when brought to their attention. they fail to see the wise but technical distinctions. they are willing to trust to what they are pleased to call common-sense, and, falling into traps laid by the cunning villain, denounce the law for impotency." "well," said the jeweller, as he arose and put on his overcoat, "what is the good of the law anyhow?" the prosecuting attorney smiled wearily. to him the wisdom of the law was clear, beautiful, and superlatively just. to the muddy-headed tradesman it was as color to the blind. v. over in the art school of old monsieur pontique, marie gerard saw the result of the entire matter in the light of kindness and sweet self-sacrifice; and perhaps she saw it as it was. this is a queer world indeed. v--the men of the jimmy _[see ranney vs. the people, n.y.r., ; scott vs. the people, barb. [n.y], ; the people vs. blanchard, n. y. repts., . also, rex vs. douglas, russell on crimes, , and other cases there cited.]_ i. parks," said randolph mason, "has leslie wilder a country place on the hudson?" "yes, sir," replied the bald little clerk. "it is at cliphmore, i think, sir." "well," said mason, "here is his message, parks, asking that i come to him immediately. it seems urgent and probably means a will. find out what time a train leaves the city and have a carriage." the clerk took the telegram, put on his coat, and went down on the street. it was cold and snowing heavily. the wind blew up from the river, driving the snow in great, blinding sheets. the melancholy parks pulled his hat down over his face, walked slowly round the square, and came back to the entrance of the office building. instead of taking the elevator he went slowly up the steps into the outer office. here he took off his coat and went over to the window, and stood for some minutes looking out at the white city. "at any rate he will not suspect me," he muttered, "and we must get every dollar possible while we can. he won't last always." at this moment a carriage drove up and stopped by the curb. parks turned round quickly and went into mason's private office. "sir," he said, "your train leaves at six ten, and the carriage is waiting." when randolph mason stepped from the train at the little cliphmore station, it was pitch dark, and the snow was sweeping past in great waves. he groped his way to the little station-house and pounded on the door. there was no response. as he turned round a man stepped up on the platform, pulled off his cap, and said, "excuse me, sir, the carriage is over here, sir." mason followed the man across the platform, and up what seemed to be a gravel road for perhaps twenty yards. here they found a closed carriage. the man threw open the door, helped mason in, and closed it, forcing the handle carefully. then he climbed up in front, struck the horses, and drove away. for perhaps half an hour the carriage rattled along the gravel road, and mason sat motionless. suddenly he leaned over, turned the handle of the carriage door, and jerked it sharply. the door did not open. he tucked the robes around him and leaned back in the seat, like a man who had convinced himself of the truth of something that he suspected. presently the carriage began to wobble and jolt as though upon an unkept country road. the driver pulled up his horses and allowed them to walk. the snow drifted up around him and he seemed to have great difficulty in keeping to the road presently he stopped, climbed down from the box and attempted to open the door. he apparently had some difficulty, but finally threw it back and said: "dis is de place, sir." randolph mason got out and looked around him. "this may be the place," he said to the man, "but this is not wilder's."' "i said dis here is de place," answered the man, doggedly. "beyond a doubt," said mason, "and since you are such a cunning liar i will go in." the driver left the horses standing and led the way across what seemed to be an unkept lawn, mason following. a house loomed up in the dark before them. the driver stopped and rapped on the door. there was no light visible and no indication of any inhabitant. the driver rapped again without getting any response. then he began to curse, and to kick the door violently. "will you be quiet?" said a voice from the inside, and the door opened. the hall-way was dark, and the men on the outside could not see the speaker. "here is de man, sir," said the driver. "that is good," replied the voice; "come in." the two men stepped into the house. the man who had bid them enter closed the door and bolted it. then he took a lantern from under his coat and led them back through the hall to the rear of the building. the house was dilapidated and old, and had the appearance of having been deserted for many years. the man with the lantern turned down a side hall, opened a door, and ushered mason into a big room, where there was a monster log fire blazing. this room was dirty and bare. the windows were carefully covered from the inside, so as to prevent the light from being seen. there was no furniture except a broken table and a few old chairs. at the table sat an old man smoking a pipe. he had on a cap and overcoat, and was studying a newspaper spread out before him. he seemed to be spelling out the words with great difficulty, and did not look up. randolph mason took off his great-coat, threw it over a chair, and seated himself before the fire. the man with the lantern placed it on the mantel-shelf, took up a short pipe, and seating himself on a box by the hearth corner, began to smoke. he was a powerful man, perhaps forty years old, clean and decently dressed. his forehead was broad. his eyes were unusually big and blue. he seemed to be of considerable intelligence, and his expression, taken all in all, was innocent and kindly. for a time there was nothing said. the driver went out to look after his horses. the old man at the table labored on at his newspaper, and randolph mason sat looking into the fire. suddenly he turned to the man at his left. "sir," said he "to what difficulty am i indebted for this honor?" "well," said the man, putting his pipe into his pocket, "the combination is too high for us this time; we can't crack it. we knew about you and sent for you." "your plan for getting me here does little credit to your wits," said mason; "the trick is infantile and trite." "but it got you here anyhow," replied the man. "yes," said mason, "when the dupe is willing to be one. but suppose i had rather concluded to break with your driver at the station? it is likewise dangerous to drive a man locked in a carriage when he may easily kill you through the window." "trow on de light, barker," said the old man at the table; "what is de use of gropin'?" "well," said the younger man, "the fact is simply this: the boss and leary and a 'supe' were cracking a safe out in the states. they were tunnelling up early in the morning, when the 'supe' forced a jimmy through the floor. the bank janitor saw it, and they were all caught and sent up for ten years. we have tried every way to get the boys out, but have been unable to do anything at all, until a few days ago we discovered that one of the guards could be bribed to pass in a kit, and to hit the 'supe' if there should be any shooting, if we could put up enough stuff. he was to be discharged at the end of his month anyway, and he did not care. but he would not move a finger under four thousand dollars. we have been two weeks trying to raise the money, and have now only twelve hundred. the guard has only a week longer, and another opportunity will not occur perhaps in a lifetime. we have tried everything, and cannot raise another hundred, and it is our only chance to save the boss and leary." "dat is right," put in the old man; "it don't go at all wid us, we is gittin' trowed on it, and dat is sure unless dis gent knows a good ting to push, and dat is what he is here fur, to name de good ting to push. dat is right, dat 's what we 's got to have, and we 's got to have it now. we don't keer no hell-room fur de 'supe,' it's de boss and leary we wants." randolph mason got up and stood with his back to the fire. the lines of his face grew deep and hard. presently he thrust out his jaw, and began to walk backward and forward across the room. "barker," muttered the old man, looking up for the first time, "de guy has jimmy iron in him." the blue-eyed man nodded and continued to watch mason curiously. suddenly, as he passed the old man at the table, mason stopped short and put his finger down on the newspaper. the younger man leaped up noiselessly, and looking over mason's shoulder read the head-lines under his finger. "kidnapped," it ran. "the youngest son of cornelius rockham stolen from the millionaire's carriage. large rewards offered. no clew." "do you know anything about this?" said mason, shortly. "dat 's de hell," replied the old man, "we does n't." mason straightened up and swung round on his heel. "sir," he said to the man barker, "are you wanted in new york?" "no," he replied, "i am just over; they don't know me." "good," said mason, "it is as plain as a blue print. come over here." the two crossed to the far corner of the room. there mason grasped the man by the shoulder and began to talk to him rapidly, but in a voice too low to be heard by the old man at the table. "smoove guy, dis," muttered the old man. "he may be fly in de nut, but he takes no chances on de large audejence." for perhaps twenty minutes randolph mason talked to the man at the wall. at first the fellow did not seem to understand, but after a time his face lighted up with wonder and eagerness, and his assurance seemed to convince the speaker, for presently they came back together to the fire. "you," said mason to the old man, "what is your name?" "it cuts no ice about de label," replied the old man, pulling at his pipe. "fur de purposes of dis seeyance i am de jook of marlbone." "well," said mason, putting on his coat, "mr. barker will tell your lordship what you are to do." the big blue-eyed man went out and presently returned with the carriage driver. "mr. mason," he said, "bill will drive you to the train and you will be in new york by twelve." "remember," said mason, savagely, turning around at the door, "it must be exactly as i have told you, word for word." ii i tell you," said cornelius rockham, "it is the most remarkable proposition that i have ever heard." "it is strange," replied the police chief, thoughtfully. "you say the fellow declared that he had a proposition to make in regard to the child, and that he refused to make it save in the presence of witnesses." "yes, he actually said that he would not speak with me alone or where he might be misunderstood, but that he would come here to-night at ten and state the matter to me and such reliable witnesses as i should see fit to have, not less than three in number; that a considerable sum of money might be required, and that i would do well to have it in readiness; that if i feared robbery or treachery, i should fill the house with policemen, and take any and every precaution that i thought necessary. in fact, he urged that i should have the most reliable men possible for witnesses, and as many as i desired, and that i must avail myself of every police protection in order that i might feel amply and thoroughly secure." "well," said the police chief, "if the fellow is not straight he is a fool. no living crook would ever make such a proposition." "so i am convinced," replied mr. rockham. "the precautions he suggests certainly prove it. he places himself absolutely in our hands, and knows that if any crooked work should be attempted we have everything ready to thwart it; that there is nothing that he could accomplish, and he would only be placing himself helplessly in the grasp of the police. however, we will not fail to avail ourselves of his suggestion. you will see to it, chief?" "yes," said the officer, rising and putting on his coat. "we will give him no possible chance. it is now five. i will send the men in an hour." at ten o'clock that night, the palatial residence of cornelius rockham was in a state of complete police blockade. all the approaches were carefully guarded. the house itself, from the basement to the very roof, literally swarmed with the trusted spies of the police. the chief felt indeed that his elaborate precautions were in a vast measure unnecessary. he was not a quick man, but he was careful after a ponderous method, and trusted much to precautionary safeguards. cornelius rockham, the chief, and two sergeants in citizen's dress, were waiting. presently the bell rang and a servant ushered a man into the room. he was big and plainly dressed. his hair was brown and his eyes were blue, frank and kindly and his expression was pleasant and innocent, almost infantile. "good-evening, gentlemen," he said, "i believe i am here by appointment with mr. rockham." "yes," replied cornelius rockham, rising, "pray be seated, sir. i have asked these gentlemen to be present, as you suggested." "your time is valuable, no doubt," said the man, taking the proffered chair, "and i will consume as little of it as possible. my name is barker. i am a comparative stranger in this city, and by pure accident am enabled to make the proposition which i am going to make. your child has been missing now for several days, i believe, without any clew whatever. i do not know who kidnapped it, nor any of the circumstances. it is now half-past ten o'clock. i do not know where it is at this time, and i could not now take you to it. at eleven o'clock to-night, i shall know where it is, and i shall be able to take you to it. but i need money, and i must have five thousand dollars to compensate me for the information." the man paused for a moment, and passed his hand across his forehead. "now," he went on, "to be perfectly plain. i will not trust you, and you, of course, will not trust me. in order to insure good faith on both sides, i must ask that you pay me the money here, in the presence of these witnesses, then handcuff me to a police officer, and i will take you to the child at eleven o'clock. you may surround me with all the guards you think proper, and take every precaution to insure your safety and prevent my escape. you will pardon my extreme frankness, but business is business, and we all know that matters of this kind must be arranged beforehand. men are too indifferent after they get what they want." barker stopped short, and looked up frankly at the men around him. cornelius rockham did not reply, but his white, haggard face lighted up hopefully. he beckoned to the police chief, and the two went into an adjoining room. "what do you think?" said rockham, turning to the officer. "that man," replied the chief, "means what he says, or else he is an insane fool, and he certainly bears no indication of the latter. it is evident that he will not open his mouth until he gets the money, for the reason that he is afraid that he will be ignored after the child is recovered. i do not believe there is any risk in paying him now, and doing as he says; because he cannot possibly escape when fastened to a sergeant, and if he proves to be a fake, or tries any crooked work, we will return the money to you and lock him up." "i am inclined to agree with you," replied rockham; "the man is eccentric and suspicious, but he certainly will not move until paid, and we have no charge as yet upon which to arrest him. nor would it avail us anything if we did. there is little if any risk, and much probability of learning something of the boy. i will do it." he went down to the far end of the hall and took a package of bills from a desk. then the two men returned to the drawing-room. "sir," said rockham to barker, "i accept your proposition, here is the money, but you must consider yourself utterly in our hands. i am willing to trust you, but i am going to follow your suggestion." "a contract is a contract," replied barker, taking the money and counting it carefully. when he had satisfied himself that the amount was correct he thrust the roll of bills into his outside coat-pocket. "it is now fifteen minutes until eleven," said the police chief, stepping up to barker's chair, "and if you are ready we will go." "i am ready," said the man, getting up. the police chief took a pair of steel handcuffs from his pocket, locked one part of them carefully on barker's left wrist and fastened the other to the right wrist of the sergeant. then they went out of the house and down the steps to the carriages. the police chief, barker, and the sergeant climbed into the first carriage, and mr. rockham and the other officer into the second. "have your man drive to the central park entrance," said barker to the chief. the officer called to the driver and the carriages rolled away. at the west entrance to central park the men alighted. "now, gentlemen," said barker, "we must walk west to the second corner and wait there until a cab passes from the east. the cab will be close curtained and will be drawn by a sorrel cob. as it passes you will dart out, seize the horse, and take possession of the cab. you will find the child in the cab, but i must insist for my own welfare, that you make every appearance of having me under arrest and in close custody." the five men turned down the street in the direction indicated. mr. rockham and one of the officers in the front and the other two following with barker between them. for a time they walked along in silence. then the police chief took some cigars from his pocket, gave one to the sergeant, and offering them to barker said, "will you smoke, sir?" "not a cigar, i thank you," replied the man, "but if you will permit me i will light my pipe." the two men stopped. barker took a short pipe and a pouch of tobacco from his pocket, filled the pipe and lighted it; as he was about to return the pouch to his coat pocket, an old apple-woman, hobbling past, caught the odor and stopped. "fur de love of hivin, mister," she drawled, "give me a pipe uv yer terbaccy?" barker laughed, tossed her the pouch, and the three hurried on. at the corner indicated the men stopped. the police chief examined the handcuffs carefully to see that they were all right; then they drew back in the shadow and waited for the cab. eleven o'clock came and passed and the cab did not appear. mr. rockham paced the sidewalk nervously and the policemen gathered close around barker. at half-past eleven o'clock barker straightened up, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the police chief. "it is no use," he said, "they are not here and they never will come now." "what!" cried the police chief savagely, "do you mean that we are fooled?" "yes," said barker, "all of us. it is no use i tell you, the thing is over." "it is not over with you, my man," growled the chief. "here, sergeant, get mr. rockham his money and let us lock this fellow up." the sergeant turned and thrust his hand into barker's outside coat-pocket, then his chin dropped and he turned white. "it is gone!" he muttered. "gone!" shouted rockham; "search the rascal!" the sergeant began to go carefully over the man. suddenly he stopped. "chief," he muttered, "it was in that tobacco pouch." the police chief staggered back and spun round on his heel. "angels of hell!" he gasped, "it was a cute trick, and it threw us all, every one of us." rockham bounded forward and brought his hand down heavily on barker's shoulder. "as for you, my fine fellow," he said, bitterly, "we have you all right and we will land you in sing sing." barker was silent. in the dark the men could not see that he was smiling. iii. the court-room of judge walter p. wright was filled with an interested audience of the greater and unpunished criminals of new york. the application of barker for a _habeas corpus_, on the ground that he had committed no crime, had attracted wide attention. it was known that the facts were not disputed, and the proceeding was a matter of wonder. some days before, the case had been submitted to the learned judge. the attorneys for the people had not been anxious enough to be interested, and looked upon the application as a farce. the young man who appeared for barker announced that he represented one randolph mason, a counsellor, and was present only for the purpose of asking that barker be discharged, and for the further purpose of filing the brief of mason in support of the application. he made no argument whatever, and had simply handed up the brief, which the attorneys for the people had not thought it worth their while to examine. barker sat in the dock, grim and confident. the attorneys for the commonwealth were listless. the audience was silent and attentive. it was a vital matter to them. if barker had committed no crime, what a rich, untramped field was open. the judge laid his hand upon the books piled up beside him and looked down at the bar. "this proceeding," he began, "is upon the application of one lemuel barker for a writ of _habeas corpus_, asking that he be discharged from custody, upon the ground that he has committed no crime punishable at common law or under the statutes of new york. an agreed state of facts has been submitted, upon which he stands charged by the commonwealth with having obtained five thousand dollars from one cornelius rockham by false pretences. the facts are, briefly, that on the th day of december barker called at the residence of rockham and said that he desired to make a proposition looking to the recovery of the lost child of said rockham, but he desired to make it in the presence of witnesses, and would return at ten o'clock that night. pursuant to his appointment, barker again presented himself at the residence of said rockham, and, in the presence of witnesses, declared, in substance, that at that time (then ten o'clock) he knew nothing of the said child, could not produce it, and could give no information in regard to it, but that at eleven o'clock he would know where the child was and would produce it; and that, if the said rockham would then and there pay him five thousand dollars, he would at eleven o'clock take them to the lost child. the money was paid and the transaction completed. "at eleven o'clock, barker took the men to a certain corner in the upper part of this city, and it there developed that the entire matter was a scheme on his part for the purpose of obtaining the said sum of money, which he had in some manner disposed of; and that he in fact knew nothing of the child and never intended to produce it. "the attorneys for the people considered it idle to discuss what they believed to be such a plain case of obtaining money under false pretences; and i confess that upon first hearing i was inclined to believe the proceeding a useless imposition upon the judiciary. i have had occasion to change my opinion." the attorneys present looked at each other with wonder and drew their chairs closer to the table. the audience moved anxiously. "the prisoner," continued the judge, "has filed in his behalf the remarkable brief of one randolph mason, a counsellor. this i have read, first, with curiosity, then interest, then wonder, and, finally, conviction. in it the crime sought to be charged is traced from the days of the west saxon wights up to the present, beginning with the most ancient cases and ending with the later decisions of our own court of appeals. i have gone over these cases with great care, and find that the vital element of this crime is, and has ever been, the false and fraudulent representation or statement as to an _existing_ or _past fact_. hence, no representation, however false, in regard to a _future_ transaction can be a crime. nor can a false statement, _promissory_ in its nature, be the subject of a criminal charge. "to constitute this crime there must always be a false representation or statement as to a _fact_, and that _fact_ must be a _past_ or an _existing fact_. these are plain statements of ancient and well settled law, and laid here in this brief, almost in the exact language of our courts. "in this case the vital element of crime is wanting. the evidence fails utterly to show false representation as to any _existing fact_. the prisoner, barker, at the time of the transaction, positively disclaimed any knowledge of the child, or any ability to produce it. what he did represent was that he would know, and that he would perform certain things, in the future. the question of remoteness is irrelevant. it is immaterial whether the future time be removed minutes or years. "the false representation complained of was wholly in regard to a future transaction, and essentially promissory in its nature, and such a wrong is not, and never has been, held to be the foundation of a criminal charge." "but, if your honor please," said the senior counsel for the people, rising, "is it not clearly evident that the prisoner, barker, began with a design to defraud; that that design was present and obtained at the time of this transaction; that a representation was made to rockham for the purpose of convincing him that there then existed a _bona fide_ intention to produce his child; that money was obtained by false statements in regard to this intention then existing, when in fact such intention did not exist and never existed, and statements made to induce rockham to believe that it did exist were all utterly false, fraudulent, and delusive? surely this is a crime." the attorney sat down with the air of one who had propounded an unanswerable proposition. the judge adjusted his eyeglasses and began to turn the pages of a report. "i read," he said, "from the syllabus of the case of the people of new york vs. john h. blanchard. 'an indictment for false pretences may not be founded upon an assertion of an existing intention, although it did not in fact exist. there must be a false representation as to an existing fact.' "your statement, sir, in regard to intention, in this case is true, but it is no element of crime." "but, sir," interposed the counsel for the people, now fully awake to the fact that barker was slipping from his grasp, "i ask to hold this man for conspiracy and as a violator of the statute of cheats." "sir," said the judge, with some show of impatience, "i call your attention to scott's case and the leading case of ranney. in the former, the learned court announces that if the false and fraudulent representations are not criminal there can be no conspiracy; and, in the latter, the court says plainly that false pretences in former statutes, and gross fraud or cheat in the more recent acts, mean essentially the same thing. "you must further well know that this man could not be indicted at common law for cheat, because no false token was used, and because in respect to the instrumentality by which it was accomplished it had no special reference to the public interest. "this case is most remarkable in that it bears all the marks of a gross and detestable fraud, and in morals is a vicious and grievous wrong, but under our law it is no crime and the offender cannot be punished." "i understand your honor to hold," said the baffled attorney, jumping to his feet, "that this man is guilty of no crime; that the dastardly act which he confesses to have done constitutes no crime, and that he is to go out of this court-room freed from every description of liability or responsibility to any criminal tribunal; that the law is so defective and its arm so short that it cannot pluck forth the offender and punish him when by every instinct of morality he is a criminal. if this be true, what a limitless field is open to the knave, and what a snug harbor for him is the great commonwealth of new york!" "i can pardon your abruptness," said the judge, looking down upon the angry and excited counsellor, "for the reason that your words are almost exactly the lament of presiding justice mullin in the case of scott. but, sir, this is not a matter of sentiment; it is not a matter of morality; it is not even a matter of right. it is purely and simply a matter of law, and there is no law." the judge unconsciously arose and stood upright beside the bench. the audience of criminals bent forward in their seats. "i feel," he continued, "for the first time the utter inability of the law to cope with the gigantic cunning of evil. i appreciate the utter villainy that pervaded this entire transaction. i am convinced that it was planned with painstaking care by some master mind moved by satanic impulse. i now know that there is abroad in this city a malicious intelligence of almost infinite genius, against which the machinery of the law is inoperative. against every sentiment of common right, of common justice, i am compelled to decide that lemuel barker is guilty of no crime and stands acquit." it was high noon. the audience of criminals passed out from the temple of so-called justice, and with them went lemuel barker, unwhipped and brazen; now with ample means by which to wrest his fellows in villainy from the righteous wrath of the commonwealth. they were all enemies of this same commonwealth, bitter, never wearying enemies, and to-day they had learned much. how short-armed the law was! wondrous marvel that they had not known it sooner! to be sure they must plan so cunningly that only the judge should pass upon them. he was a mere legal machine. he was only the hand applying the rigid rule of the law. the danger was with the jury; there lay the peril to be avoided. the jury! how they hated it and feared it! and of right, for none knew better than they that whenever, and where-ever, and however men stop to probe for it, they always find, far down in the human heart, a great love of common right and fair dealing that is as deep-seated and abiding as the very springs of life. vi--the sheriff of gullmore _[the crime of embezzlement here dealt with is statutory. the venue of this story could have been laid in many other states; the statutes are similar to a degree. see the code of west virginia; also the late case of the state vs. bolin, southwestern reporter, ; also the long list of ancient cases in russell on crimes, d volume.]_ i. it is hard luck, colonel," said the broker, "but you are are not the only one skinned in the deal; the best of them caught it to-day. by jupiter! the pit was like dante's inferno!" "yes, it's gone, i reckon," muttered the colonel, shutting his teeth down tight on his cigar; "i guess the devil wins every two out of three." "well," said the broker, turning to his desk, "it is the fortune of war." "no, young man," growled the colonel, "it is the blasted misfortune of peace. i have never had any trouble with the fortune of war. i could stand on an ace high and win with war. it is peace that queers me. here in the fag-end of the nineteenth century, i, colonel moseby allen, sheriff of gull-more county, west virginia, go up against another man's game,--yes, and go up in the daytime. say, young man, it feels queer at the mellow age of forty-nine, after you have been in the legislature of a great commonwealth, and at the very expiration of your term as sheriff of the whitest and the freest county in west virginia,--i say it feels queer, after all those high honors, to be suddenly reminded that you need to be accompanied by a business chaperon." the colonel stood perfectly erect and delivered his oration with the fluency and the abandon of a southern orator. when he had finished, he bowed low to the broker, pulled his big slouch hat down on his forehead, and stalked out of the office and down the steps to the street. colonel moseby allen was built on the decided lines of a southern mountaineer. he was big and broad-shouldered, but he was not well proportioned. his body was short and heavy, while his legs were long. his eyes were deep-set and shone like little brown beads. on the whole, his face indicated cunning, bluster, and rashness. the ward politician would have recognized him among a thousand as a kindred spirit, and the professional gambler would not have felt so sure of himself with such a face across the table from him. when the colonel stepped out on the pavement, he stopped, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked up and down wall street; then he jerked the cigar out of his mouth, threw it into the gutter, and began to deliver himself of a philippic upon the negative merits of brokers in general, and his broker in particular. the virginian possessed a vocabulary of smooth billingsgate that in vividness and diversity approached the sublime. when he had consigned some seven generations of his broker's ancestry to divers minutely described localities in perdition, he began to warm to his work, and his artistic profanity rolled forth in startling periods. the passers-by stopped and looked on in surprise and wonder. for a moment they were half convinced that the man was a religious fanatic, his eloquent, almost poetic, tirade was so thoroughly filled with holy names. the effect of the growing audience inspired the speaker. he raised his voice and began to emphasize with sweeping gestures. he had now finished with the broker's ancestry and was plunging with a rush of gorgeous pyrotechnics into the certain future of the broker himself, when a police officer pushed through the crowd and caught the irate virginian by the shoulder. colonel allen paused and looked down at the officer. "you," he said, calmly, "i opine are a minion of the law; a hireling of the municipal authorities." "see here," said the officer, "you are not allowed to preach on the street. you will have to come with me to the station-house." the colonel bowed suavely. "sir," he said, "i, colonel moseby allen, sheriff of gullmore county in the mountain state of west virginia, am a respecter of the law, even in the body of its petty henchmen, and if the ordinances of this godforsaken gomorrah are such that a free-born american citizen, twenty-one years old and white, is not permitted the inalienable privilege of expressing his opinion without let or hindrance, then i am quite content to accompany you to the confines of your accursed jail-house." allen turned round and started down the street with the officer. he walked a little in advance, and continued to curse glibly in a low monotone. when they were half way to the corner below, a little man slipped out of the crowd and hurried up to the policeman. "mike," he whispered, putting his hand under the officer's, "here is five for you. turn him over to me." the officer closed his hand like a trap, stepped quickly forward, and touched his prisoner on the shoulder. as the virginian turned, the officer said in a loud voice: "mr. parks, here, says that he knows you, and that you are all right, so i 'll let you go this time." then, before any reply could be made, he vanished around the corner. colonel allen regarded his deliverer with the air of a world-worn cynic. "well," he said, "one is rarely delivered from the spoiler by the hand of his friend, and i cannot now recall ever having had you for an enemy. may i inquire what motive prompts this gracious courtesy?" "don't speak so loud," said parks, stepping up close to the man. "i happen to know something about your loss, colonel allen, and perhaps also a way to regain it. will you come with me?" the virginian whistled softly. "yes," he said. ii. this is a fine hotel," observed colonel allen, beginning to mellow under the mystic spell of a five-course dinner and a quart of cliquot. "devilish fine hotel, mr. parks. all the divers moneys which i in my official capacity have collected in taxes from the fertile county of gullmore, would scarcely pay for the rich embellishment of the barber shop of this magnificent edifice." "well, colonel," said the bald parks, with a sad smile, "that would depend upon the amount of the revenues of your county. i presume that they are large, and consequently the office of sheriff a good one." "yes, sir," answered the virginian, "it is generally considered desirable from the standpoint of prominence. the climate of gullmore is salubrious. its pasture lands are fertile, and its citizens cultured and refined to a degree unusual even in the ancient and aristocratic counties of the old dominion. and, sir,"--here the colonel drew himself up proudly, and thrust his hand into the breast of his coat,--"i am proud, sir,--proud to declare that from time to time the good citizens of gullmore, by means of their suffrage, and with large and comfortable majorities, have proclaimed me their favorite son and competent official. six years ago i was in the legislature at charleston as the trusted representative of this grand old county of gullmore; and four years ago, after the fiercest and most bitterly contested political conflict of all the history of the south, i was elected to that most important and honorable office of sheriff,--to the lasting glory of my public fame, and the great gratification of the commonwealth." "that gratification is now four years old?" mused parks. colonel moseby allen darted a swift, suspicious glance at his companion, but in a moment it was gone, and he had dropped back into his grandiloquent discourse. "yes, sir, the banner county of west virginia, deserting her ancient and sacred traditions, and forgetting for the time the imperishable precepts of her patriotic fathers, has gone over to affiliate with the ungodly. we were beaten, sir,--beaten in this last engagement,--horse, foot, and dragoons,--beaten by a set of carpet-baggers,--a set of unregenerate political tricksters of such diabolical cunning that nothing but the gates of hell could have prevailed against them. now, sir, now,--and i say it mournfully, there is nothing left to us in the county of gullmore, save only honor." "honor," sneered parks, "an imaginary rope to hold fools with! it wont fill a hungry stomach, or satisfy a delinquent account." the little clerk spoke the latter part of his sentence slowly and deliberately. again the suspicious expression passed over the face of colonel allen, leaving traces of fear and anxiety in its wake. his eyes, naturally a little crossed, drew in toward his nose, and the muscles around his mouth grew hard. for a moment he was silent, looking down into his glass; then, with an effort, he went on: "yes, the whole shooting-match is in the hands of the philistines. from the members of the county court up to the important and responsible position which i have filled for the last four years, and when my accounts are finally wound up, i----" "your accounts," murmured parks, "when they are finally wound up, what then?" every trace of color vanished from the virginian's face, his heavy jaws trembled, and he caught hold of the arms of the chair to steady himself. parks did not look up. he seemed deeply absorbed in studying the bottom of his glass. for a moment colonel moseby allen had been caught off his guard, but it was only for a moment. he straightened up and underwent a complete transformation. then, bending forward, he said, speaking low and distinctly: "look here, my friend, you are the best guesser this side of hell. now, if you can pick a winning horse we will divide the pool." the two men were at a table in a corner of the hoffman café, and, as it chanced, alone in the room. parks glanced around quickly, then he leaned over and said: "that depends on just one thing, colonel." "turn up the cards," growled the virginian, shutting his teeth down tight on his lip. "well," said parks, "you must promise to stick to your rôle to the end, if you commence with the play." the southerner leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. finally he dropped his hand and looked up. "all right," he muttered; "i'll stand by the deal; throw out the cards." parks moved his chair nearer to the table and leaned over on his elbow. "colonel," he said, "there is only one living man who can set up a successful counter-plot against fate, that is dead certain to win, and that man is here in new york to-day. he is a great lawyer, and besides being that, he is the greatest plotter since the days of napoleon. not one of his clients ever saw the inside of a prison. he can show men how to commit crimes in such a way that the law cannot touch them. no matter how desperate the position may be, he can always show the man who is in it a way by which he can get out. there is no case so hopeless that he cannot manage it. if money is needed, he can show you how to get it--a plain, practical way, by which you can get what you need and as much as you need. he has a great mind, but he is strangely queer and erratic, and must be approached with extreme care, and only in a certain way. this man," continued the little clerk, lowering his voice, "is named randolph mason. you must go to him and explain the whole matter, and you must do it just in the way i tell you." again the virginian whistled softly. "my friend," he said, "there is a little too much mystery about this matter. i am not afraid of you, because you are a rascal; no one ever had a face like you that was not a rascal. you will stick to me because you are out for the stuff, and there is no possible way to make a dollar by throwing the game. i am not afraid of any living man, if i have an opportunity to see his face before the bluff is made. you are all right; your game is to use me in making some haul that is a little too high for yourself. that is what you have been working up to, and you are a smooth operator, my friend. a greenhorn would have concluded long ago that you were a detective, but i knew a blamed sight better than that the moment you made your first lead. in the first place, you are too sharp to waste your time with any such bosh, and in the second place, it takes cash to buy detectives, and there is nobody following me with cash. gullmore county has no kick coming to it until my final settlements are made, and there is no man treading shoe leather that knows anything about the condition of my official business except myself, and perhaps also that shrewd and mysterious guesser--yourself. so, you see, i am not standing on ceremonies with you. but here, young man, comes in a dark horse, and you want me to bet on him blindfolded. those are not the methods of moseby allen. i must be let in a little deeper on this thing." "all i want you to do," said parks, putting his hand confidentially on the virginian's arm, "is simply to go and see randolph mason, and ap-proach him in the way i tell you, and when you have done that, i will wager that you stay and explain everything to him." colonel allen leaned back in his chair and thrust his hands into his pockets. "why should i do that?" he said curtly. "well," murmured the little man mournfully, "one's bondsmen are entitled to some consideration; and then, there is the penitentiary. courts have a way of sending men there for embezzlement." "you are correct," said allen, quietly, "and i have not time to go." "at any rate," continued parks, "there can be no possible danger to you. you are taking no chances. mr. mason is a member of the new york bar, and anything you may tell him he dare not reveal. the law would not permit him to do so if he desired. the whole matter would be kept as thoroughly inviolate as though it were made in the confessional. your objections are all idle. you are a man in a desperate position. you are up to your waist in the quicksand, now, and, at the end of the year, it is bound to close over your head. it is folly to look up at the sky and attempt to ignore this fact. i offer to help you--not from any goodness of heart, understand, but because we can both make a stake in this thing. i need money, and you must have money,--that is the whole thing in a nutshell. now," said parks, rising from his chair, "what are you going to do?" "well," said the virginian, drawing up his long legs and spreading out his fat hands on the table, "_colonel moseby allen, of the county of gullmore, will take five cards, if you please_." iii. this must be the place," muttered the virginian, stopping under the electric light and looking up at the big house on the avenue. "that fellow said i would know the place by the copper-studded door, and there it is, as certain as there are back taxes in gullmore." with that, colonel moseby allen walked up the granite steps and began to grope about in the dark door-way for the electric bell. he could find no trace of this indispensable convenience, and was beginning to lapse into a flow of half-suppressed curses, when he noticed for the first time an ancient silver knocker fastened to the middle of the door. he seized it and banged it vigorously. the virginian stood in the dark and waited. finally he concluded that the noise had not been heard, and was about to repeat the signal when the door was flung suddenly open, and a tall man holding a candle in his hand loomed up in the door-way. "i am looking," stammered the southerner, "for one randolph mason, an attorney-at-law." "i am randolph mason," said the man, thrusting the silver candlestick out before him. "who are you, sir?" "my name is allen," answered the southerner, "moseby allen, of gullmore county, west virginia." "a virginian," said mason, "what evil circumstance brings you here?" then allen remembered the instructions which parks had given him so minutely. he took off his hat and passed his hand across his forehead. "well," he said, "i suppose the same thing that brings the others. we get in and plunge along just as far as we can. then fate shuts down the lid of her trap, and we have either to drop off the bridge or come here." "come in," said mason. then he turned abruptly and walked down the hall-way. the southerner followed, impressed by this man's individuality. allen had pushed his way through life with bluff and bluster, and like that one in the scriptural writings, "neither feared god nor regarded man." his unlimited assurance had never failed him before any of high or low degree, and to be impressed with the power of any man was to him strange and uncomfortable. mason turned into his library and placed the candlestick on a table in the centre of the floor. then he drew up two chairs and sat down in one of them motioning allen to the other on the opposite side of the table. the room was long and empty, except for the rows of heavy book-cases standing back in the darkness. the floor was bare, and there was no furniture of any kind whatever, except the great table and the ancient high-back chairs. there was no light but the candle standing high in its silver candlestick. "sir," said mason, when the virginian had seated himself, "which do you seek to evade, punishment or dishonor?" the virginian turned round, put his elbows on the table, and looked squarely across at his questioner. "i am not fool enough to care for the bark," he answered, "provided the dog's teeth are muzzled." "it is well," said mason, slowly, "there is often difficulty in dealing with double problems, where both disgrace and punishment are sought to be evaded. where there is but one difficulty to face, it can usually be handled with ease. what others are involved in your matter?" "no others," answered the virginian; "i am seeking only to save myself." "from the law only," continued mason, "or does private vengeance join with it?" "from the law only," answered allen. "let me hear it all," said mason. "well," said the virginian, shifting uneasily in his chair, "my affairs are in a very bad way, and every attempt that i have made to remedy them has resulted only in disaster. i am walking, with my hands tied, straight into the penitentiary, unless some miracle can be performed in my favor. everything has gone dead against me from my first fool move. four years ago i was elected sheriff of gullmore county in the state of west virginia. i was of course required by law to give a large bond. this i had much difficulty in doing, for the reason that i have no estate whatever. finally i induced my brother and my father, who is a very old man, to mortgage their property and thereby secured the requisite bond. i entered upon the duties of my office, and assumed entire control of the revenues of the county. for a time i managed them carefully and kept my private business apart from that of the county. but i had never been accustomed to strict business methods, and i soon found it most difficult to confine myself to them. little by little i began to lapse into my old habit of carelessness. i neglected to keep up the settlements, and permitted the official business to become intermixed with my private accounts. the result was that i awoke one morning to find that i owed the county of gullmore ten thousand dollars. i began at once to calculate the possibility of my being able to meet this deficit before the expiration of my term of office, and soon found that by no possible means would i be able to raise this amount out of the remaining fees. my gambling instincts at once asserted themselves. i took five thousand dollars, went to lexington, and began to play the races in a vain, reckless hope that i might win enough to square my accounts. i lost from the very start. i came back to my county and went on as before, hoping against hope that something would turn up and let me out. of course this was the dream of an idiot, and when the opposition won at the last election, and a new sheriff was installed, and i was left but a few months within which to close up my accounts, the end which i had refused to think of arose and stared me in the face. i was now at the end of my tether, and there was nothing there but a tomb. and even that way was not open. if i should escape the penitentiary by flight or by suicide, i would still leave my brother and my aged father to bear the entire burden of my defalcations; and when they, as my bondsmen, had paid the sum to the county, they would all be paupers." the man paused and mopped the perspiration from his face. he was now terribly in earnest, and seemed to be realizing the gravity and the hopelessness of his crime. all his bluster and grandiloquent airs had vanished. "reckless and unscrupulous as i am," he went on, "i cannot bear to think of my brother's family beggars because of my wrong, or my father in his extreme old age turned out from under his own roof and driven into the poor-house, and yet it must come as certainly as the sun will rise tomorrow." the man's voice trembled now, and the flabby muscles of his face quivered. "in despair, i gathered up all the funds of the county remaining in my hands and hurried to this city. here i went to the most reliable broker i could find and through him plunged into speculation. but all the devils in hell seemed to be fighting for my ruin. i was caught in that dread and unexpected crash of yesterday and lost everything. strange to say, when i realized that my ruin was now complete, i felt a kind of exhilaration,--such, i presume, as is said to come to men when they are about to be executed. standing in the very gaping jaws of ruin, i have to-day been facetious, even merry. now, in the full glare of this horrible matter, i scarcely remember what i have been doing, or how i came to be here, except that this morning in wall street i heard some one speak of your ability, and i hunted up your address and came without any well defined plan, and, if you will pardon me, i will add that it was also without any hope." the man stopped and seemed to settle back in his chair in a great heap. randolph mason arose and stood looking down at the virginian. "sir," said mason, "none are ever utterly lost but the weak. answer my question." the virginian pulled himself together and looked up. "is there any large fund," continued mason, "in the hands of the officers of your county?" "my successor," said allen, "has just collected the amount of a levy ordered by the county court for the purpose of paying the remainder due on the court-house. he now has that fund in his hands." "when was the building erected?" said mason. "it was built during the last year of my term of office, and paid for in part out of levies ordered while i was active sheriff. when my successor came in there still remained due the contractors on the work some thirty thousand dollars. a levy was ordered by the court shortly before my term expired, but the collection of this levy fell to the coming officer, so this money is not in my hands, although all the business up to this time has been managed by me, and the other payments on the building made from time to time out of moneys in my hands, and i have been the chief manager of the entire work and know more about it than any one else. the new sheriff came into my office a few days ago to inquire how he was to dispose of this money." mason sat down abruptly. "sir," he said almost bitterly, "there is not enough difficulty in your matter to bother the cheapest intriguer in kings county. i had hoped that yours was a problem of some gravity." "i see," said the virginian, sarcastically, "i am to rob the sheriff of this money in such a manner that it won't be known who received it, and square my accounts. that would be very easy indeed. i would have only to kill three men and break a bank. yes, that would be very easy. you might as well tell me to have blue eyes." "sir," said randolph mason, slowly, "you are the worst prophet unhung." "well," continued the man, "there can be no other way, if it were turned over to me in my official capacity what good would it do? my bondsmen would be responsible for it. i would then have it to account for, and what difference, in god's name, can it make whether i am sent to the penitentiary for stealing money which i have already used, or for stealing this money? it all belongs to the county. it is two times six one way, and six times two the other way." "sir," said mason, "i retract my former statement in regard to your strong point. let me insist that you devote your time to prophecy. your reasoning is atrocious." "i am wasting my time here," muttered the virginian, "there is no way out of it." randolph mason turned upon the man. "are you afraid of courts?" he growled. "no," said the southerner, "i am afraid of nothing but the penitentiary." "then," said mason, leaning over on the table, "listen to me, and you will never see the shadow of it." iv. i suppose you are right about that," said jacob wade, the newly elected sheriff of gullmore county, as he and colonel moseby allen sat in the office of that shrewd and courteous official. "i suppose it makes no difference which one of us takes this money and pays the contractors,--we are both under good bonds, you know." "certainly, wade, certainly," put in the colonel, "your bond is as good as they can be made in gullmore county, and i mean no disrespect to the omnipotent ruler of the universe when i assert that the whole kingdom of heaven could not give a better bond than i have. you are right, wade; you are always right; you are away ahead of the ringleaders of your party. i don't mind if i do say so. of course, i am on the other side, but it was miraculous, i tell you, the way you swung your forces into line in the last election. by all the limping gods of the calendar, we could not touch you!" colonel moseby allen leaned over and patted his companion on the shoulder. "you are a sly dog, wade," he continued. "if it had not been for you we would have beaten the bluebells of scotland out of the soft-headed farmers who were trying to run your party. i told the boys you would pull the whole ticket over with you, but they did n't believe me. next time they will have more regard for the opinion of moseby allen of gull-more." the colonel burst out into a great roar of laughter, and brought his fat hand down heavily on his knee. jacob wade, the new sheriff, was a cadaverous-looking countryman, with a face that indicated honesty and egotism. he had come up from a farm, and had but little knowledge of business methods in general, and no idea of how the duties of his office should be properly performed. he puffed up visibly under the bald flattery of allen, and took it all in like a sponge. "well," said wade, "i suppose the boys did sort of expect me to help them over, and i guess i did. i have been getting ready to run for a long time, and i aint been doing no fool things. when the farmers alliance people was organizing, i just stayed close home and sawed wood, and when the county was all stirred up about that there dog tax, i kept my mouth shut, and never said nothing." "that 's what you did, wade," continued the colonel, rubbing his hands; "you are too smooth to get yourself mixed up with a lot of new-fangled notions that would brand you all over the whole county as a crank. what a man wants in order to run for the office of sheriff is a reputation for being a square, solid, substantial business man, and that is what you had, wade, and besides that you were a smooth, shrewd, far-sighted, machine politician." jacob wade flushed and grew pompous under this eloquent recital of his alleged virtues. allen was handling his man with skill. he was a natural judge of men, and possessed in no little degree the rare ability of knowing how to approach the individual in order to gain his confidence and goodwill. "no," he went on, "i am not partisan enough to prevent me from appreciating a good clearheaded politician, no matter what his party affiliations may be. i am as firm and true to my principles as any of those high up in the affairs of state. i have been honored by my party time and again in the history of this commonwealth, and have defended and supported her policies on the stump, and in the halls of legislation, and i know a smooth man when i see him, and i honor him, and stick to him out of pure love for his intelligence and genius." the colonel arose. he now felt that his man was in the proper humor to give ready assent to the proposition which he had made, and he turned back to it with careless indifference. "now, jacob," he said lowering his voice, "this is not all talk. you are a new officer, and i am an old one. i am familiar with all the routine business of the sheriffalty, and i am ready and willing and anxious to give all the information that can be of any benefit to you, and to do any and everything in my power to make your term of office as pleasant and profitable as it can be made. i am wholly and utterly at your service, and want you to feel that you are more than welcome to command me in any manner you see fit. by the way, here is this matter that we were just discussing. i am perfectly familiar with all that business. i looked after the building for the county, collected all the previous levies, and know all about the contracts with the builders--just what is due each one and just how the settlements are to be made,--and i am willing to take charge of this fund and settle the thing up. i suppose legally it is my duty to attend to this work, as it is in the nature of unfinished business of my term, but i could have shifted the whole thing over on you and gotten out of the trouble of making the final settlements with the contractors. the levy was ordered during my term, but has been collected by you, and on that ground i could have washed my hands of the troublesome matter if i had been disposed to be ugly. but i am not that kind of a man, wade; i am willing to shoulder my lawful duties, and wind this thing up and leave your office clear and free from any old matters." jacob wade, sheriff of gullmore county, was now thoroughly convinced of two things. first, that he himself was a shrewd politician, with an intellect of almost colossal proportions, and second, that colonel moseby allen was a great and good man, who was offering to do him a service out of sheer kindness of heart. he arose and seized allen's hand. "i am obliged to you, colonel, greatly obliged to you," he said; "i don't know much about these matters yet, and it will save me a deal of trouble if you will allow me to turn this thing over to you, and let you settle it up. i reckon from the standpoint of law it is a part of your old business as sheriff." "yes," answered allen, smiling broadly, "i reckon it is, and i reckon i ought n't to shirk it." "all right," said wade, turning to leave the office, "i 'll just hand the whole thing over to you in the morning." then he went out. the ex-sheriff closed the door, sat down in his chair, and put his feet on the table. "well, moseby, my boy," he said, "that was dead easy. the honorable jacob wade is certainly the most irresponsible idiot west of the alleghany mountains. he ought to have a committee,--yes, he ought to have two committees, one to run him, and one to run his business." then he rubbed his hands gleefully. "it is working like a greased clock," he chuckled, "and by the grace of god and the continental congress, when this funeral procession does finally start, it wont be colonel moseby allen of the county of gullmore who will occupy the hearse." v. the inhabitants of the city could never imagine the vast interest aroused in the county of gullmore by the trial of colonel moseby allen for embezzlement. in all their quiet lives the good citizens had not been treated to such a sweeping tidal wave of excitement. the annual visits of the "greatest show on earth" were scarcely able to fan the interests of the countrymen into such a flame. the news of allen's arrest had spread through the country like wildfire. men had talked of nothing else from the moment this startling information had come to their ears. the crowds on saturday afternoons at the country store had constituted themselves courts of first and last resort, and had passed on the matter of the ex-sheriff's guilt at great length and with great show of learning. the village blacksmith had delivered ponderous opinions while he shod the traveller's horse; and the ubiquitous justice of the peace had demonstrated time and again with huge solemnity that moseby allen was a great criminal, and by no possible means could be saved from conviction. it was the general belief that the ex-sheriff would not stand trial; that he would by some means escape from the jail where he was confined. so firm-rooted had this conviction become that the great crowd gathered in the little county seat on the day fixed for the trial were considerably astonished when they saw the ex-sheriff sitting in the dock. in the evening after the first day of the trial, in which certain wholly unexpected things had come to pass, the crowd gathered on the porch of the country hotel were fairly revelling in the huge sensation. duncan hatfield, a long ungainly mountaineer, wearing a red hunting-shirt and a pair of blue jeans trousers, was evidently the sir-oracle of the occasion. "i tell you, boys," he was saying, "old moseby aint got no more show than a calliker apron in a brush fire. why he jest laid down and give up; jest naturally lopped his ears and give up like a whipped dog." "yes," put in an old farmer who was standing a little back in the crowd, "i reckon nobody calkerlated on jest sich a fizzle." "when he come into court this mornin'," continued the oracle, "with that there young lawyer man edwards, i poked lum bozier in the side, and told him to keep his eye skinned, and he would see the fur fly, because i knowed that sam lynch, the prosecutin' attorney, allowed to go fer old moseby, and sam is a fire-eater, so he is, and he aint afraid of nuthin that walks on legs. but, jerusalem! it war the tamest show that ever come to this yer town. edwards jest sot down and lopped over like a weed, and sam he begun, and he showed up how old moseby had planned this here thing, and how he had lied to jake wade all the way through, and jest how he got that there money, and what an everlasting old rascal he was, and there sot edwards, and he never asked no questions, and he never paid no attention to nuthin." "did n't the lawyer feller do nuthin at all, dunk?" enquired one of the audience, who had evidently suffered the great misfortune of being absent from the trial. "no," answered the oracle, with a bovine sneer, "he never did nothin till late this evenin. then he untangled his legs and got up and said somethin to the jedge about havin to let old moseby allen go, cause what he had done was n't no crime. "then you ought to a heard sam. he jest naturally took the roof off; he sailed into old moseby. he called him nine different kinds of horse-thieves, and when he got through, i could see old ampe props noddin his head back thar in the jury-box, and then i knowed that it were all up with colonel moseby allen, cause that jury will go the way old ampe goes, jest like a pack of sheep." "i reckon moseby's lawyer were skeered out," suggested pooley hornick, the blacksmith. "i reckon he war," continued the oracle, "cause when sam sot down, he got up, and he said to the jedge that he didn't want to do no argufying, but he had a little paper that would show why the jedge would have to let old moseby go free, and then he asked sam if he wanted to see it, and sam he said no, he cared nuthin for his little paper. then the feller went over and give the little paper to the jedge, and the jedge he took it and he said he would decide in the mornin'." "you don't reckon," said the farmer, "that the jedge will give the old colonel any show, do you?" "billdad solsberry," said the oracle, with a grave judicial air, as though to settle the matter beyond question, "you are a plumb fool. if the angel gabriel war to drop down into gullmore county, he could n't keep old moseby allen from goin' to the penitentiary." thus the good citizens sat in judgment, and foretold the doom of their fellow. vi. on monday night, the eleventh day of may, in the thirty-third year of the state of west virginia, the judge of the criminal court of gullmore county, and the judge of the circuit court of gullmore county were to meet together for the purpose of deciding two matters,--one relating to the trial of moseby allen, the retiring sheriff, for embezzling funds of the county, amounting to thirty thousand dollars, and the other, an action pending in the circuit court, wherein the state of west virginia, at the relation of jacob wade, was seeking to recover this sum from the bondsmen of allen. in neither of the two cases was there any serious doubt as to the facts. it seemed that it was customary for the retiring sheriff to retain an office in the court building after the installation of his successor, and continue to attend to the unfinished business of the county until all his settlements had been made, and until all the matters relating to his term of office had been finally wound up and administered. in accordance with this custom, moseby allen, after the expiration of his term, had continued in his office in a quasi-official capacity, in order to collect back taxes and settle up all matters carried over from his regular term. it appeared that during allen's term of office the county had built a court-house, and had ordered certain levies for the purpose of raising the necessary funds. the first of the levies had been collected by allen, and paid over by him to the contractors, as directed by the county court. the remaining levies had not been collected during his term, but had been collected by the new sheriff immediately after his installation. this money, amounting to some thirty thousand dollars, had been turned over to allen upon his claim that it grew out of the unfinished affairs of his term, and that, therefore, he was entitled to its custody. he had said to the new sheriff that the levy upon which it had been raised was ordered during his term, and the work for which it was to be paid all performed, and the bonds of the county issued, while he was active sheriff, and that he believed it was a part of the matters which were involved in his final settlements. jacob wade, then sheriff, believing that allen was in fact the proper person to rightly administer this fund, and knowing that his bond to the county was good and would cover all his official affairs, had turned the entire fund over to him, and paid no further attention to the matter. it appeared that, at the end of the year, moseby allen had made all of his proper and legitimate settlements fully and satisfactorily, and had accounted to the proper authorities for every dollar that had been collected by him during his term of office, but had refused and neglected to account for the money which he had received from wade. when approached upon the subject, he had said plainly that he had used this money in unfortunate speculations and could not return it. the man had made no effort to check the storm of indignation that burst upon him; he firmly refused to discuss the matter, or to give any information in regard to it. when arrested, he had expressed no surprise, and had gone to the jail with the officer. at the trial, his attorney had simply waited until the evidence had been introduced, and had then arisen and moved the court to direct a verdict of not guilty, on the ground that allen, upon the facts shown, had committed no crime punishable under the statutes of west virginia. the court had been strongly disposed to overrule this motion without stopping to consider it, but the attorney had insisted that a memorandum which he handed up would sustain his position, and that without mature consideration the judge ought not to force him into the superior court, whereupon his honor, ephraim haines, had taken the matter under advisement until morning. in the circuit court the question had been raised that allen's bond covered only those matters which arose by virtue of his office, and that this fund was not properly included. whereupon the careful judge of that court had adjourned to consider. it was almost nine o'clock when the honorable ephraim haines walked into the library to consult with his colleague of the civil court. he found that methodical jurist seated before a pile of reports, with his spectacles far out on the end of his nose,--an indication, as the said haines well knew, that the said jurist had arrived at a decision, and was now carefully turning it over in his mind in order to be certain that it was in spirit and truth the very law of the land. "well, judge," said haines, "have you flipped the penny on it, and if so, who wins?" the man addressed looked up from his book and removed his spectacles. he was an angular man, with a grave analytical face. "it is not a question of who wins, haines," he answered; "it is a question of law. i was fairly satisfied when the objection was first made, but i wanted to be certain before i rendered my decision. i have gone over the authorities, and there is no question about the matter. the bondsmen of allen are not liable in this action." "they are not!" said haines, dropping his long body down into a chair. "it is public money, and the object of the bond is certainly to cover any defalcations." "this bond," continued the circuit judge, "provides for the faithful discharge, according to law, of the duties of the office of sheriff during his continuance in said office. moseby allen ceased to be sheriff of this county the day his successor was installed, and on that day this bond ceased to cover his acts. this money was handed over by the lawful sheriff to a man who was not then an officer of this county. moseby allen had no legal right to the custody of this money. his duties as sheriff had ceased, his official acts had all determined, and there was no possible way whereby he could then perform an official act that would render his bondsmen liable. the action pending must be dismissed. the present sheriff, wade, is the one responsible to the county for this money. his only recourse is an action of debt, or assumpsit, against allen individually, and as allen is notoriously insolvent, wade and his bondsmen will have to make up this deficit." "well," said haines, "that is hard luck." "no," answered the judge, "it is not luck at all, it is law. wade permitted himself to be the dupe of a shrewd knave, and he must bear the consequences." "you can depend upon it," said the honorable ephraim haines, criminal judge by a political error, "that old allen won't get off so easy with me. the jury will convict him, and i will land him for the full term." "i was under the impression," said the circuit judge, gravely, "that a motion had been made in your court to direct an acquittal on the ground that no crime had been committed." "it was," said haines, "but of course it was made as a matter of form, and there is nothing in it." "have you considered it?" "what is the use? it is a fool motion." "well," continued the judge, "this matter comes up from your court to mine on appeal, and you should be correct in your ruling. what authorities were cited?" "here is the memorandum," said the criminal judge, "you can run down the cases if you want to, but i know it is no use. the money belonged to the county and old allen embezzled it,--that is admitted." to this the circuit judge did not reply. he took the memorandum which randolph mason had prepared for allen, and which the local attorney had submitted, and turned to the cases of reports behind him. he was a hard-working, conscientious man, and not least among his vexatious cares were the reckless decisions of the honorable ephraim haines. the learned judge of the criminal court put his feet on the table and began to whistle. when at length wearied of this intellectual diversion, he concentrated all the energy of his mammoth faculties on the highly cultured pastime of sharpening his penknife on the back of the code. at length the judge of the circuit court came back to the table, sat down, and adjusted his spectacles. "haines," he said slowly, "you will have to sustain that motion." "what!" cried the honorable ephraim, bringing the legs of his chair down on the floor with a bang. "that motion," continued the judge, "must be sustained. moseby allen has committed no crime under the statutes of west virginia." "committed no crime!" almost shouted the criminal jurist, doubling his long legs up under his chair, "why, old allen admits that he got this money and spent it. he says that he converted it to his own use; that it was not his money; that it belonged to the county. the evidence of the state shows that he cunningly induced wade to turn this money over to him, saying that his bond was good, and that he was entitled to the custody of the fund. the old rascal secured the possession of this money by trickery, and kept it, and now you say he has committed no crime. how in satan's name do you figure it out?" "haines," said the judge, gravely, "i don't figure it out. the law cannot be figured out. it is certain and exact. it describes perfectly what wrongs are punishable as crimes, and exactly what elements must enter into each wrong in order to make it a crime. all right of discretion is taken from the trial court; the judge must abide by the law, and the law decides matters of this nature in no uncertain terms." "surely," interrupted haines, beginning to appreciate the gravity of the situation, "old allen can be sent to the penitentiary for this crime. he is a rank, out and out embezzler. he stole this money and converted it to his own use. are you going to say that the crime of embezzlement is a dead letter?" "my friend," said the judge, "you forget that there is no equity in the criminal courts. the crime of embezzlement is a pure creature of the statute. under the old common law there was no such crime. consequently society had no protection from wrongs of this nature, until this evil grew to such proportions that the law-making power began by statute to define this crime and provide for its punishment. the ancient english statutes were many and varied, and, following in some degree thereafter, each of the united states has its own particular statute, describing this crime as being composed of certain fixed technical elements. this indictment against moseby allen is brought under section of chapter of the code of west virginia, which provides: 'if any officer, agent, clerk or servant of this state, or of any county, district, school district or municipal corporation thereof, or of any incorporated bank or other corporation, or any officer of public trust in this state, or any agent, clerk or servant of such officer of public trust, or any agent, clerk or servant of any firm or person, or company or association of persons not incorporated, embezzle or fraudulently convert to his own use, bullion, money, bank notes or other security for money, or any effects or property of another person which shall have come to his possession, or been placed under his care or management, by virtue of his office, place or employment, he shall be guilty of larceny thereof.' "this is the statute describing the offence sought to be charged. all such statutes must be strictly construed. applying these requisites of the crime to the case before us, we find that allen cannot be convicted, for the reason that at the time this money was placed in his hands he was not sheriff of gullmore county, nor was he in any sense its agent, clerk, or servant. and, second, if he could be said to continue an agent, clerk, or servant of this county, after the expiration of his term, he would continue such agent, clerk, or servant for the purpose only of administering those matters which might be said to lawfully pertain to the unfinished business of his office. this fund was in no wise connected with such unfinished affairs, and by no possible construction could he be said to be an agent, clerk, or servant of this county for the purpose of its distribution or custody. again, in order to constitute such embezzlement, the money must have come into his possession by virtue of his office. this could not be, for the reason that he held no office. his time, had expired; jacob wade was sheriff, and the moment jacob wade was installed, allen's official capacity determined, and he became a private citizen, with only the rights and liabilities of such a citizen. "nor is he guilty of larceny, for the very evident reason that the proper custodian, wade, voluntarily placed this money in his hands, and he received it under a _bona fide_ color of right." the honorable ephraim haines arose, and brought his ponderous fist down violently on the table. "by the eternal!" he said, "this is the cutest trick that has been played in the two virginias for a century. moseby allen has slipped out of the clutches of the law like an eel." "ephraim," said the circuit judge, reproachfully, "this is no frivolous matter. moseby allen has wrought a great wrong, by which many innocent men will suffer vast injury, perhaps ruin. such malicious cunning is dangerous to society. justice cannot reach all wrongs; its hands are tied by the restrictions of the law. why, under this very statute, one who was _de facto_ an officer of the county or state, by inducing some other officer to place in his hands funds to which he was not legally entitled, could appropriate the funds so received with perfect impunity, and without committing any crime or rendering his bondsmen liable. thus a clerk of the circuit court could use without criminal liability any money, properly belonging to the clerk of the county court, or sheriff, provided he could convince the clerk or sheriff that he was entitled to its custody; and so with any officer of the state or county, and this could be done with perfect ease where the officers were well known to each other and strict business methods were not observed. hence all the great wrong and injury of embezzlement can be committed, and all the gain and profit of it be secured, without violating the statute or rendering the officer liable to criminal prosecution. it would seem that the rogue must be stupid indeed who could not evade the crime of embezzlement." the man stopped, removed his spectacles, and closed them up in their case. he was a painstaking, honest servant of the commonwealth, and, like many others of the uncomplaining strong, performed his own duties and those of his careless companion without murmur or comment or hope of reward. the honorable ephraim haines arose and drew himself up pompously. "i am glad," he said, "that we agree on this matter. i shall sustain this motion." the circuit judge smiled grimly. "yes," he said, "it is not reason or justice, but it is the law." at twelve the following night colonel moseby allen, ex-sheriff of the county of gullmore, now acquitted of crime by the commonwealth, hurried across the border for the purpose of avoiding certain lawless demonstrations on the part of his countrymen,--and of all his acts of public service, this was the greatest. vii.--the animus furandi _[see the case of state vs. brown et al.% mo., ; the strange case of reuben deal, n. c., ; also on all fours with the facts here involved, see thompson vs. commonwealth, s. w. rept., ; and the very recent case of the people vs. hughes, pacific rept., ; also rex vs. hall, bodens case, and others there cited, russell on crimes.]_ i. i am tired of your devilish hints, why can't you come out with it, man?" the speaker was half angry. parks leaned forward on the table, his face was narrow and full of cunning. "mystery is your long suit, hogarth, i compliment you." "you tire me," said the man; "if you have any reason for bringing me here at this hour of the night i want to know it." "would i be here in the office at two o'clock in the morning, with a detective and without a reason? listen, i will be plain with you. i must get mr. mason out of new york; he is going rapidly, and unless he gets a sea-voyage and a change of country he will be in the mad-house. he is terribly thin and scarcely sleeps any more at all. no human being can imagine what a monster he is to manage, or in what an infinitely difficult position i have been placed. when we came here from paris, after the unfortunate collapse of the canal syndicate, the situation that confronted me was of the most desperate character. mr. mason was practically a bankrupt. he had spent his entire fortune in a mighty effort to right the syndicate, and would have succeeded if it had not been for the treachery of some of the french officials. he had been absent so long from new york that his law practice was now entirely lost, and, worst of all, this mysterious tilt of his mind would render it utterly impossible for him ever to regain his clientage. for a time i was in despair. mr. mason was, of course, utterly oblivious to the situation, and there was no one with whom i could advise, even if i dared attempt it. when everything failed in paris, mr. mason collapsed, physically. he was in the hospital for months; when he came out, his whole nature was wrenched into this strange groove, although his mind was apparently as keen and powerful as ever and his wonderful faculties unimpaired. he seemed now possessed by this one idea, that all the difficulties of men were problems and that he could solve them. "a few days after we landed in new york, i wandered into the court-house; a great criminal had been apprehended and was being tried for a desperate crime. i sat down and listened. as the case developed, it occurred to me that the man had botched his work fearfully, and that if he could have had mr. mason plan his crime for him he need never have been punished. then the inspiration came. why not turn this idea of mr. mason to account? "i knew that the city was filled with shrewd, desperate men, who feared nothing under high heaven but the law, and were willing to take desperate chances with it. i went to some of them and pointed out the mighty aid that i could give; they hooted at the idea, and said that crime was crime and the old ways were the best ways." parks paused and looked up at the detective. "they have since changed their minds," he added. "what did mr. mason think of your method of securing clients?" said hogarth. "that was my greatest difficulty," continued parks. "i resorted to every known trick in order to prevent him from learning how the men happened to come to him, and so far i have been successful. he has never suspected me, and has steadily believed that those who came to him with difficulties were attracted by his great reputation. by this means, mr. mason has made vast sums of money, but what he has done with it is a mystery. i have attempted to save what i could, but i have not enough for this extended trip to the south of france. now, do you understand me?" "yes," answered the detective, "you want to find where his money is hidden." "no," said parks, with a queer smile, "i am not seeking impossible ventures. what randolph mason chooses to make a mystery will remain so to the end of time, all the detectives on the earth to the contrary." "what do you want, then?" asked hogarth, doggedly. parks drew his chair nearer to the man and lowered his voice. "my friend," he said, "this recent change in the administration of the city has thrown you out on your uppers. your chief is gone for good, and with him all your hopes in new york. it was a rout, my friend, and they have all saved themselves but you. what is to become of you?" "god knows!" said the detective. "of course i am still a member of the agency, but there is scarcely bread in that." "this world is a fighting station," continued parks. "the one intention of the entire business world is robbery. the man on the street has no sense of pity; he grows rich because he conceives some shrewd scheme by which he is enabled to seize and enjoy the labor of others. his only object is to avoid the law; he commits the same wrong and causes the same resulting injury as the pirate. the word 'crime,' hogarth, was invented by the strong with which to frighten the weak; it means nothing. now listen, since the thing is a cutthroat game, why not have our share of the spoil?" hogarth's face was a study; parks was shrewdly forcing the right door. "my friend," the little man went on, "we can make a fortune by a twist of the wrist, and go scot-free with the double eagles clinking in our pockets. we can make it in a day, and thereafter wag our heads at fortune and snap our fingers at the law." "how?" asked the detective. the door had broken and swung in. "i will tell you," said parks, placing his hand confidentially on the man's shoulder. "mr. mason has a plan. i know it, because yesterday he was walking up broadway, apparently oblivious to everything. suddenly his face cleared up, and he stopped and snapped his fingers. 'good!' he said, 'a detective could do it, and it would be child play, child play.'" hogarth's countenance fell. "is that all?" he said. "all!" echoed parks, bringing his hand down on the table. "is n't that enough, man? you don't know randolph mason. if he has a plan by which a detective can make a haul, it is good, do you hear, and it goes." "what does this mean, parks?" said a voice. the little clerk sprang up and whirled round. in his vehemence he had not noticed the door-way. randolph mason stood in the shadow. he was thin and haggard, his face was shrunken and unshaven, and he looked worn and exhausted. "oh, sir," said parks, gathering himself quickly, "this is my friend braxton hogarth, and he is in great trouble. he came here to ask me for help; we have been talking over the matter for many hours, and i don't see any way out for him." "where has the trap caught him?" said mason, coming into the room. "it is an awful strange thing, sir," answered the clerk. "mr. hogarth's only son is the teller of the bay state bank in new jersey. this morning they found that twenty thousand dollars was missing from the vault. no one had access to the vault yesterday but young hogarth. the cashier was in this city, the combination was not known to any others. there is no evidence of robbery. the circumstances are so overwhelming against young hogarth that the directors went to him and said plainly that if the money was in its place by saturday night he would not be prosecuted, and the matter would be hushed up. he protested his innocence, but they simply laughed and would not listen to him. the boy is prostrated, and we know that he is innocent, but there is no way on earth to save him unless mr. hogarth can raise the money, which is a hopeless impossibility." parks paused, and glanced at hogarth, the kind of glance that obtains among criminals when they mean, "back up the lie." the detective buried his face in his hands. "the discretion of fate is superb," said mason. "she strikes always the vulnerable spot. she gives wealth if one does not need it; fame, if one does not care for it; and drives in the harpoon where the heart is." "the strange thing about it all, sir," continued parks, "is that mr. hogarth has been a detective all his life and now is a member of the atlantic agency. it looks like the trailed thing turning on him." "a detective!" said mason, sharply. "ah, there is the open place, and there we will force through." the whole appearance of the man changed in an instant. he straightened up, and his face lighted with interest. he drew up a chair and sat down at the table, and there, in the chill dark of that november morning, he unfolded the daring details of his cross-plot, and the men beside him stared in wonder. ii. about one o'clock on thursday afternoon, william walson, manager of the great oceanic coal company, stepped out of the fairmont banking house in the monongahela mining regions of west virginia. it was pay-day at his mine, and he carried a black leather satchel in his hand containing twenty thousand dollars in bills. at this time the gigantic plant of this company was doing an enormous business. the labor unions of the vast pennsylvania coal regions were out on the bitterest and most protracted strike of all history. the west virginia operators were moving the heavens in order to supply the market; every man who could hold a pick was at work under the earth day and night. the excitement was something undreamed of. the region was overrun with straggling workmen, tramps, "hobos," and the scum criminals of the cities, and was transformed as if by magic into a hunting-ground where the keen human ferret stalked the crook and the killer with that high degree of care and patience which obtains only with the man-hunter. william walson was tall, with short red beard and red hair, black eyes, and rather a sharp face; his jaw was square, bespeaking energy, but his expression was rather that of a man who won by the milder measures of conciliation and diplomacy. for almost a month he had been taxing his physical strength to the uttermost, and on this afternoon he looked worn and tired out utterly. he walked hurriedly from the bank door to the buck-board, untied the horse, raised the seat, and put the satchel down in the box under the cushion, then climbed in and drove away. the great plant of the oceanic coal company was on a branch of the railroad, some considerable distance from the main line by rail, but only a few miles over the hills from the fairmont junction. william walson struck out across the country road. the sun shone warm. he had lost so much sleep that presently he began to feel drowsy, and as the horse jogged along he nodded in his seat. about a mile from the town, at the foot of a little hill in the woods, a man stepped suddenly out from the fence and caught the horse by the bridle. walson started and looked up. as he did so the stranger covered him with a revolver and bade him put up his hands and get out of the buck-board. the coal dealer saw in a moment that the highwayman meant what he said, and that resistance would be folly. he concluded also that he was confronted by one of the many toughs at large in the neighborhood, and that the fellow's intention was simply to rob him of his personal effects and such money as he might have in his pockets; it was more than probable that the man before him had no knowledge of the money hidden under the seat and would never discover it. "tie your horse, sir," said the highwayman. walson loosed the hitch strap and fastened the horse to a small tree by the roadside. "turn your back to me," said the robber, "and put out your hands behind you." the coal dealer obeyed, thinking that the fellow was now going through his pockets. to his surprise and astonishment the man came up close behind him and snapped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. "what do you mean by this?" cried watson, whirling round on his heels. the big man with the revolver grinned. "you will find out soon enough," he said. "move along; the walking is good." william watson was utterly at sea. he could not understand why this man should kidnap him, and start back with him to the town. what could the highwayman possibly mean by this queer move? at any rate it was evident that he had no knowledge of the money, and walson reasoned shrewdly that, if he remained quiet and submissive, the vast sum in the buck-board would escape the notice of this erratic thief. the two men walked along in silence for some time; the highwayman was big, with keen gray eyes and a shrewd face; he seemed curiously elated. when the two came finally to the brow of the hill overlooking the town, walson stopped and turned to his strange captor; he was now convinced that the fellow was a lunatic. "sir," he said, "what in heaven's name are you trying to do?" "introduce you to your fellows in sing sing, my friend," answered the highwayman. "the gang will be glad to welcome red lead jim." it all came to the coal dealer in a moment "oh, you miserable ass!" he cried, "what an infernal mistake! my name is william walson, i am the manager of the oceanic coal company, there is twenty thousand dollars in that buck-board. i must go back to it or it will be lost. here take off these damned handcuffs, and be quick about it." and he literally danced up and down in the road with rage. his companion leaned against the fence and roared with laughter. "you are a smooth one, red, but the job and your twenty thousand will keep." walson's face changed. "come," he said, "let us get this fool business over," and he began to run down the hill to the town, his captor following close beside him. men came out into the street in astonishment when they saw the strange pair. walson was dusty and cursing like a pirate. he called upon the crowd that was quickly gathering, to identify him and arrest his idiotic kidnapper. the people explained that mr. walson was all right, that he was a prominent citizen, that it was all some horrible mistake. but the fellow hung on to his man until he got him to the jail. there the sheriff freed walson and demanded an explanation. the mob crowded around to hear what it all meant. the stranger seemed utterly astonished at the way the people acted. he said that his name was braxton hogarth, that he was a new york detective, an employee of the atlantic agency; that he was trailing one red lead jim, a famous bank cracker who was wanted in new york for robbery and murder; that he had tracked him to west virginia, and that coming suddenly upon william walson in the road he had believed him to be the man, had arrested him, and brought him at once to the town in order to have him extradited. he said that if walson was not the man it was the most remarkable case of mistaken identity on record. he then produced a photograph, to which was attached a printed description. the photograph was an excellent likeness of walson, and the description fitted him perfectly. the coal dealer was dumbfounded and joined with the crowd in admitting the excusableness of the detective's mistake under the very peculiar circumstances, but he said that the story might not be true, and asked the sheriff to hold the detective in custody until he was fully convinced that everything was as hogarth said. the detective declared himself perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, and william walson secured a horse and hurried back to his buck-board. the perilous vocation of hogarth had inured him to tragic positions. he was thoroughly master of his hand and was playing it with quiet and accurate precision. he asked the sheriff to telegraph the agency and inform it of the situation and said that it would immediately establish the truth of his statement. that night the mining town of fairmont was in an uproar. the streets were filled with excited men loudly discussing the great misfortune that had so strangely befallen the manager of the oceanic coal company. it had happened that when william walson returned to his buck-board, after his release by the sheriff, he found the horse lying dead by the roadside, and the buck-board a heap of ashes and broken irons. the charred remains of the satchel were found under the heap of rubbish, but it was impossible to determine whether the money had been carried away or destroyed by the fire. a jug that had lately contained liquor was found near by. all the circumstances indicated that the atrocious act was the malicious work of some one of the roving bands of drunken cutthroats. but the wonder of it all was the coincidence of the detective and the glaring boldness of the fiend "hobos." the atlantic agency of new york, answered the sheriff's telegram immediately, confirming hogarth's statement, and referring to the district attorney of new york and the chief of police; these answered that the agency was all right and that its statement should be accepted as correct. finally, as a last precaution, the sheriff and the president of the oceanic coal company talked with the new york police chief by long-distance telephone. when they were at length assured that the detective's story was true, he was released and asked to go with the president before the board of directors. here he went fully over the whole matter, explaining that the man, red lead jim, was a desperate character, and for that reason he had been so severe and careful, not daring to risk the drive back to town in the buck-board. when asked his theory of the robbery, he said that the first impression of the people was undoubtedly correct, that the country was full of wandering gangs of desperate blacklegs, that the money being in paper was perhaps destroyed by the fire and not discovered at all by the thugs in their malicious and drunken deviltry. the board of directors were not inclined to censure hogarth, suggesting that after all he had perhaps saved the life of william walson, as it was evident that the drunken "hobos" would have murdered him if he had been present when they chanced upon the horse and buck-board. nevertheless, the detective seemed utterly prostrated over the great loss that had resulted from his unfortunate mistake, and left for new york on the first train. iii. the following night two men stepped from the train at jersey city and turned down towards the ferry. for a time they walked along in silence; suddenly the big one turned to his companion. "parks," he said, "you are a lightning operator, my boy, you should play the mob in a roman drama." "i fixed the 'hobo' evidence all right, hogarth," answered the other, "and i have not forgotten the trust fund," whereupon he winked at his big companion and tapped on the breast of his coat significantly. the detective's face lighted up and then grew anxious. "well," he said, lowering his voice, "are we going to try the other end of it?" "why not?" answered the little clerk. "don't we need the trust fund doubled?" iv. the great gambling house of morehead, opstein, & company was beginning to be deserted by the crowd that had tempted the fickle goddess all night long to their great hurt. it was now four o'clock in the morning, and only one or two of the more desperate losers hung on to play. snakey the parson, a thin delicate knave, with a long innocent, melancholy face, was dealing faro for the house. "snakey" was a "special" in the parlance of the guild; his luck was known to come in "blizzards"; if he won, to use the manager's language, he won out through the ceiling, and if he lost, he lost down to his health. for this reason snakey the parson was not a safe man as a "regular," but he was a golden bonanza when the cards went his way, and to-night they were going his way. the stragglers drifted out one by one and the dealer was preparing to quit the table when the door opened and two men entered: one was a little old man with a white beard and a lean, hungry face; the other was a big, half-drunken cattle drover. the two came up to the table and stood for a moment looking at the lay-out. a faint smile passed over the face of snakey the parson, he knew the types well, they were western cattle-shippers with money. "how high do ye go, mister?" said the little man. "against the sky," answered the dealer, sadly. "then i'll jist double me pile," said the little old man, reaching down into his pocket and fishing up a roll of bills wrapped in a dirty old newspaper. he counted the money and placed it upon the table. the dealer looked up in astonishment. "ten thousand!" he said. "yep," answered the old man, "an i want ter bet hit on the jack er spades." the dealer pushed a stack of yellow chips across the table. "no, siree," said the player, "you don't give me no buttons. i' ll put my pile on this side and you put your pile on t'other side, and the winner takes 'em." snakey the parson wavered a moment. it was against the rules, but here was too good a thing to lose. he turned, counted out the money, and placed it on his right, and began to deal from the box. the cards fell rapidly. for a time the blacks ran on the side of the house. suddenly they changed and the queen and the ten of spades fell on the left. the dealer saw the card under his thumb and paused. the keen eyes of the old man were fixed on him. he determined to take the long chance, knowing that the loss was only temporary; and the jack of spades came up and fell on the side of the stranger. with a whoop of joy the old man clutched the money. "i am going to try her agin!" he cried. "hold on," said the big cattle-drover, pushing up to the table; "my wad is as good as you; it is my turn now." the dealer grinned. "you can both play, gentlemen," he said, speaking with a low, sweet accent. "no, we can't," muttered the drover, with the childish obstinacy of a half-drunken man. "i want the whole shooting match to myself; he can have the next whirl at her." thereupon the drover dragged a big red pocket book from somewhere inside his coat, took out a thick, straight package of bills, and laid it down on the table. "how much?" said the dealer, running his finger over the end of the package. '"same as abe's," said the drover. "here," said the little old man, peevishly, "if you won't let me play, bet my roll with yourn," and he pushed the ten thousand of his own money to his companion, and placed the money, which he had won from the bank, in his pocket. the drover took the money and piled it up on the ace of spades. the dealer's face grew pensive and sweet; it was all right this time; he was going to round off the night with a golden _coup d' état_. he opened the safe behind him, counted out twenty thousand in big bills, and piled it up on one side of the bank. then he opened the box and began. the old man wandered around the room; the big, half-drunken cattle-shipper hung over the table. snakey, the parson scarcely saw either; he was intent on manipulating the box, and his hand darted in and out like a white snake. suddenly the ace of spades flew out, and fell on the side of the house. the quick dealer clapped his left hand over the box and put out his right for the player's money. as he did so, the big drover bent forward and thrust a revolver into his face. "no, you don't," he growled, "this is my money and i will not leave it, thank you." snakey the parson glanced at the man and knew that he had been fooled, but he was composed and clear-headed. under the box on the right were weapons and the electric button; he began to take his right hand slowly from the table. "stop!" said the drover, sharply, "that game won't work!" the dealer looked up into the player's face, and dropped his hands; he was a brave man, and desperate, as gamblers go, but he knew death when he saw it; his face turned yellow and became ghastly, but he did not move. the drover took up his money from the lay-out, and handed it to the old man. he used his left hand only, and did not take his eyes from the gambler's face. the old man thrust the bundle of bills in his pocket, and hurried from the room. the gambler sat rigid as a wax figure. the drover waited until his companion had sufficient time to get thoroughly away from the house; then he began to move slowly backward to the door, keeping the gambler covered with the weapon. the faro dealer watched every move of the drover, like a hawk, but he did not attempt to take his hand from the table; the muzzle of the revolver was too rigid; it was simply moving backward from his face in a dead straight line. at the door the drover stopped, drew himself together, then sprang suddenly through and bounded down the stairs. snakey the parson touched the electric button, and as the drover rushed into the street, two policemen caught him by the shoulder. v well," said the police chief, "i am tired of making an ass of myself; mr. mason says this cattle drover has committed no crime except a petty assault, and if he is right, i want to know it. that man beats the very devil. every time i have sent up a case against his protest the judges have pitched me out on my neck, and the thing has got to be cursedly monotonous." the district attorney smiled grimly, and turned around in his chair. "have you given me all the details?" he said. "yes," answered the official, "just exactly as they occurred." the district attorney arose, thrust his hands into his pockets, and looked down at the great man-hunter; there was a queer set to his mouth, and the merest shadow of a twinkle in his eyes. "well, my friend," he said, "you are pitched out on your neck again." the official drew a deep breath, and his face fell. "then it is not robbery?" he said. "no," answered the attorney. "well," mused the police chief, "this law business is too high for me. i have spent my life dealing with crimes, and i thought i knew one when i saw it; but i give it up, i don't know the first principles. why, here is a fellow who voluntarily goes into a gambling house, plays and loses, then draws a revolver and forcibly takes away the money which, by the rules of the play, belongs to the house; robs the dealer by threatening to kill him; steals the bank's money, and fights his way out. it cannot matter that the man robbed was a lawbreaker himself, or that the crime occurred in a gambling house. it is the law of new york that has been violated; the place and parties are of no importance. here is certainly the force and the putting in fear that constitute the vital element of robbery; and yet you say it is not robbery. you have me lost all right." "my dear sir," put in the district attorney, "the vital element of robbery is not the force and terror but is what is called in the books the _animus furandi_, meaning the intention to steal. the presence of this felonious intent determines whether or not the wrong is a crime. if it be not present there can be no robbery, no matter how great the force, violence, or putting in fear, or how graven serious, or irreparable the resulting injury. "it is true indeed that the force and terror are elements, but the vital one is the intent. if force and violence one takes his own property from the possession of another, it is no robbery; nor is it robbery for one to take the property of another by violence under the belief that it is his own, or that he has some right to it, or by mistake or misunderstanding, although vast loss be caused thereby and great wrong and hurt result." "i have no hope of ever understanding it," said the police chief; "i am only a common man with a short life time." "why, sir," continued the attorney, "it is as plain as sunlight. robbery is compounded of larceny and force. it is larceny from the person by violence, but in order to constitute it the property must be taken from the peaceable possession of the party and it must be taken _animo furandi_. neither of these happened in the case you state, because the faro dealer, by means of an unlawful game, could not secure any color of right or title to the money which he should win by it. therefore the money taken was not his property, and could not have been taken from his peaceable possession. "in the second place, this vital element of robbery, the animus furandi, is totally wanting, for the reason that the player, in forcibly seizing the money which he had lost, was actuated by no intention to steal, but, on the contrary, was simply taking possession of his own property, property to which he had a full legal right and title." "but," put in the officer, "there was the other ten thousand which the old man won, they got away with that; if the game was unlawful they had no right to that." "true," said the lawyer. "the old man had no title to the ten thousand which he had won, but he did not steal it; the dealer gave it to him of his own free will, and the old man had it in his possession by the full voluntary consent of the dealer some time before the resort to violence. there was clearly no crime in this." "damn it all!" said the police chief, wearily, "is there no way to get at him, can't we railroad him before a jury?" the district attorney looked at the baffled officer and grinned ominously. "my friend," he said, "there is no power in venice can alter a decree established. the courts have time and again passed upon cases exactly similar to this, and have held that there was no crime, except, perhaps, a petty misdemeanor. we could not weather a proceeding on _habeas corpus_ ten minutes; we could never get to a jury. when the judge came to examine the decisions on this question we would go out, as you expressed it, on our necks." "well," muttered the police chief, as he pulled on his coat, "it is just as randolph mason said, out he goes." the attorney laughed and turned to his desk. the officer crossed to the door, jerked it open, then stopped and faced round. "mr. district attorney," he said, "won't there be hell to pay when the crooks learn the law?" then he stalked through and banged the door after him. the district attorney looked out of the window and across the street at the dirty row of ugly buildings. "humph!" he said, "there is something in that last remark of the chief." vi. braxton hogarth, detective, member of the atlantic agency, in good standing, now, by right of law and by virtue of his craft, restored to his freedom and identity, stepped back and was swallowed up by the crowd. the great ocean liner steamed out from the port of new york on its pathless journey to the sunny south of france. randolph mason sat in an invalid chair close up to the rail of the deck; he was grim, emaciated, and rigidly ugly. his body was exhausted, worn out utterly long ago, but the fierce mysterious spirit of the man was tireless and wrought on unceasingly. for a time he was silent, his eyes wide, and his jaw set like a wolf trap. suddenly he clutched the rail and staggered to his feet. "parks," he muttered,--"parks, this ship is worth a million dollars. come with me to the cabin and i will show you how it may be wrested from the owners and no crime committed; do you understand me, parks? no crime!" _note.--for the purpose of a complete demonstration, two situations are here combined. in the first, the crime of robbery was committed, but in such a manner as to completely evade an inference of the _animus furandi_, although it was in fact present and obtained. in the second, there was no robbery, the _animus furandi_ being entirely absent, although it apparently existed in a conspicuous degree._ the end.