THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE, (^j/k TALB OF ydONTRBAL) /.^ '■"?-■ .t-» C.-. :>^^ 6"iL BY -^^I^TH-CTR OJ^3^r'B:BX..Xi. 1 . T < . • • • o Eateved according to Act of Farliimens of Canada, ia the fmr ati' IdbouMnd eiy;ht huadrad asid eighty -eight, by J. Tnuo. Robiksom, ia the office <^the Minister ol Agrieitlture. Montreal : J. THEO. ROBINSON, Pubosker. PS ^ i,^;*' THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. CHAPTER I. I do not believe in ghosts ; I am not superstitioas. If I were I shoald be a miserable man. All stories of apparitions, visions, and that sort of thing I have al- ways ignored ; I look upon them as merely so msmy idle tales, having noV'eai foundation in fact Spirit- ualism I have ever r eliaved to be a fi'aud ; and I have no patience with those who seek to unravel the secrets of the future. But let those who have studied this subject, and who, like me, regard all such things as idle and unprofitable delusions, endeavour to ex- plain what I am about to relate. As for myself I shall never attempt to give an explanation ; it would be worse than useless for me to try to do so. When I think of all that has happened to me, my brain be- comes confused and my head swims ; it was only to- ■day that I stood still for a moment in the street, and asked myself if it were not impossible that such things should be. I could not answer the question ; I cannot answer it. I shall not trv.*'Bufc I shall tell thf3 very truth ; I shall not change, nor add, nor conceal, a single item in the record of this, my won- derful experience. 711586 4 THE MYaTEEY OF MAETHA WARNE. I have not told my wife. If I did ahe would not be- lieve me. If she thought that I was serious she would become alanned lest I be about to lose my reason. When she reads this she will have no idea that it was I who wrote it. I have not told my friends. I have told no one. I do not even hope to be be- lieved. Yet it is absolutely necessary for my own peace of mind that I should take the world into my confidence. By doing m I am well aware that I shall only succeed in making a very mysterious cir- cumstance seem yet more mysterious. I cannot help that. I believe that it is my duty to tell what I have to tell in as few words as possible, and be done with it. I do so. Those who scoff at it as fact may relish it as fiction. In either case myi mind will be re- lieved of an almost intolerable burden. Of myself I need say little. I am a physician, and have a large practice. I reside in the city of Mont- real, the commercial metropolis of the Dominion of Canada. I have lived there for over twenty years. I am married and have a family. I know that I am generally respected and esteemed, both by my pro- fesaionsU brethren and by the different classes of so- ciety. I have, during the twenty years or more that I have lived in this city, accumulated a considerable fortune, saved out of the return^ which a good and ever-increasing practice has brought in to me. I think I need ssjy no more of myself nor of my posi- tion ; they but very slightly affect the story which I have to tell. Let me proceed. w CHAPTER II. One night in January of last year I was sitting in my library. It was a little after ten o'clock. I had been out lecturing to some medical students, and had come in feeling a little fatigued I was making myself verj^ comfortable, and had taken off my boots and placed my feet upon a chair m front of a blazing fire. I held in my hand a magazine, and was lei- surely turning over the pages. Beside me, on an- other chair, was a glass of hot whiskey and water, which I had mixed before sitting down. I was thus prepared to enjoy myself after the labours of the day and of the evening. I was turning over the leaves of tlie magazine, as I have said, very leisurely, and was preparing to sip my whiskey and water, when the door opened and a maid entered to announce that a person was waiting to see me in the offiqe. Doctors are accustomed to be interrupted ; but 1 do not think that we ever grow quite indifferent to the fact that our rest is about to be disturbed. I know I do not. " What sort of a person is it ?" I asked. " A young girl, sir, and gave no name." "A young girl—very well, Anne," I replied, **I C niE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WA1NK. suppose I shall have to go down ; I will be there in a minute." Then I looked at my feet and at the fire» and felt that I might just as well remain wliere I was, and let the girl come to me. " No — tell her— ask her to step up here. Stay — is it a lady ?" "A lady ? No sir, just a plain girl I think." said the servant. " Just a young girl. Very well, tell her to come upstairs ; I am tired to-night." I am a man of method, and this was very irregu- lar on my part. However, a man of methodical habits may sometimes permit himself to indulge in the luxury of a small irregularity. But I do not re- member ever having done this before. Anne took her departure. I laid the magazine aside, and sat up straight in my chair in order that I might be able to rise when the young woman was ushered in. But I waited several minutes and no young woman came, T stin-ed the whiskey, I raked the fire ; still no sign of my visitor. I was angry at this ; what could Anne mean ? In my disgust at this very unnecessary delay, I determined that I would go and fetch her myself. I was resolved that she should come up into the library. Having once made up my mind to see her tMere, I was not going to be baulked. So I picked up my slippers, which had been merely lying on the lioor beside my chair^ and, putting them on, went out into the hall. I had hardly crossed the threshold when I met Annie coming back in no small perturbation. I stopped her at once. " Annie, what does this mean? THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNR. 7 It seems to me you have been a long time. What does it mean i^" " Sir — she is gone, sir, gone." *' Gone ? — who ? — where ?" " The girl. I don't know where she's gone, sir ; she was in the office when I went in, sir, standing by the window. I told her how you would see her in the library, and asked her to step up.*' " WeU." "Well sir, before the words were out of my mouth,, away she went, out the door into the street, like a wild thing." " like a wild thing, eh ? Did she show that she heard you ?" " No sir, she didn't appear to hear, but she must have heard me. Just went ofV like a shot, out of the door. I went out and waited for a minute, thinking^ she might have somebody else waitini; outside ; bat there wasn't anybody, and she hasn't come back again. " She may go to the that is, never mind any- thing more about it, it doesn't matter," I said, going back to the fire and taking a sip of the whiskey. *' Come to consult me, I suppose, and lost heart at the last minute, though they don't usually do that when they once make up their minds to come,** I thought to myself. So ended my first — I cannot say interview* with— I may say experience of — the girl whose strange story I am telling. mmm'm'^^ CHAPTER III. A few weeks passed, I cannot exactly say how many, when this circumstance, which in the me&n- ti ^3 I had wholly forgotten, was recalled to my mind. Dr. Brant, an old friend of mind, and I, were sitting together one evening in my library; and during the course of our conversation he mentioned incidentally the number of visitors he had had the evening before. There were, he said, thirteen. *• Thirteen !" I replied ; " then my practice, doctor, is larger than yours. I had fourteen. I counted them over this morning. I go one better than you." It is very hard, as the Americans say, " to get Ahead " of Dr. Brant. '• You do, do you V said the old gentleman, smiling. " Well my friend, now that I come to think of it, I also had fourteen. But as it happened, one of them, a young girl, was in too much of a hurry to wait and see me; however, I may as well count her in, and, counting her, I make up the number fourteen." And the doctor smiled as much as to say that he was even with ma a^in. A young girl. Rather absurd it was, but I made up my mind that this was the same girL " YHiat aort of a girl was she ?" I said. 8 THE MYSTERY OF MABTHA WARNK. 9 " Very modest, and apparently respectable,'* said Dr. Brant ; " at least so my assistant said ; why ?" ^ 0, nothing," I replied ; " only it was a strange thing to do." * The doctor did not pursue the subject, nor did I tell him of my experience of, perhaps, the same person. We discussed other matters, smoked our pipes, and drank our whiskey. After his departure, however, I thought ov^r the matter. It might be the same girl ; if so, it was a strange thing : then again it might be an altogether different person ; if so, it was a matter of no moment. , For two or three days the occurrence lingered in my mind, and I found my thoughts returning to it at odd moments. Then, as my time was very much taken up with professional work, I forgot about it Again it passed out of my mind completely. CHAPTER IV. It was some time later — I remember that it waa on Ash Wednesday, and Ash Wednesday was late last year— that, coming in from a sleigh drive, I was met by Anne in the hall. She followed me up to the door of my room and knocked. I called out to her to come in. Putting her head inside the door without entering, she said with a certain suggestive- ness of awe and importance, " the girl, sir !*' Tliegirl. asked, "what girl ?" — but I recoil j^ated in a moment, and kr.ew very well what Anne meant^ This was the girl who had come to see me before, and who had gone away without giving me a chance to speak to her. This was the girl who had played a similiar trick on Dr. Brant. I had not a doubt of it» I did not hesitate a moment. I straightened my collar in order to impose upon Anne, and succeeded in getting it awry. Then I rushed downstairs to my office. I must say that I was disappointed. On entering, I saw no one ; and I was about coucluding that the girl had again left the office in the same precipitate manner as before, when I heard a slight sound, as of some one drawing a short breath, behind the door. I turned round, and there, in the shadow of the door, holding on to the handle with one hand 10 THE MYSTEaV OF MARTHA WARNE. II and swinging to and fro a small woollen niuflf with, the other, stooil the girl. She was quite a young girl, I sliould think of about eighteen or twenty yeai's of age. And 1 may as well say at once, that a more oixlinary looking person I have never seen, nor expect to see. Siic had queer little ]>lack eyes, like beads, set deep in her head, a turned-up nose, and a small moutli ex- pressive of nothing in particular. She was ratliev poorly, though not meanly dressed, and wore a hriglit scarf of red and yellow, or some other gaudy mix- ture of colours, round her neck. As far as comfort, went, she .seemed to be quite prepared f jr any in- clemency of the weather, either of wind, rain, or snow. Her jacket was thick, her scarf was no less amph' than it was conspicuous, and slie wore overshoes. Such was the girl. I motioned to her to sit dt>vvn, and remarked that as it was rather cold she had better sit near the fire. She took a chair. Then I made some more remarks on the weather, for a doctor is nothing if not so- ciable. At first she did not answer any of my ques- tions ; but, after a little persuasion on my part, she managed to frame a few sentences. When she spoke, her voice at once attracted my attention. Some peo- ple are better physiognomists than others ; dwtors have rare opportunities to study character ; and if they do not do so successfully, to a certain extent at least, are not likely to obtrtin much prominence in their profession. But some men are much quicker in reading faces than others ; one will look at the ■ tpil^ 12 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. nose, another at the eye, and another at the fore- I head, while I have known acquaintances of mine to form an opinion with regard to a stranger simply by looking at his mouth. Physiognomy never was my forte. I have judged men by their;^faces again and again, as we must all of us do sometimes; and I have often been mistaken. I have, however, my favourite way of forming an opinion of new people : I always pay particular attention to a person's voice. This girl had a matter-of-fact voice. Those who are more or less gifted with imagination usually be- tray it by a richness or mellowness of tone, as well as by a variety of accent, when speaking. Of any- thing like imagination I would say this girl was ut- terly destitute. She spoke in a monotone, and her voice was thin and hard. As will be seen presently we discussed, during our interview, matters of the most absorbing interest ; yet she neither raised nor lowered it, from beginning to end ; except, indeed, when she told me what I knew to be untrue, when she did lower her voice a little. Let me try to re- member our conversation. As to the first part of it, it was wholly on the subject of headaches and sleep- less nights, and I will not weary the reader by de- tailing it. Passing on to the more important mat- ters, it was somewhat as follows. " You tell me," I said to her, after thinking over what I had heard from her for a minute or two ; ^'you tell me that you are living alone. How long hare you lived alone ?" " I have lived by myself — for two months — more — ever since December." THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. 13- " For two months ; ever since December, You say you are an orphan, that your father and mother are dead. With whom did you live previous to the time you mention, previous to last December ?" This question she did not seem disposed to an- swer ; but X pressed it. " You must not mind me making these inquiries," I said. " The fact is you seem to be the victim of nervous despondency. I can only suggest a remedy when I know what is ti)e cause of this depression of spirits. Where do you Uve r She hesitated—and when she answered,, I knew she was telling a lie. ** On^ — Bleury street." " Bleury street. Well, will you tell me this ; with whom did you live up to last December ?" '* Who did I live with ? I kept lodgers in my house." " How many ? Who were they ?" " One femily." " Only one family. How many people were there in that family V " There was — a man, his wife, and two children ; four persons." " How long did they live with you ?" " For four years ; they moved into the house shortly after my father died." " How old are vou ?" I said. " Twenty-three," she replied. " Twenty-three ? You hardly look that." I en- deavoured to be as agreeable as possible, and thought it wise to pay a compliment now and then. " Ho?/ 14 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. was it that your friends — for I presume they were friends, after living with you for such a length of time — how was it that your friends came to leave you ?" " Yes, they were friends of nn'ne," she said, an- swering a (question which she was nut asked; "they were good friends to me for a year or more." " They were ; then why did they leave you ? Was it a matter of business merely ? Were they better- ing their position in the world ?" "Yes sir." I did not believe her. She was only answering my (juestions for form's sake. I am an obstinate man. When I once begin to ([uestion a patient, I do not leave off without learning what I wish to know, if patience and perseverance are likely to end in suc- cess. I was not making much headway ; but I per- severed. " I^ your house a large one ?" I asked. " Yes sir, quite large.'' "Then why do you not take in new lodgers ? it is not wise for you to live alone." " That is true, sir. But no one will come." *' No ? How is that ? Have you tried ?" " Yes sir, I have. Two people have moved in and moved out again. They wouldn't stay any time. I can't do anything. I have tried and tried and thought and thought, but 1 don't know what will become of me !" ^ " Ah 1 Then there is something of which you have not yet told me," I said, feeling a certain relief. THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WAUNE. 15 ** Now toll me, without any more beating about the bush, what it is that is the matter ?" The girl look at me for a moment in a doubtful way, and then closed her lips tightly. I was about to address her again, when, all of a sudden, she let her hands which had been folded in her lap, fall to her side ; and burst into tears. At this I was deceived. I immediately bethought me of a story of sin and shame, of weakness and betrayal. And yet, no ; the more I looked at her as she sat there sobbing in a half convulsive way, the less I was inclined to rank her as one of those erring ones of whose sad story the world knows so much and yet so little. She had several times, I felt confident, told me what was not true, and tried to deceive me ; but from the very fact that she had not deceived me, and that her efforts to hide the truth were too plain not to be noticeable, I implied that she was not false by nature. It now remained for me to discover the real cause of these tears. I waited for some little time, for no wise man will ever seek to deprive a woman of her right to have a good cry if she wants one, and then began my ques- tioning again. I was wise enough, also, not to begin where I left off. • " This weather," I said, " is very severe, and does not suit everyone's constitution. I fancy, from your appearance, that you feel the cold very much ; am I right?" " No," she replied ; not as I know of. The weather doesn't hurt me ; it isn't that !" 16 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. " It is'nt ? And yet you shiver now in this warm room. What am I to infer ? Are you sure you are not suffering from cold ?" " Cold ? 'No, no, no, nothing like that, my head aches, my eyes ache, my heart beats. Can't you help me?" " My poor girl, help you, willingly." " Then what will you do ?" This she said eagerly, and I felt rather non- plussed for an answer. Before speaking, I got up and drank a glass of water. This gave me time to think. " The first tning," I said, sitting down again," — " the first thing I will do is to offer you good advice. I think you need that more than anything else. And I will begin by saying that it is absolutely necessary that you should live no longer alone. You must have friends, or at least acquaintances of some sort or description, in the same house with you. You have not told me why your lodgers left you as they did ; perhaps it doesn't matter ; I cannot judge : but you must endeavour to get some new ones. You seem to be rather sad or reserved ; I am very sorry for you; but I do not see my way clear to suggesting any particular remedy for this. I would like to help you in this matter, but it is difficult to do so unless one is very familiar with the life and character, and I may also say, the circumstances, of the person one is treating. With regard to you, I cannot pretend to any such familiarity, and therefore am obliged to content myself with vague generalizations. Do you understand me ?" MYSTERY OF MA.RTHA. WARNE. 17 No ; she did not. It was perfectly plain that she was not attending to what I said. She was moving her foot backward and forward on the Hoor, making a pattern on the carpet. This naturally displeased me. "You are not attending to what I say," I said ; " do you not think it would be better for you to do so ? You have come to me as a patient ; now the first thing for you to do is to listen to my directions, even if you do not follow them in the future." Thus appealed to, the girl looked me straight in the face. " Your directions, sir, are very good in their way, perhaps ; but they are of no use to me." I was astonished, and no wonder. " Wtlat do you mean ?" I said. " I mean, sir, it is no use, you cannot help me. I will die in the end. I know I must ; I must nob keep you any longer. No, nothing can be done." The tone of utter despair in her voice touched me much. There was no make-believe about it what- ever. As she spoke, she rose from her chair, and put her hand into her pocket. Evidently she was going to pay me a fee. I arrested her, however, feeling that I had in truth done nothing deserving of remuneration. " Before you pay me," I said, " I should like to be able to feel that I have done something for you. This I cannot feel as yet. No — I cannot take your money, not without I know what I am taking t for." " Your are very good, sir, very good, I — I should B ^ 18 THE MYSTRRY QF MARTHA WARNE, not have come ; I knew it would be no good ;-— but "— I was faiifly roused. It is not often that I lose my temper, buit this was more than I could stand. I was tired of being spoken tQ in enigmas, tired of vague generalities ; I spoke out. " Girl," I said, planting myself in front of her, and fixing my eye upon her. " tell me at once, what is the matter with you ?" " Sir r "I demand, I ask, I. must know, before you leave this oflice — what is there the matter with you, what is troubling ypu ? Why have you come to see me ? I insist upon your telling me, and I will permit no more evasions of the truth." At this peremptory question, her colour rose a little. She stepped back a short distance and seemed to consider the matter. " Well — I am waiting for an answer !" " Yes, sir. I will answer you ; but don't be hard on me, will you ?" " No — I will not. Only tell me the truth." " I will. You wish to know what troubles me." " I do." " Well ; I don't know what to say ; you will laugh, or you will tell me go to some other man ; or — or" — " I will do nothing of the kind. Tell me your troubles, and, as I have said before, if, I can, I will help you. If I cannot, I cannot." " Oh, Dr. Thorburn 1 How can I make you THT MYSTERY OF MARMHA WA^fNB. 19 understand it ?— I can't It is impossible — impossi- Ue. It cannot be true ; but it is true. Tell me, Dr. Tliorburn, is it possible that, when people ar« dead "— " Yes."— " When people are dead, they ever come back ?' " Come back where ?" " Come back again. Is it possible ? Tell me." I shook my head, this was not what I had "bargained for. I felt rather incredulous, 1 suppose I looked so. I was little prepared for what was to follow. " You say they cannot come ?" I shook my head again. " No, they cannot — they cannot ; it is impossible !" At these words I attempted to speak, and raised my hand as if to ask her to pause. But in vain ; rising from her chair with her face flushed and her eyes burning with a fire that I should not have believed .possible in such a person, she waved me off, and com- menced to tie her scarf in a double knot. " No, of course not ; of course not. The dead cannot come back again ; they cannot, and therefore they do not. Yes — yes — and yet — they tio come ! Yes, I under- stand it ; it cannot be, and, if it cannot be, it must not happen. Yes, you are right, you cannot help me. You could not help me, as you said, unless you knew my case. You were right. You do not know it ; you never will know it. I must go home again! No, I will not offer you money ? Why should I ? Have you done anything for me ? Have I got any 90 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. good from coming ? Have I learned anything that will help me ?" " Stay," I said, " let the money question be waived altogether ; let us not consider it at all. Let us have a little moie conversation on this subject. I may be able to help you yet ; I may be able to help you to get rid of these — these — these illusions." At the word " illusions" she interrupted me. "Il- lusions ? Yes ; perhaps so ; I wish to God they were ! The trouble is they are not ; they cannot be. You do not understand. I might try and explain to you what it is, but you begin by taking for granted that I am deluded." " My dear girl," I said, " do hear me. It is not a common thing in our practice to meet with such cases as yours, but we do so occasionally ; and in every such case I have seen good results flow from the fact that the patient began, although in some cases it may be with reluctance, by acknowledging that the ghosts of the dead or whatever it happened to be that he or she was troubled with in the way of apparitions and visions, were the creatures of a dis- ordered imagination. Now I want you" — " No, I won't ! I shall not begin by telling a lie or trying to deceive myself. I know better. As I said before, I am not going to pay you ; I have noth- ing to pay you for. But I will not take up your time longer, for it would be of no use to do so. You do not believe in me, I do not believe in you ; I shall thank you and leave." " As you please," I remarked. " If you have no THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARN!. 21 faith in me, and would not value my advice, I sup- pose it would be loss of time for you to remain. I would have been very willing to do what I could for you, but if it is useless — " "It is quite useless," she said, drawing her shawl over her shoulders ; " quite useless ! I may thank you, Dr. Thorburn ; I wish you would believe me ; perhaps some day you will : if I should ever want ^ou; if I should ever send for you; would you come ?" As she said this she gave me a piercing glance : I felt a conviction of her sincerity overpower me at that moment. •' I will surely come." " You will — thank you — then that is all !" •' All — yes. Except — would you mind giving me your name ?" " No ; my name is Warne — Martha Warne. Good- light." " Good-night," I said ; and in another moment the door had closed behind her. '^S^ CHAPTER V. A ghost-seer ! Such had been my. visitor. Not a gaunt mysterious personage with a hectic liush or^ ghtteiing eye, such as we are accustomed to associ- ate with the seeing of visions and dreaming of dreams, but a plain matter of fact young woman, of' whom it might without disparagement be said that she was common-placeness itself personified. And I had spent half an hour trying to discover what bodily ailment she had been suffering from, I, who- of all things iu this transitory world, have the great- est contempt for ghost-seers and visionaries. Some men, I know, like to investigate such things as ap- paritions and visions, going from effect to cause, and from one cause to another, until at length they dis- cover the origin of what seems, at the outset, a su- l)eruatural interference with the ordinary laws of existence. Bui 1 have never had either the taste or the time for such studies. Tiiey do not interest me. Martha Warne should have gone to some other phy- sician, to me, of all people in the world, her case would seem the most unworthy of serious con- sideration. I will, however, go so far as to say that I felt a eertain amount of curiosity regarding her. I did 22 Tlift MYSTERY OF MARTHA WAKNE. 23 wonder what mariner of ghost it was that condemned her to sleepless nights and joyless days ; I was al- most Sony that I liad not asked her for some par- ticulars concerning it. But I have such a dislike of pretending to entertain serious opinions regarding such things, that I felt I could not h ive done it. Looking back, and reflecting upon our interview, felt that, on the whole, I had done what was right. A little curiosity was, I thought, natural ; but it was just as well unsatisfied, seeing that, to satisfy it, it would have been necessary to ask the girl to tell a story which I was sure beforeliand was a farrago of nonsense and best left untold. Taking it altogether I had done wisely in letting her go as she did. In this frame of mind I went up to my room and got ready for dinner. In this state of mind I con- tinuetl for some time. But I have now to relate a series of circumstances, in the face of whicli all my opinions, theories and principles, vanish into smoke. ^ CHAPTEK VT. It was a very wet night about the first of April Everywhere in the city the streets were full of melt- ing snow, mud and slush, and streams of water were running one way or another, according as there was more or less room for them, without regard to the gutters. The wind Mew steadily from the south- east, and, at intervals, the rain fell in torrents like a thunder shower ; which, altera while, would subside again into a mist and sometimes cease altogether, and allow the dull giay clouds overhead to be seen, hurrying across the sky. It was during one of the intervals between the showers that I went out ; and the light of the street lamps was sufficient to enable me to keep on the dryest part of the sidewalk, and avoid the muddy pools. I had a long way to go, up over the hill, through the dirtiest part of the city, and a good piece beyond ; but 1 am comparatively young, and am blessed with a goodly share of physical strength and powers of endurance ; so I did not look upon the long tramp ahead of me, inclement as the night was, as a very great endeavour. My wife was anxious that I should drive ; but there are certain seasons of the year when I make 24 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. 25 it a rule to drive as little as possible. To plod along in a buggy, with the horse sinking knee deep in the mud one moment and splashing it up in one's face the next, with the wheels dragging painfnlly on, the one on your right being almost up to the axle in water and the other grating on a piece of frozen ground, while the rain is beating down on the dash- board, in your face and on your person, wetting everything, even your feet, is to me the most un- pleasant of all sensations. Part of the day I am compelled to drive ; but I invariably take to my heels before the day is over. Any one who knows what the streets of Montreal are in April will read- ily understand my preference for footing it, even on a stormy night such as I have described. I need not say that I know the city well, that I know all the peculiarities of the different parts of it. No one knows it better. I know all the civic authorities and the functionaries dependent on them, I know the magistrates, whom to look to for justice, whom to look to for injustice, whom to avoid alto- gether if you wish to keep out of the newspapers. I know with whom it would be wise to consult with regard to educational matters ; and what man has the greatest recommendations to fit ium for the con- trol of the Sanitary Board. I know all the alder- men ; I know all the policemen, and where to find them. And, notwithstanding my repugnance to driv- ing when it is possible for rae to walk, I think I may say that I know all the streets, both up town and 4owD town, as well as any cab-driver. 26 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARljrK My way, as I said before, lay up a steep hill through the least inviting part of the city. In fact, I had to walk the whole length of St. Urbain street. This street, according to some authorities, divides the English part of Montreal from the French ; part. I cannot say that I fully coincide with this asser- tion. No street, to my mind, can be said to do this ; if it is necessary to name one street or another as a dividing line, however, I suppose St, Urbain street would do as well as any. But a mixed population of French and English inhabit this and a dozen other streets in the vicinity. One part of the city is distinctly English, another part French, but there cannot, in strictness, be said to be a dividing line. * St. Urbain street is in no way remarkable except that it is always very dirty. As every street in the city is in a more or less wretched condition about the first of April, this street at that season of the year loses its sole claim to distinction. This night it fully sustained its reputation. Water was run- ning down the middle of the street in a furious manner, two or three different streams of it, some- times coalescing, sometimes dividing into as many more. The sidewalk w^ in a much better condition. It was paved with brick, and was very uneven ; the slush was mixed with ashes which had been put out to prevent people from slipping when it was icy, and in the darkness it was not always possible to tell whether a black spot ahead was a piece of brick pavement, a heap of ashes or a pool of water. But it was very much better there than in the middle oi THE MYSTERV OF MARTHA WARNE. 2T the street, and T made my way along without mucK discomfort, * I met, considering the kind of night it was, a good' many people. No one would have ventured out, I am sure, unless it was absolutely necessary. But in a large city, I have often observed, there are always to be found persons as unfortunate as oneself ; it will be a very inclement night indeed that one will not find companions in misfctune as one trudges wearily through the streets in the dark hours of evening. Men with umbrellas struggling, not always successfully to keep them from blowing inside out, boys with their coat-collars turned up and their hands in their pockets, girls in waterproof cloaks and girls without any protection whatever but their ordinary clothes, children, even old women, I met coming down the hill. Business, necessity, one thing and another, had forced them to come out in the rain and wind like myself. When I reached the top of the hill I stood still for a minute to rest. The other side of the street, just opposite to where I was standing, a rather dis- reputable lane ran at right angles to the street up which I had come. At the comer, opposite to me, there stood a large brick building used as a public school, although I believe that it was not for that purpose that it was built. Leaning against the brick wall, and in the full light of the street lamp at the corner of the street, I saw a policeman. It. was tha figure of a man of gigantic size, and was encased in the usual policeman's uniform, except that he had 2S THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. changed his ordinary hehnet for a broad brimmed cap like that of a sailor, as some of the police do •on rainy days. As the broad brim of his cap, drawn over his forehead^ threw his face into shadow, I did not recognize who it was ; but I noticed that he stood as motionless as the brick wall behind him, and that, instead of h)oking up or down tlie street or straight before him, his face was turned upwards, as if he were engaged in contemplating the roofs of the opposite houses. Quite fascinated, though why I did not know, I stood still for several minutes and gazed at him- Then, bethinking myself of my errand, I turned and Aiontinued my tramp. After half an hour's steady walki*ig I reached my destination ; and was soon seated in front of a comfortable fire with a glass of brandy and water in my hand. What my business was it matters not. It was of a purely professional nature, and could be of no pos- sible interest to any one but myself. Let it suffice to say that after a consultation of two hours or more with a brother physician whom I had come to meet, it was successfully accomplished, and I set out to return the way I had come. On my way back, as it was very late, being in fact after midnight, I met no •one. I was very busy, thinking over my errand and its result. It was raining, but not heavily ; it had been pouring in torrents while I was under cover, but now, fortunately for me, it had slackened con- siderably. I went doggedly on, going over some calcu- lations in my mind, and mentally adding up figures. THF MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. 29 I fancied that I had made a mistake in some import- ant statements I had written out in the course of the evening, and went over a lot of statistics in order to satisfy myself whether I had been right or wrong. At length I succeeded in convincing myself that I had been right. When I arrived opposite the school-hoi^e, I glanced instinctively across the street ; what I expected to see, if I expected anything, I do not know ; but there, leaning against the brick wall, still gazing up at the roofs of the houses on the other side of the street, was the gigantic form of the policeman, as motionless as ever. I started : — it was a terrible night and lonely, and I had been three hours gone : — yet there he was ; and he had not, to all appearance, moved an inch since I had passed before. I stopped for a moment or so, looked incredulously at him, and started to cross the street. But the street was a rushing stream of water ; it was late ; I knew that I ought to be at home ; and I reflected that if he chose to stand there all night, it was no business of mine : — so I retraced my steps, and continued my course down the hill. Half way down the hill, however, I paused. I felt a great, a very great desire to go back. I hesit- ated, I reasoned with myself, laughed at the idea of running about to look at policeman at such an hour of the night and in such a storm. But to no purpose; back I felt myself impelled to go. Making a frantic dash, and wetting both feet in the attempt, I forced -^0 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE, my way across the street, and re-ascended the hilL I found the policeman in the same place, nor did he move nor make any sign whatever that he was conscious of the approach of a stranger. Far from it • the closer I got to him, the more immoveable he seemed to be. I walked up to him and stood before him. He di(jl not seem to be aware of my presence. Placing myself directly in front of him, so close that the buttons of his coat rubbed against my waterproof, I looked up — for I am a short man myself — into his face. I knew the face very well. It was the face of Policeman Logan who was buried at tlw close of the year ! CHAPTEE VII. Here for a moment I pause. What shall I say ? What can I say? I can say nothing, absolutely nothing. If I had any explanation to offer, any reason to give, it would be well ; but I have none to bring forward, none to offer. I say nothing. I will, however, explain, in a few words, who Policeman, Logan was, and what I knew of him. At this distant date, persons will hardly re- member a sudden death that took place in the city of Montreal towards the close of the year 1 886. Early one morning about the hour of five, country milk-men coming into town discovered the body of a man lying dead on the pavement. The dead man was Policeman Logan. An alarm was given, enquiries were made, and the body was taken in charge by the authorities. As is customary in such cases, a post inortem examination was held at the Montreal General Hospital, in the room set apart for that purpose. I was one of the doctors whose duty it was to assist at the investigation, and well remember with how much interest it was regarded by all who had any share in the task. A more finely developed man than the deceased I do not think I ever saw. He was fully six feet three inches height, straight in 31 32 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WA.RNE. as an arrow, and of almost perfect proportions. Every- one who was present expressed admiration at his well developed physique, and more than once since I have heard some of my brother physicians refer- ring to the subject. There was no doubt whatever that his sudden death was caused by heart disease ; and, when this became known, public interest in the occurrence died out. I cannot say that I had known anything particular of Policeman Logan during his life. Slightly ac- quainted with him I was ; but I had never met him in a professional way until — let me be pardoned the remark — I found him on the dissecting table. I may add, however, for it is not a thing to be lightly regarded, that he bore a good character and was a man of temperate habits. / CHAPTER VIII. My feelings, as t gazed upward into his face, can better he imagined than described. And yet no one who has not experienced similar sensations can imagine them. I do not say that I was afraid ; fear is no word for the sensation I experienced the mo- ment I became aware at whom I was gazing. I am no coward ; I am not .superstitious ; I never saw a spectre or a ghost before, and I hope that I never may again : but a sick feeling came over me, my throat grew dry, and a strange cold sense of horror seemed to overwliolm me. I felt a sharp stinging under my eyelids, a horrible sensation which I can- not describe. I would have moved away if I could have ; but I seemed to have lost the power to do so. What did I do ? What could I have done ? I was fascinated. I stood looking at him, looking at the buttons on his coat, looking at his great thick neck, looking up into his face, shuddering as I did so. I tried to speak. I thought that, if I could say some- thing, the spell under which I seemed to lie would be broken. But it was in vain that I tried to articulate) a syllable , the sound died in my throat; I could not speak. I could not move ; I could hariUy even control my power of thought ; I could only stand and gaze, fascinated, 33 I 34 THE MYSTERY Of MARTHA WARNE. If, on the otlier liarul, the figure of the policemau had moved only in the slightest degree, I should have felt at liberty to turn which way I would. But it did not. He seemed to be us much a fixture as the brick wall behind him. The light from the street lamp was beating on him, and showed ofi" in strong relief against the black darkness of the night his blue coat and cape of India rubber. The lower part of his face also was in the full liglit ; the upper part, including his eyes, was thrdNvn into shadow by his broad-brimmed cap. To all appearances utterly un- conscious of my existence, let alone my close prox- imity to him, there he stood, gazing steadfastly up at the roofs of the houses across the street. I, quite fascinated and, I am bound to confess, under a sort of spell, stood gazing as steadfastly at him. How long 1 stood there in the same position I do not know. It seemed a very long time ; possibly it was not many minutes. The rain, which for a while had been holding up, began to fall again heavily. I was, as it were, protected a little from it by the brick building alongside, and even perhaps by the im- mense form of the policeman himself. At least I did not mind it. I knew that it was raining ; I knew that it was raining hard ; but I did not even try to move. I could not turn my head ; 1 could not help looking at him. Had he glanced at me, had he moved a muscle, had he given me any intimation whatever that he was aware of my presence, I think I could have moved away ; but lie did not. He stood rigid, firm, fixed, immoveable. THE MYSTEUY OF MAKTHA WAUNE. 85 At last, fioni stamling in the same position so long, and perhaps also from staring so fixedly in t>ae direction, I began as it were to lose myself and lie- come completely absorbed in one idea, as people are supposed to do wlien they are under the influence of a mesmerist. 1 have always despised, and do still despise, all persons who allow themselves to become the dupes of mesmerism, spiritualism, or anything of the kind ; but 1 confess that on this oc- casion ni}' power of will seemed to be concentrated on one idea ; and that idea seemed to be something separate and apart from myself and beyond my con- trol. In otlier words, after a time — how long a time I do not know — my fear, which had been so great at first, lessened, until it was t[uite gone ; and I simply waited in expectation of — what ? Tlie policeman, as I have befofe remarked, kept his eyes fixed steadfastly on the house opposite. While I stood gazing at him abstractedly, I remem- ber that the thought crossed my mind, "what was he lookino; at ?" I felt at first a va^ue, then a stronger, tlien an absorbing desire to know. After a few minutes, forgetful of everything else, forgetful of the fact that a little while before I had lost the power of motion, I turned my back to him and be- gan to gaze in the same direction as he. At first I saw nothing at all. The street lamp that I have mentioned was not three yards away from us and it had been shining, as X have said, full on tlie policeman's face. On the other side of the street there was no light ; for a minute or two I seemed to be peering into the thick darlyjess only. 36 THE MYSTEKY OF MAMHA WARNE, Then gradually I made out the outliiK*?' of a house: There were, just opposite to us, three hou£es, all similar in appearance, and not in tlie least remark- able or singular. Higli wooden structures, once, I imagine, inhabited by the wealthy, now abandoned to thcpoorer classes, there was nothing about them to attract attention. Yet I confess that I gazed with no ordinary interest at the middle of the three. I looked at the roof ; I saw the dim outline of chimnies ; I saw the line of the roof distinct from the gray sky behind it. I saw the dark shadows under the projecting eaves. I saw the windows ; I counted them ; there were five in the second siorey and four in the first. One thing oidy struck me as singular. The door was open ! Why should it not be ? What was there remark- able about an open-door ? Perhaps some one was just coming out ; perhaps some one had just gone in ; perhaps it had been left open by mistake, or had blown open ; there might be a hundred reasons for it being open. Yet I was not satisfied to think so. The idea that there was somethim; peculiar about a house which leaves its door open at night and in such a locality, took possess^ion of my mind, and was not to be dis- lodged. What could it mean, this house with the open door ? What could it mean ? Was it possible to find out ? The thought fascinated me. I am usually, and, I think, with reason, considered a very careful, pru- dent man, one who is not liable to be excited at any ir'E MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARXF. 37 time or i kW any circumstances. Yea, T am usually cautiuus. If I acted differently this time from what I usually do, I do not know why ; I do now know tliafc I did. I am simply relating facts which are present to my mind. Let me continue. ] crossed the street, not even turning in my haste to take a last look at the policeman. I believe that I auiain got my feet well soaked for my pains. But I did not mind that. I crossed over, looked up the street and down the street and around, to see if there was any one near ; and then mounted the two wooden steps that led up to the door. 1 will not say that I was not a little apprehen- sive. No man likes to play the part of a house- breaker if he is not accustomed to it ; and I own to a feeling of shame ac ray presumption as I passed trn-ough the doorway. But pass through I did ; my -curiosity overcame every other feeling. I walked de- liberately in at the open door, and stood in the halL I wondered, as I did so, what prompted me ; surely something did. I went reund the hail carefully, groping about in the darkness, feeling my way. It seemed to be quite empty. It was a very ordinary hall as far as I could make out. At last I came to the staircase. It was 'of wood, and uncarpeted. Somethiug impelled me forward, and forward I went, one stair after another ; and every time that I put my foot down, it seemed to me as if the sound reverberated through the house. At the top of the stairway I paused. Where was I ? Was I in an empty house ? It seemed as if it were o8 THE^MlttTEUY OF MARTHA WAKKE. indeed so. And what was 1 doing there, 1, a married mall with a family, and thereibre bound to be all the more scrupulous with regard to my actions — 1, standing at the top of tht stairway in a strange house, at the hour of one in the morning — how would it be if some one were to discover me ? For a mo- ment, these considerations weighed heavily with me; for a moment 1 felt like dashing downstairs, out and away, as quickly -as possible. But 1 did nothing of the kind. Having got so far, 1 made up my ndnd that 1 must see something before I left. 1 stepped along the upper hall. Like the hall below it was empty. There was no carpet, and every step 1 took seemed to echo through the darkness, i could just discern a window at the further end. Slowly, very slowly and carefully 1 made my way to tlie window and looked out. The window looked into the street ; it was, in fact» directly over the front door, and therefore looked towards the place where I had been standing. As 1 looked out, I could see, through the pouring rain, the lamp at the corner, shedding its light amid the darkness around, and the form of the policeman behind it. I shuddered at the sight ; lor, now that I had got across the street and into the house, he seemed to be looking straight at me. indeed I ima- gined that he was actually conscious where I was and fancied that 1 could see the gleam of his eyes under the brim of his cap, distant as it was. This must have heen imagination, but it held me for a time impassive. I looked out from the window THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE. 39 of this apparently empty house into the street under much the same spell-bound feeling as I ha*d expe- rienced before. And in the same way I mentally noted several small details which at a time of such unusual excitement would naturally be ov^erlooked. I noticed that the glass of tiie window was clean as if it had been lately washed or rubbed, that the floor was clean and not dusty, that there were no cobwebs or any other appendage, denoting neglect or decay, and that the air of the hall was fresh and pure. These things seemed to me to go far to prove that this house into which I had wandered, was, although empty, not deserted. I was pursuing this course of retiections, having lost once again, as 1 did in the street, my sense of fear, when, all at once, my heart seemed U' stop, and my hair stood up on end. In the hall below, there was a sound ; the street door through which I had entered closed ! Was it a step ? Was it a tread ? Was it a cry, or a rustle, or a fall ? Nofte of these. The door closed iirmly but not- loudly, and then something seemed to move. It was not a tread, not a foot-step, not a rustle. I cannot describe the sound. The sound of the wind blowing gently in at an open window con- veys the best idea I can give of it. Something was moving below, something was coming upstairs, some- thing was passing througli the house ; what T knew not. I did not exclaim, I made no sign with my lips to see or to hear I endeavored not. Fallina; on my 40 THE MYSTERY OF MARTHA WARNE knees, with my eyes closed ond my handa clasped ia horror, I cowered in the da. kn ess b" fort- :